Traditionally Christians have interpreted Isaiah 52. 13–53. 12 as a prophecy of the passion of Christ,1 but modern biblical scholars have disagreed about how this identification of the suffering servant with Jesus arose. In particular, those who have investigated the question of whether Jesus saw himself as occupying the role of the servant have reached conflicting conclusions.2 In the background of this discussion is another contentious issue, namely, whether a messianic interpretation of the suffering servant had already been adopted in pre-Christian Judaism. Representative of a negative response to this question is H. H. Rowley, who writes: ‘There is no serious evidence … of the bringing together of the concepts of the suffering servant and the Davidic Messiah before the Christian era.’3 A much more positive assessment is given by Jeremias, who has championed the view that the first and fourth servant songs were consistently interpreted messianically in Palestinian Judaism, and that it is highly probable that a messianic interpretation of the sufferings of the servant was associated with this.4

In der Arbeit der Seminargruppe 8 soll nach ‘Paulus und Jesus’ unter dem besonderen Aspekt von ‘Grundproblemen der Beziehungen Pauli zur Jesus-tradition’ gefragt werden.1 Gibt es zu diesem so viel diskutierten Thema noch neue Aspekte, die eine erneute Diskussion lohnen? Vor allem: Was macht das Thema erneut so aktuell, daß sich eine Arbeitsgruppe unserer SNTS gerade ihm widmen will?

The two most recent studies of Paul and the law both show a large measure of agreement in criticizing Paul's treatment of the law as inconsistent and self-contradictory. E. P. Sanders argues that Paul's ‘break’ with the law gave rise to different questions and problems, and that his ‘diverse answers, when set alongside one another, do not form a logical whole’.1 So, in particular, Paul's ‘treatment of the law in chapter 2 (of Romans) cannot be harmonized with any of the diverse things which Paul says about the law elsewhere’; in Romans 2 ‘Paul goes beyond inconsistency or variety of argument and explanation to true self-contradiction’.2 More thoroughgoing is H. Räisänen, who can see only one way to handle what Paul says: ‘contradictions and tensions have to be accepted as constant features of Paul's theology of the law’.3 Again and again he finds himself driven to the conclusion that Paul contradicts himself. So, for example, with Rom 13. 8–10: ‘Paul seems here simply to have forgotten what he wrote in ch. 7 or in 10. 4’; ‘(Romans) 2.14–15,26–27 stand in flat contradiction to the main thesis of the section’; Paul puts forward ‘artificial and conflicting theories about the law’.4 The artificiality and tension is evident not least in Gal 3. 10–12, where Räisänen finds the argument of 3. 10 to be at odds with the argument of 3. 11–12.5

In his Manson Memorial Lecture for 19821 James Dunn credits E. P. Sanders2 with ‘breaking the mould of Pauline studies’ and giving us ‘what amounts to a new perspective on Paul’, not least by showing that the traditional Christian picture of Judaism is ‘fundamentally mistaken’.3 Dunn agrees with Sanders' characterization of ancient Palestinian Judaism as ‘covenantal nomism’, in the framework of which ‘Israel's covenant relation with God was basic’.

The Coptic Gospel of Thomas is one of the most spectacular of the fifty-two tractates filling the thirteen codices of the Nag Hammadi library. Discovered in December 1945 by several Egyptian fellahin, the Nag Hammadi tractates were subjected to a variety of political and scholarly ploys, and were not made available in their entirety until the very end of 1977, when the last of the volumes of manuscript pages in the Facsimile Edition and the one-volume edition of The Nag Hammadi Library in English finally appeared.1 One of the very first of the documents to be published was the Gospel of Thomas, and its appearance has already stimulated the production of numerous articles and monographs by the scholars who have recognized its significance for our knowledge of Christian origins and early church history. Since the time of its initial publication scholars have suggested a variety of interpretations of the Gospel, and to date no consensus has been reached. Yet, in my estimation, a reasonably strong case can be made that the Gospel of Thomas, in its present form, belongs at least on the periphery of Christian Gnosticism, and to that extent the Coptic text may be termed a gnosticizing gospel.2

There is a danger when dealing with a crux interpretum of assuming that because old solutions do not appear satisfactory, then a new view is more likely to be true than the standard interpretations. One must be wary, however, of replacing an unsatisfactory old view with an equally unsatisfactory new one. If, however, one can find a view that satisfies the usual objections to the traditional view without resorting to exegetical gymnastics, then it is certainly worth close scrutiny. There appears to be just such an interpretation of Mt 5. 32 and 19. 9 arising among scholars of varying points of view, though it is too early to speak of a new consensus. Thus, it seems worthwhile to examine once again these problematic texts in light of recent scholarship.

It has long been almost taken for granted that Luke-Acts is a historical work. Recently, however, C. H. Talbert has argued that Luke-Acts is biography rather than history, thereby re-opening the question of the genre of Luke-Acts. In what follows I will discuss one feature of Luke-Acts which does not support the contention that it is biography. I will argue that the preface of Luke-Acts resembles the prefaces of histories more than those of biographies or any other ancient prose writings. And I will further attempt to specify what historical prefaces it most resembles, and thus what sort of historian, on the evidence of the preface, the author of Luke-Acts was Comparison of prefaces cannot by itself settle the question of the genre of Luke-Acts, but it may make an important contribution. It is often true (and certainly true in the case of Luke-Acts) that the author speaks most directly in his preface. Because of this the preface may provide the best indication of the writer's own understanding of what he is doing, which is an important consideration in addressing the question of genre.

In John 2. 4 there is a peculiar Greek idiom which has not only given almost every translator difficulty, but which is, in the opinion of the writer, both a key to the way in which the author of the Fourth Gospel used his sources, and to his interpretation of Jesus. The verse reads ‘And Jesus said to her: τί έμοί καί σοί; woman, my hour has not yet come.’

The variant accounts of Peter's call as recorded by the four Evangelists constitute a major problem in the New Testament. Can we dismiss as incredible the accounts of his call on the basis of the Gospels' inconsistencies? Fuller has pointed out that the best way to discredit a witness in court is for the cross-examiner to tie him up in knots and make his evidence to appear to be such a tissue of inconsistencies that the jury becomes convinced that he is entirely untrustworthy. But in spite of their differences, the four Gospels are united in reporting that Peter became a follower of Jesus in the very early days of his ministry. They differ, however, as to the time, place and circumstances of his call.

It is a well-known fact that 1 Cor 2. 9, containing the famous and mysterious words about ‘things which eye never saw, and ear never heard, and never entered into the mind of man, (all the) things that God prepared for those who love him’, offers a set of various problems. Consequently, the verse has been carefully studied in many of its aspects.

‘For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become guilty of all of it.’ This hard saying has been attributed by the consensus of commentators in this century to rabbinical teaching. Obedience or disobedience to certain laws, such as that about fringes and phylacteries, had the status in late Judaism of observing or transgressing the entire code. The rule of the epistle, then, merely repeats current midrash. In an earlier century, however, the association of this verse was Hellenistic rather than Judaic. Corresponding with Jerome concerning his perplexity about its meaning, Augustine indicates the affinity of James 2. 10 with the Stoic paradox that all virtues and vices are equal, and its corollary that he who has one virtue has all while he who lacks one has none. A Stoic source for this verse was still evident more than a millennium later to the editor of the first Greek New Testament to be published (1516), Erasmus of Rotterdam. In the same era another distinguished exegete, Martin Luther, likely considered James 2. 10 a Stoic paradox. At the turn of this century Joseph B. Mayor reported Augustine's attribution neutrally and catalogued numerous resemblances between the theories and maxims of Stoicism and this epistle. Martin Dibelius deliberated to indecision about its source, conceding that while the Stoic paradox and the rabbinical praxis were in origin distinct, by the time of Philo at least they had become indistinguishable teaching.

The purpose of this note is to discuss the christological title ‘King of kings and Lord of lords’ in Rev 17. 14. Most commentators have generally understood the title to have its broad background in intertestamental Judaism and the Old Testament. The title is also attested in Babylonian and Egyptian tradition, but such an influence is unlikely here since John usually limits his sphere of reference to the Old Testament and its related literature and traditions. Among the possible above-mentioned references in Judaism and the Old Testament, 1 En 9. 4 bears closest resemblance to Rev 17. 14. The 1 En reference could be in mind, not only because of its similarity of wording, but also because its context concerns eschatological judgment (i.e. of the fallen Watchers), as does that of Rev 17.

According to the most generally accepted text, the angels of Lk 2. 11 announced the birth of Jesus to the Judean shepherds and designated him σωτηρ ος εοτω χριστος κυριος, commonly translated ‘a saviour, who is Christ the Lord’. Familiarity with these words as part of the Christmas story obscures the fact that the title χριστος κυριος is unique in the NT to Lk 2. 11. This title is not without precedent, however, and appears as a messianic title in the readings of the MSS of PsSol 17. 32. This paper will examine the use of χριστος κυριος in PsSol 17. 32, and will propose that it is one of several new messianic titles combining ‘messiah’ with a political honorific used as an appositional modifier.