Although scholars regularly take note of Jesus’ anger and violence in some scenes of the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, most attempt to explain them away. Since the text was copied by and circulated among early Christians, they reason, ancient readers must not have found them as shocking and offensive as modern readers. Based on contemporaneous discussions of anger, I argue instead that early Christian audiences would have been equally uncomfortable with stories of a short-tempered and vengeful young Jesus. In fact, I suggest that these stories were likely composed by opponents of Christianity who wished to undermine Jesus’ character and authority by presenting a compromised portrait of his youth. By absorbing critiques of Jesus into their own literature, however, Christian redactors were able to manage embarrassing stories about the boy Jesus and ultimately regain control of his image.

When post-Reformation English authors sought to describe pre-Reformation Catholicism, they turned to the writings of Desiderius Erasmus for historical evidence to back up their arguments justifying the break from Rome. For many later English schoolboys, Erasmus was one of the only Catholic authors they read and the depictions of Catholicism found in the Praise of Folly and, especially, in the Colloquies, became their picture of Catholic clergy, as well as foundational imprints for their mental image of relics, pilgrimages, and other Catholic practices. References to Erasmus as a historical authority for his times appear in dozens, if not hundreds, of texts from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Ignoring the literary and fictitious nature of Erasmus's satirical texts, they used Erasmus to justify their depictions of Catholic corruption, superstition, and irrationality. Over time, these descriptions became an almost uncritically accepted portrayal of the Catholic world prior to the rise of Protestantism. This constructed reality thus became the worldview of English speaking Protestants from the mid-sixteenth century up to nearly the present. Examining how later English authors used Erasmus helps us understand the subsequent nature of English historical consciousness and the development of English and Protestant narratives of Church history.

An important element of monastic penance and conflict resolution was its repetitive, almost cyclical nature. The manuscripts that were used during these performances often proceed implicitly, which makes them difficult to contextualize and understand. This article considers a possible example of such “hidden” reconciliatory discourse in a manuscript that was produced for the congregation of St. Laurent in Liège around the turn of the eleventh century: Brussels, Royal Library 9361–9367. It examines the sin of pride in monastic dignitaries, discusses the best way to atone for it, and provides tools for the penitent to start living a more virtuous life in the future. The surviving evidence suggests that this manuscript was produced in reaction to the deeds of abbot Berenger, whose actions in 1095 were considered scandalous by contemporaries because he had led his monks into confusion and sin. The article shows how the combination of texts in this manuscript takes on a different meaning because of these politically charged circumstances, and argues that the St. Laurent manuscript was a discreet but methodical way to end the resulting estrangement between Berenger and his monks. In this interpretation, Brussels RL 9361–9367 is a rare and highly relevant testimony to the ways in which monks in the early twelfth century dealt with psychological and social tensions in the wake of an intra-group conflict.

When nineteenth-century American Presbyterian pastor James Waddel Alexander wrote the lyrics of the hymn “O Sacred Head Now Wounded,” he created what has become the most popular of numerous English translations of seventeenth-century German Lutheran pastor Paul Gerhardt's hymn “O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden.” That text was, in turn, a translation of part of an anonymous thirteenth-century cycle of passion poems, one dedicated to each of Christ's wounds. From the medieval original through Gerhardt to Alexander, each subsequent translation has diminished its depictions of blood and rendered its narrator's interaction with the crucified body of Christ less passionate, dictated by the theological needs and aesthetic sensibilities of the translator's religious tradition. At the same time, both Gerhardt and Alexander included significant elements from the original that were anomalous in their own contexts. The inclusion of a medieval poem in the worship of seventeenth-century Lutherans and nineteenth-century Presbyterians may reveal an ecumenical bent on their part, albeit with clear limits. A comparison of the various versions of the hymn demonstrates the complex interrelationship between an original text and translations of it, some of which may properly be called versions of it and some of which may have become something altogether different.

This article considers the social and cultural contexts of the two lives of Margherita Colonna (c.1254–1280) to reveal her traditional, monastic Franciscan piety that originated with her baronial Roman background. To her family, Margherita Colonna represented a moderate type of Franciscan piety that did not conflict with elite patriarchal expectations of women, and one that differed from the radical penitence of Clare of Montefalco, Angela of Foligno, and Margherita of Cortona. Her hagiographers structured their respective renditions of her life to promote their own agendas, choosing and omitting saintly virtues as they saw fit. Margherita's first life, written by her brother Giovanni Colonna, extolled her humility, nobility, and almsgiving. Her second life, written by Stefania, her relative and the successor of her spiritual community, focused on Margherita's mysticism and concern for her cloistered community. Both of these works diverge from the lives of radical female Franciscans who practiced contempt for the world and rigorous poverty. For this reason, this article argues that Margherita's pious type broke from that of Clare of Assisi, and more closely resembled the traditional monastic religiosity practiced by her family before the arrival of St. Francis. Such an approach to hagiography reveals the social context from which it arose, as well as gendered notions of holiness, thereby contributing to the fields of medieval sanctity, gender, and society.

This article analyzes the views of Reformed Presbyterians (Covenanters) in relation to the subject of American slavery. Popular mythology, especially that propagated by the exponents of Neo-Confederacy, would have us believe that all those who criticized the system of chattel slavery that existed in antebellum America were either secularists or adherents to heterodox religious opinions. In order to debunk this myth, this article seeks to demonstrate the solid antislavery credentials of this theologically conservative group of Presbyterians by examining the writings of various Covenanters on chattel slavery. As this agitation against slavery took place in a context of significant internal strife between the Covenanters over the issue of the civil magistrate's power circa sacra, this paper will consider how the antislavery arguments of Thomas Houston and John Paul diverged in order to suit their respective positions on civil magistracy. Related to this is the Covenanters' critique of the US Constitution, which Reformed Presbyterians rejected owing to its proslavery sentiments. Hence this article provides us with an important insight into antislavery ideology and developments within Reformed theology in relation to the state during the nineteenth century. Finally, consideration will be given to understanding the complex response of the Reformed Presbyterians to the American Civil War and to debates between the Irish Covenanters and their American brethren on the proper reaction to the conflict.

Francis of Assisi's reported reception of the stigmata on Mount La Verna in 1224 is widely held to be the first documented account of an individual miraculously and physically receiving the wounds of Christ. The appearance of this miracle, however, in the first quarter of the thirteenth century, is not as unexpected as it first seems. Interpretations of Galatians 6:17—“I bear the marks of the Lord Jesus Christ in my body”—had been circulating in biblical commentaries since the early Middle Ages. These works posited that clerics bore metaphorical and sometimes physical wounds (stigmata) as marks of persecution, while spreading the teaching of Christ in the face of resistance. By the seventh century, the meaning of Galatians 6:17 had been appropriated by bishops and priests as a sign or mark of Christ that they received invisibly at their ordination, and sometimes visibly upon their death. In the eleventh century, Peter Damian articulated a stigmatic spirituality that saw the ideal priest, monk, and nun as bearers of Christ's wounds, a status achieved through the swearing of vows and the practice of severe penance. By the early twelfth century, crusaders were said to bear the marks of the Passion in death and even sometimes as they entered into battle. By the early thirteenth century, “bearing the stigmata” was a pious superlative appropriated by a few devout members of the laity who interpreted Galatian 6:17 in a most literal manner. Thus, this article considers how the conception of “bearing the stigmata” developed in medieval Europe from its treatment in early Latin patristic commentaries to its visceral portrayal by the laity in the thirteenth century.

The decades before the Civil War witnessed a series of battles over the meaning and legal status of the American Sabbath. Scholarship has focused on the Sabbatarian movement, a cluster of evangelical churches that sought to institutionalize the Sunday Sabbath. This article takes a new approach by investigating the anti-Sabbatarian movement. In a series of controversies, from Sunday mail in the Jacksonian era to the running of Sunday streetcars on the eve of the Civil War, anti-Sabbatarians rallied against Sabbath laws as an infringement of civil and religious liberty. Though diverse in orientation, anti-Sabbatarians agreed that religion and politics should be kept apart, and that the United States was not, in constitutional terms, a Christian nation. A study of anti-Sabbatarianism is thus of rich significance for the history of Church-State relations in the United States.

Martin Luther regarded music as a crucial instrument to communicate the Gospel and the Reformation message. From the outset of his Reformation, a distinctive Lutheran musical tradition was fostered in electoral Saxony, its dependent territories and neighboring principalities. A review of contemporary records from the second decade of the sixteenth century to the turn of the seventeenth century enables the assessment of the role music played as an educational and theological tool in the life of Lutheran communities: the School Ordinances of electoral Saxony and neighboring principalities show the incorporation of music as a key curricular requirement in Lutheran education, while the Statutes of Lutheran choirs [Kantoreien] illustrate how theologians, educators and musicians closely worked together to shape Lutheran communities centred on music-making, in order to reform worship, further the Reformation message and to create community cohesion.

This study traces the evolution of one version of the New Testament across two early modern kingdoms and three confessional communities. The Oratorian priest Pasquier Quesnel salvaged the text of the Nouveau Testament “de Mons,” which was condemned in 1667 for infidelity to the Vulgate, by attaching “Christian thoughts” to each verse and framing the new product as a moral commentary. The French Jesuit Michel Le Tellier revived the charges against the “Mons” scriptures, but he could not prevent their redistribution in Quesnel's L'Abrégé de la morale de l'Evangile (1672) and Nouveau Testament (1692) for more than three decades until he shifted his attack away from the translation toward the legitimating paratexts. Long before then, Le Tellier plunged the French Jesuits into the competition for marketing vernacular scripture-books. Though they first proposed an alternative model of scripture-reading, they increasingly borrowed from Quesnel's model as they had more success proscribing his book. Meanwhile in England, both Catholics and Protestants attempted to fit Quesnel's scripture-books to the standards of their geo-confessional communities, conforming enough to make transgression possible. The Catholic physician Richard Short represented Quesnel's book as the “Jesuit” Rheims version while the Anglican divine Richard Russel re-packaged it as a deluxe King James Bible. The struggles of all these competitors illuminate the informal processes of authorization that enabled scripture-books to shadow the Authorized Versions and to expand the space for publisher adaptation and reader appropriation between them. By analyzing the permutations of books, scholars might enrich their understanding of confessional differences, often limited to comparisons of textual access, and more precisely discern the varieties of historical relationships that particular Christian communities sought with their sacred scriptures.

Between 1940 and 1945, in the midst of the Holocaust, the citizens of the small town of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon rescued several hundred Jewish refugees from certain death. Historians, ethicists, witnesses and participants have pondered the reasons for this altruistic behavior, and have pointed in particular to the faith of the rescuers as the source of their exceptional courage. By examining the theological, economic, and cultural diversity of the region, this article evaluates these claims and challenges in particular traditional narratives of Protestant exceptionalism. This work also seeks to explain why these particular narratives emerged and eventually conflicted with one another. It seems that the rescue on the Plateau resulted from a unique convergence of means, individual and institutional convictions, and cultural habits. In probing the exact role of religious commitment and culture during World War II, a more complex and dynamic picture emerges—and what becomes apparent challenges traditional visions of Huguenots as constant and unequivocal supporters of their Jewish neighbors.

“The religious question” regarding the role of the Catholic Church in Spanish society shaped the often contentious relationship between the Church and state. This relationship entered a new chapter with the coming of the Second Republic and the passage of the 1931 constitution. Among the legislation aimed at implementing the articles of the constitution was the 1933 Law of Confessions and Congregations that outlawed schools run by religious orders. Despite this law, most religious schools remained open. Using three schools of the Sisters of the Company of Mary in the cities of Tudela, Valladolid, and Tarragona, this article shows how orders adapted under the new government. One of the Church's primary tactics was to establish front organizations directed by the laity that permitted the religious orders to circumvent the law in order to maintain their schools.

In 1922, George Freeman Bragg, rector of an Episcopal Church in Baltimore, published a volume detailing the work of his fellow church members from the colonial era to the present. He painstakingly recorded baptisms, catechists, church growth, church debates, social outreach, and listed prominent leaders in the movement. His work was, in many respects, unremarkable, one of many garden-variety “church histories” that still line the shelves of seminaries and colleges around the country. Their production reminds us of an era of abundant confidence in the efficacy of religious institutions to shape society, and of histories to mold the future of Christian communities.

Prior to Protestant reforms of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Catholic clerics frequently preached about the necessity of confessing one's sins to a priest through the sacrament of penance. After the passage of laws in the 1570s making it a criminal offense to be a Catholic priest in England, Catholics residing in Protestant England possessed limited opportunities to make confession to a priest. Many laypersons feared for their souls. This article examines literature written by English Catholic clerics to comfort such laypersons. These authors re-interpreted traditional Catholic understandings of how sacramental penance delivers grace to allow English Catholics to confess when priests were not present. These authors—clerics themselves—used the printed word to stand in for the usual parish priest to whom a Catholic would confess. They legitimized their efforts by appealing to the church's modus operandi of allowing alternative means to receive grace in cases of extreme emergency. Although suggestions to confess without a priest's mediation sound similar to Protestant views on penitence, these authors' prescriptions differ from Lutheran, Calvinist, Anglican, and post-Tridentine Catholic positions on penance in the Reformation era. Diverse understandings of penitence lay at the heart of confessional divisions, and this article sheds new light on heretofore unexamined English Catholic contributions to these debates, broadening scholars' conceptions of what it meant to be Catholic in Reformation England and Europe.

An analysis of Lyman Stewart, California oilman and patron of early American fundamentalism, reveals much about the mutual transformations of American religion and capitalism in the early twentieth century. As an expositor of Victorian moralism and California Progressivism, as a missionary for dispensational fundamentalism, and a leader in industrial extraction, Stewart applied the logics of supernatural religion to his oil speculation and the logics of industrial capitalism to his religious work. As one of the chief architects of twentieth-century fundamentalist aspirations, Stewart pursued dueling objectives. On the one hand, he fought for empire and cultural custodianship; on the other hand, he argued for purity and cultural separatism. It was not theological or ecclesiological beliefs that produced this dual aim, but the commodification of religious work. As oil became transmuted into religious capital, religious work—particularly pastorates, missionary work, and theological education—became commodities that could be bought and sold, regulated, and appraised in terms of both purity and production.

The two major Protestant churches in Saxony-Anhalt, the Church Province of Saxony (Evangelische Kirche der Kirchenprovinz Sachsens [KPS]) and the State Church of Anhalt (Landeskirche Anhalts [LKA]), undertook denazification processes against “compromised” pastors and church hierarchs after 1945. Where the Church Province faced secular criticism about “lenient” denazification, the Anhalt Church enjoyed state support, largely because it admitted political representatives to its review commission. Hierarchs in the KPS explained their leniency with reference to the resistance of Christians in the Third Reich, a particular theology of church and state relations, and forgiveness. The verdicts handed down, nonetheless, were premised primarily on each clergyman's affiliation to the former German Christian movement and not on Nazi party membership; denazification was therefore “de-German-Christianization.” (The German Christian movement was a heterodox movement heavily influenced by Nazism.) However, quite apart from de-German-Christianization, there was also pragmatism within both (mutatis mutandis) the KPS and the LKA. Both desired a fully manned and unified pastorate in a time of acute need. Most churchmen withstood denazification as a result. One pastor in Anhalt exemplifies the process. Formerly a member, Erich Elster renounced the German Christian movement as a “false path” after 1945. He continued in his pastoral duties, albeit with an admonishment to preach orthodoxy. The general continuity of churchmen did not provide for unity in any case, and it even led to recrimination and in places a post-war perpetuation of the Third Reich “church struggle” (Kirchenkampf) that had pitted German Christians against members of the Confessing Church.

The Christian History, a revivalist newspaper edited by the Boston minister Thomas Prince, is perhaps the most important cultural artifact of eighteenth-century revivalism in New England. It provides source material for countless studies, and more recently served as an exemplar of how revival participants constructed a “Great Awakening.” This essay undertakes a close historical, textual, and quantitative analysis of this two-volume periodical. It reveals complex divisions among revival supporters and surprising alignments among those who disagreed over revivalism. Attitudes toward the social order were a key factor. The Christian History was central to the construction of the “Great Awakening,” (a process shaped both by social power and contingencies), but failed to promote moderate revival activity as intended. Ironically, the newspaper designed by Prince to unite the Congregationalist establishment only contributed further to existing controversies.

This contribution analyzes the views held by Danish and Norwegian church people regarding the welfare state, as expressed in the period when the general debate on the welfare state culminated in both countries. Generally speaking, religion played a relatively limited role in international welfare state research, which can be referred to as “blind to religion.” Tough socio-economic variables, well-established political actors, and government interests dominate the field. There are examples of religion as one among many variables, but when it has been ascribed explanatory value, it predominantly has been in relation to southern and continental European welfare models, because the focus has been on Catholicism. In recent years, the frequently mentioned “cultural turn” has made its entrance into comparative welfare research; yet, even then culture and religion are often assigned a modest role in “the black box,” which is invoked when the “harder” data are insufficient. Most recently, historians and church historians have launched a discussion on the Lutheran Nordic welfare state, but so far this discussion has not analyzed empirically the role of the church in the golden age of the welfare state. In this article, we go directly to those involved and examine what the church actors really felt about the post-war welfare state.

At the 1860 conference on Protestant missions held in Liverpool, a session was dedicated to the use of the reported 200,000 monthly missionary periodicals produced by various societies for encouraging the home support of missionary work. The 125 delegates from more than twenty-five Protestant missionary societies both in Britain and abroad had divergent opinions on the prospective contents and audiences for missionary periodicals. One thing that they did agree upon, however, was their necessity. The Reverend Thomas Green from the Church Missionary Society noted that missionary periodicals provided a means of “influencing” the minds of readers in order to excite the missionary spirit among the home community. The high circulation of missionary periodicals was, according to the Secretary of the Baptist Missionary Society, Reverend Frederick Trestrail, an indication that they provided a source of information that was received willingly and consumed by the masses.