Journal of Theology, Issue 6 by Coram Deo Academy

EARLY CHRISTIANITY: THE FIRST FIVE CENTURIES A Life of Theology: The Coram Deo Journal of Theology is a collection of articles, essays, reviews, and reflections on the presence of God in all areas of life. This issue is centered around the earliest centuries of the Christian church. For questions about the Journal or for more information on how to submit an article, email Mr. Jon Jordan: jon.jordan@coramdeoacademy.org Coram Deo Academy educates youth in a historic Christian worldview through a vigorous classical curriculum. The goal of CDA is to train ethical servant-leaders and wise thinkers who will shape culture for the glory of God. For more information about Coram Deo Academy, visit: http://coramdeoacademy.org

FROM THE

EDITOR

We all need to know more about the history of our faith than we currently do. I hope for a minute that you will look past my bias on this subject (I teach history and theology courses and am therefore quite interested in the history of our theology), and hear me out. I want you to imagine with me how our study of American History would look if we treated it the same way we treat Church History. Let's look at some of the most popular Theologians from our recent past, and compare their relative time in Church history to an equivalent time in American history. If your understanding of Church History begins with John Calvin, that is the equivalent of beginning your study of American history with the Presidency of Dwight D. Eisenhower. If your understanding of Church History begins with Jonathan Edwards, that is the equivalent of beginning your study of American history with Ronald Reagan. If your understanding of Church History begins with C.S. Lewis, that is the equivalent of beginning your study of American history at the release of the very first iPhone.  Imagine an American History curriculum whose content began in the year 1960, 1982, or 2007! We would be severely harming our children's ability to be productive citizens of this nation by neglecting so much of our history. Yet this is often our approach to the history of the Christ’s Church. It is with this in mind that the following articles on the earliest centuries of our faith were collected. Robert Terry explores the (dangerous) roots of Classical, Christian education. Tyson Guthrie explains how Irenaeus of Lyons understood the ways in which we are made in God’s image and likeness. Kerry Hillier presents a brief overview of music and song in the Early Church. Portions of my Masters Thesis on Early Christian understanding of the Eucharist are followed by a section of resources recommended by our faculty for those interested in further study of the early Church. Our hope is that you gain an appreciation for the earliest Church, and grow in your desire to explore it further. Jon Jordan, Dean of Students Christ the King Sunday, 2014 lxvii

ARTICLE 1

WHEN CHRISTIAN CLASSICAL EDUCATION WAS AGAINST THE LAW Robert Terry, Director of Finance The Christian faith was birthed within the context of classical Greek culture. The Scriptures of the New Testament were written in Greek, and the most widely used text of the Old Testament was the Greek translation known as the Septuagint. Though there were notable dissenters, by and large Christian children in the civilized portions of the empire would have been educated in a classical Greek way, though purged of the polytheism of the pagans through the teaching of Christian parents and clergy. H.I. Marrou in A History of Education in Antiquity tells us why: “Christians of the early centuries accepted the fundamental category of Hellenistic humanism as ‘natural’ and self-evident – the view of man as an unconditional source of value existing before any particular specification took place in him. It might be said that before one can be a Christian one must first be a man, mature enough on a purely human level to be able to perform an act of faith and acts of morality…So, if classical education had developed its own admirable technique for producing a perfectly developed type of human being, what point was there in looking elsewhere for some other kind of education? … A man educated according to classical standards could become an orator or a philosopher, whichever he liked; he could choose a life of action or the life of contemplation. He was now offered a further choice, with the announcement of Good Tidings: besides these things he could now lay himself open to grace, to faith, could receive the sacrament of baptism, could become a Christian.” And many did become Christians and many Christians became teachers in all levels of schooling in the empire. By the fourth century, “Christians were found in all grades of teaching; there were Christians among the lowest schoolteachers and grammarians and Christians occupying the highest chairs of eloquence” in both Athens and Rome. Christians profited from reading Homer, Plato, Plutarch, and Hesiod along 68

with the Holy Scriptures. They learned how to read a text, how to think, and how to write and speak according to the standards of their classical inheritance. This forging of classical education with Christian faith produced some of the greatest preachers, theologians, and workers of charity in the history of the church. A prominent pagan even made the claim that “we are shot with arrows feathered from our own wings, for they make war against us from our own books.” Christian teachers were able to bring out the gospel in the Greek classics and illuminate what was true, good, and beautiful in them. It looked like Christianity would soon overwhelm the Roman Empire, when things in the empire took a turn. On December 11, 361, Flavius Claudius Julianus Augustus became the sole Roman emperor. Known to posterity by the name Julian the Apostate for having renounced the Christian faith of his parents, Julian became a committed Pagan and longed to turn the empire back to its ancient polytheistic past. The paganism of Julian was not an urbane or philosophical paganism, but the most crass belief in the use of ritual and sacrifice to motivate the gods to action. A contemporary historian attests that “on occasion he sacrificed a hundred bulls and countless flocks of other animals, as well as birds, for which he combed the land and sea,” so that he might put the gods in his debt. The other side of Julian’s plan to reestablish paganism in the empire

Portrait of Emperor Julian on a bronze coin minted in 360-363

was eradicating Christianity. Julian had learned from history that direct persecution of Christians would likely fail, so he sought other means to marginalize and try to convert Christians to paganism as he could. He established a broad tolerance in the empire hoping that the various sects and heresies would destroy the church from within, meanwhile he used any means at his disposal to harm the Orthodox party including exiling the great Athanasius of Alexandria. Historian Philip Schaff writes that his toler-

ance was “a hypocritical mask for a fanatical love of heathenism and a bitter hatred of Christianity”. In one of the strangest episodes of history, the emperor decided to rebuild the Jewish temple in Jerusalem to spite and prove the Christians wrong. Christians believed that the temple had been permanently destroyed, never to be built again, according to Christ’s prophecy (Luke 21:6; Mathew 24:2). Julian also saw a link between the animal sacrifices offered by the Jews and his own love of pagan sacrifices. The pagan historian Ammianus Marcellinus recounts what happened: “[Julian’s] desire to leave a great monument to perpetuate the memory of his reign led him to think in particular of restoring at enormous expense the once magnificent temple at Jerusalem… Alypius of Antioch, who had once governed Britain as the praetorian prefects’ deputy, was placed in charge of the project. He set to work boldly, assisted by the governor of the province, but repeated and alarming outbursts of fire-balls near the foundations made it impossible to approach the spot. Some of the workmen were burnt to death, and the obstinate resistance of the fiery element caused the design to be abandoned.” Another of Julian’s schemes to turn the empire back to paganism included a law passed in 362 forbidding Christians from teaching the pagan classics. Julian’s law was based upon the notion that Christians who taught Homer and Hesiod without believing in the gods they described were failing in honesty and candor, and at the same time making converts to Christ. They were ordered either to apostatize or to give up teaching. This likely led to the creation of some of the first Christian schools, and it also led to another fascinating outcome. A father and son duo, both named Apollinaris, set to work writing their own Christian school books. If Christians couldn’t teach from the Greek classics, then they would cast their own books in the forms of the Greek classics. This Father and son duo rewrote the Pentateuch in the style of Homer’s epics, they rewrote Old Testament history in the form of Greek drama, and the Gospels were rewritten in the form of Platonic dialogues. The idea was that there was something in the very form of the Greek classics that made them worth preserving for Christian use.

Julianâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s reign came to an end in June of 363 when he was wounded in battle and died shortly after. Due to public outcry the law against Christian teachers was rescinded in January of 364, and Christian educators returned to their classrooms. The works of the two Apollinari were abandoned and are now lost with no manuscripts surviving antiquity. Christian teachers took up their Homer, Hesiod, Plutarch, Plato, and other along with the Holy Scriptures and began to teach. The Christian and classical tradition of education would continue to shape the human mind and soul for over a millennia to come.

ARTICLE 2

"IMAGE AND LIKENESS" IN IRENAEUS Tyson Guthrie, History and Theology Faculty Introduction “For, as I have repeatedly shown, such persons will find it necessary to be continually finding out types of types, and images of images, and will never [be able to] fix their minds on one and the true God. For their imaginations range beyond God, they having in their hearts surpassed the Master Himself, being indeed in idea elated and exalted above [Him], but in reality turning away from the true God.” Irenaeus, Against Heresies, 4.19.1. The second century heretics with whom Irenaeus is familiar employed “names, expressions, and parables taken from the Scriptures” to articulate any of a number of worldviews most of which fall under the designation “Gnostic.” The Gnostics “wrest” these expressions from the truth, and when the terminology sounds convenient, they “transfer” them to their own system. These systems usually develop or assume a specific cosmogony and anthropology. Therefore it is not surprising that they should employ the Biblical language of “image and likeness” in their works. Irenaeus’ understanding of these terms certainly addresses and refutes that of the Gnostics, but it goes beyond refutation to play a central role in his theology. Gustaf Wingren notes that for Irenaeus, the Gnostic interpretation of these terms “exercised at most a subsidiary influence…His interest was Biblical and Pauline.” Genesis is the third most cited book of the Bible in Against Heresies. Irenaeus’ attention to Geneis has led Thomas HolsingerFriesen to suggest that Irenaeus shares his opponents’ protological focus. However Irenaeus is not simply replacing the gnostic protology with one of his own. The Genesis texts themselves are rarely used in isolation, rather, as Stephen Presley points out, they “continually join together with a variety of their textual ‘peers.’” Irenaeus is constantly recalling these verses because the concepts of image and likeness inhabit his descriptions of the beginning, the end, and the one who “joins the end to the beginning.” To this end, M.C. Steenberg offers a helpful corrective, orienting Irenaeus’ thought around the incarnate Christ. In examining Irenaeus’ polemical use of the terms, I will assume Steenberg’s position contra Holsinger-Friesen. I will show that Irenaeus ad72

dresses the Gnostics’ usage of the terms on two fronts. First, their images lack likeness to their objects. Second, the schemes they have adopted from the heathen lead them to an infinite regress. In his solution to these issues, we find Irenaeus is less concerned with the definitions of the terms than he is with their referents, namely, the Word and the Holy Spirit. That which the image is “like” is not the Pleroma of the Gnostics, but the Father, together with “His Offspring and His Similitude.” Thus my thesis moves one step beyond Steenberg to show the full Trinitarian logic of Irenaeus’ doctrine of image and likeness. The image is the incarnate Son, and the likeness is brought about progressively through the Holy Spirit, whom Irenaeus at one point designates God’s “Similitude.” A Trinitarian understanding of these terms is not possible for Wingren who denies any distinction between image and likeness in Irenaeus. Wingren claims, “It was a characteristic of [Valentinian] Gnosticism that, in accordance with the division into higher and lower which was applied to the whole of the Gnostic world-view, it made a sharp distinction between imago and similitudo.” He argues that for Irenaeus to make such a distinction would demonstrate a Valentinian influence on Irenaeus, an influence Wingren sees as “exaggerated” by his predecessors. Wingren’s understanding has become popular with the help in part of Roberts and Donaldson’s English translation of Against Heresies. The first half of this paper will demonstrate the problems Irenaeus has with the heretics’ use of the terms. Two of these problems will be addressed as an introduction to what I believe are the most significant issues Irenaeus has with the Valentianian usage of the terms. In this first section I hope to correct Wingren’s distinction between image and likeness in the Valentinian reading of them, and then examine Irenaeus’ distinction between them. The second half will show how Irenaeus’ usage of the terms addresses the issues raised by the Valentinian usage. The Heretics’ Use of Image and Likeness Illegitimate Sources Michael Williams asserts, “The massive evidence for the role of Platonism in the shaping of so many of these [Gnostic] myths is well known.” Christoph Markschies notes concerning the Valentinians: “In essence this ‘great system’ consists of a prehistory and a sequel to the biblical narratives about creation and redemption which presuppose the contemporary Platonic theory of principles and neo-Pythagorean number speculation.” In summarizing his exposure of the Valentinian scheme, Irenaeus recalls, “Moreover, I minutely narrated the manner in which, by means of numbers, and 73

by the twenty-four letters of the alphabet, they boldly endeavor to establish [what they regard as] truth. I have also related how they think and teach that creation at large was formed after the image of their invisible Pleroma…” Irenaeus observes the following uses of the terms image and likeness in the Gnostic systems: Platonic forms, Pythagorean numerology, lexicographic typology, allusion to Genesis 5:3 regarding the productions of Horos, direct citation of Genesis 1:26 regarding the creation of man, allusion to Genesis 1:26 regarding that part of man that is similar in substance with the Demiurge, and in reference to liturgical icons. These categories are not mutually exclusive, and Irenaeus seems to indicate that the impetus behind most of the uses is a Platonizing concern for the representation of the Pleroma in the created world. Simply by replacing the Platonic terminology of “idea” with the Biblical terminology of “image” they claim originality for their “imaginary” fiction. In one sense, Irenaeus objects to the source of their doctrine. While he objects to heretics’ desire to develop “new opinions,” he ironically exposes their dependence on pagan philosophers, naming several such philosophers and the points of correspondence between their systems. The only viable source of knowledge about God is God. Therefore, Irenaeus’ claims authority for “the preaching of the apostles, the authoritative teaching of the Lord, the announcements of the prophets, the dictated utterances of the apostles, and the ministration of the law.” “Harmony” with these sources of knowledge establishes true knowledge. John Behr suggest that even the apostolic preaching is considered authoritative only because of its “scriptural texture.” For Irenaeus, merely exposing the Gnostics’ sources as something other than the Scriptures is a refutation in itself. Nevertheless, he refutes their Platonic doctrine of images implicitly in Book One, then explicitly in Book Two. Image Assumes Transgression Irenaeus does not represent the Gnostics as using language of “image” or “likeness” in regard to anything before the fall of Sophia. The first instance is Bythus’ production of Horos apart from his consort, Sige. The narrative alludes to Genesis 5:3 where Adam begets Seth in his own likeness, after his image. Eve is not mentioned in the Genesis passage, which prompts Ireaneus’ explanation that “The Father afterwards produces, in his own image, by means of Monogenes, the above-mentioned Horos, without conjunction, masculo-feminine. For they maintain that sometimes the Father acts in conjunction with Sige, but that at other times he shows himself independent both of male and female.” By this Horos, Sophia is kept within the Pleroma while Achamoth, her reflection or consideration (Gr: enthumēsis), is cast outside. This is the realm in which images abound. Achamoth is the image of Bythus, the Demiurge 74

is the image of the Only-Begotten Son (and, at times, Bythus), and the angels created by the Demiurge are the images of all of the Aeons in the Pleroma. By denying them language of “image” or “likeness” prior to the fall of Sophia, Irenaeus is demonstrating that for the Gnostics, image assumes transgression. The Poor Craftsman: Dissimilar Images Irenaeus’ most direct assault on the Gnostic doctrine of image and likeness appears in Book Two, Chapters 7 and 8. Irenaeus’ most fundamental disagreement with the Gnostic doctrine of image and likeness is that their image is not sufficiently like the object depicted. He fails to see how a corruptible image can confer honor on an incorruptible object. He objects, “let us say, in opposition to them, that if these things were made by the Savior to the honor of those which are above, after their likeness, then it behoved them always to endure, that those things which have been honored should perpetually continue in honor. But if they do in fact pass away, what is the use of this very brief period of honor,—an honor which at one time had no existence, and which shall again come to nothing?” The honor will cease when the temporal image passes away. Likewise, the Pleroma will be “unhonored” if Sophia is not depicted below, “…or it will be necessary to produce once more another Mother weeping, and in despair, in order to the honor of the Pleroma. What a dissimilar, and at the same time blasphemous image!” Finally, the Demiurge cannot possibly be the image of the OnlyBegotten, for then a being “ignorant of itself, ignorant of creation,—ignorant, too, of the Mother,—ignorant of everything that exists, and of those things which were made by it” would be the image of the Nous (Mind) of the Father. Dissimilarity finds its climax in the opposite concepts of ignorance and Mind. From here Irenaeus observes the multiform creation, containing creatures with opposing natures, which must, by Gnostic reasoning, imply opposing natures within the Pleroma, if the former are images of the latter in any meaningful sense. Talk of opposing natures prompts the reader to recall the Gnostic concept of salvation by nature, wherein some people are by nature good, and others by nature evil. If mankind—that part of creation most directly designated “image and likeness”—is divided into opposing natures, surely the Pleroma must consist of opposing natures. If the Demiurge received his pattern for creation from the Savior, then Bythus, like a poor craftsman, must have also received his pattern for the production of the Pleroma from another. If the apodosis is granted, then we are left with an infinite train of Bythi receiving patterns from still higher beings. This is one of several places where Irenaeus argues from infinite regress. 75

The Bythus of Error: Infinite Regress This argument from infinite regress appears in three contexts. In the first, he challenges the idea of anything existing “outside the Pleroma.” If the Pleroma does not contain all things, then it is itself contained, and something above it must contain it. That which contains it must be God, containing all things. Their Pleroma, then, exists inside another Pleroma, or else a third existence separates them. This third, then, contains both, necessitating a fourth to separate, and so on “ad infinitum.” The second context is that mentioned above. It is repeated in 2.16, and 4.19. The third context does not mention image and likeness specifically, but begins from the Gnostic definition of “progress.” If one defines progress in faith as ascending beyond the Creator to another God, he will never be satisfied with the second, but will feel the need to discover a third, and fourth, and will never rest, but will “swim in an abyss (Latin: profundus) without limits.” The “abyss” theme Irenaeus picks up here recurs throughout Against Heresies and is elsewhere called the “depth of ignorance” or the “depth of error.” It is a not-so-subtle play on the name Bythus. In their effort to explain the present condition of man alongside the remoteness of God, the Gnostics posit “a downward movement, the beginning of which is variously located in the godhead itself as an internal process of self-reproduction, and which finally at the end leads to a breach in the kingdom of light, as a result of which the earthly world and the powers who hold it in subjection come into being.” For polemical purposes, Irenaeus describes this downward movement in terms of its converse—as an upward speculation or invention. It is this hunger for separation that corrupts the Gnostic doctrine of image and likeness by making images “dissimilar” to their objects, and it is a hunger that Irenaeus assures us will never be sated. Their need to explain difference is wed to their use of Platonic categories and the offspring is a malformed anthropology. We return now to Wingren’s argument that Irenaeus could not adopt a distinction between image and likeness without capitulating to the Valentinians. One text suggest Irenaeus may be aware of such a distinction among the Valentinians. In Against Heresies 1.5.5-6 Irenaeus describes the creation of man by the Demiurge. He creates the earthly part of man from a fluid matter, breaths into him the psychical part of his nature to which was added the spiritual offspring of Achamoth, later identified as “the Ecclesia, an emblem of the Ecclesia which is above,” and finally the preceding are wrapped in the body/skin/flesh. 76

The translation of this passage by Roberts and Donaldson in the Ante-Nicene Fathers volume reads, “the animal part of his nature [was that] which was created after his image and likeness. The material part, indeed, was very near to God, so far as the image went, but not of the same substance with him. The animal, on the other hand, was so in respect to likeness; and hence his substance was called the spirit of life, because it took its rise from a spiritual outflowing.” (emphasis mine) Irenaeus starts by stating that the psychical part of man is after both the image and the likeness. The distinction appears when Irenaeus describes the material and then revisits the psychical. The adversative phrase “on the other hand” translating the Latin “vero” strengthens this distinction. We might question, however, whether this is the best translation of vero, which more commonly denotes confirmation. This is how the English translators handled it at the end of 1.5.4, where it was used in repeated succession with the word secundum, and I would suggest that “secundum similitudinem vero psychicum” should be handled the same way. When this is done the contrast is focused not between what the constituent part of man is “after” but between whether or not that constituent part shares its “substance” with God. In this case, neither the material part nor the psychicum is of the same substance with the Demiurge, for the latter “took its rise from a spiritual outflowing” of which the Demiurge was ignorant. The Gnostics once again looked beyond the Creator, and in their attempt to ascend above him, they have sunk into “the buqo,j of error.” Their image is merely a “proximation.” Their psychical parts are not “like” God, but like some imagined being beyond Him. Irenaeus’ Use of Image and Likeness Irenaeus has offered little direct critique of the Gnostic doctrine of image and likeness. What he has offered by way of explicit refutation has focused on the logic fallacy of infinite regress or the dissimilarity between the images and their objects. In his own doctrine—a proper analysis of which exceeds the scope of this paper—Irenaeus provides the church’s solution to these two problems. The Incarnation: A Similar Image Irenaeus cites the Gnostics as quoting Genesis 1:26 twice. In the first instance he discusses the works of Saturninus, who has the words coming from the mouths of a company of angels. At another time Irenaeus quotes from The Apocryphon of John, which has Ialdabaoth (the Demiurge) speaking them—also to angels. Steenberg re77

calls, “Indeed the whole of ‘Gnostic cosmology’ has been summarized as the work of ‘the angels that made the world.’” In response to the Gnostic reading, Ireaneus suggests it is the Hands of God—the Son and the Holy Spirit—with whom God is speaking. “For God did not stand in need of these [beings], in order to the accomplishing of what He had Himself determined with Himself beforehand should be done, as if He did not possess His own hands. For with Him were always present the Word and Wisdom, the Son and the Spirit, by whom and in whom, freely and spontaneously, He made all things, to whom also He speaks, saying, “Let Us make man after Our image and likeness.” Tom Holsinger-Friesen suggests that Irenaeus’ exegesis of Genesis 1:26 and 2:7 “constitutes the most decisive variable separating his system from that of his opponents.” For him, Irenaeus shares the Gnostic orientation toward protology, and therefore his work is largely a replacement of the Gnostic protology with that of his own. We, and others, have already indicated that such a case is overstated. It is not protology in se with which Irenaeus is concerned, nor even with union of protology with eschatology. His concern is the one who “joins the end to the beginning” together with the one who “renders us like unto [God].” If scholars have lent too much influence to the schemes like recapitulation, it is because Irenaeus’ thought really does revolve around the incarnate Christ. It is slowly becoming clearer to scholars how integral to Irenaeus’ theology the Holy Spirit is. The divine Persons form the basis for Irenaeus’ doctrine of image and likeness. The first problem we observed in the Gnostic doctrine on image and likeness was the dissimilarity of the image to its object. For the Gnostic this dissimilarity was intentional, allowing them to posit a distance between Bythus and the material creation. Irenaeus solves the problem of dissimilarity by founding the formation of man on the incarnation of Christ. Irenaeus says in the Demonstration, “For He made man the image of God; and the image of God is the Son, after whose image man was made: and for this cause He appeared in the end of the times that He might show the image (to be) like unto Himself.” Therefore the Father did not need to consult a pattern received from another, but “He [took] from Himself the substance of the creatures [formed], and the pattern of things made, and the type of all the adornments in the world.” The pattern the Father took “from Himself” is the Word, for the Word is not a power separate from the Father, but is in Him. More significantly, the pattern is not a “spiritual outflowing.” A spiritual image (if such a thing could exist) could never be “like” a material object, and vise versa. The pattern is the incarnate Word, therefore the image “molded” is more than a “shadow” or “type.” It is from the same “substance” as our flesh. The pattern is the flesh of Christ, so the image resides in the flesh. John Behr as78

serts, “Irenaeus explicitly rejected the possibility of locating the image of God in an immaterial part or quality of man.” The Gnostic Demiurge shared nothing with man. The Word by whom “all things connected with our world [were made]” took flesh from our very substance determining what that substance would be, for “if it had been necessary for Him to draw the material [of His body] from another substance, the Father would at the beginning have molded the material [of flesh] from a different substance [than from what He actually did].” The image of God is wholly “like” its object, because its object is the incarnate Son. If only part of man were after the likeness of God, salvation might consist of the “stripping off” of the other parts of man, but the image is possessed in the “formation.” This image can be possessed by “carnal” man, because he still has a body of the same substance as that of Christ, but since Christ “did rise in the substance of flesh” that body becomes unlike Christ in death and decomposition. These become like the Son again, when, “rising through the Spirit’s instrumentality, they become spiritual bodies, so that by the Spirit they possess a perpetual life.” The visible, bodily image of the Son in the substance of flesh offers an image that can truly be similar its object. This similitude, though, is brought about through the Father’s Similitude—the Holy Spirit. The Father’s Similitude: Infinite Progress As we saw in the Gnostics, images too similar to God degrade God and imply objects above Him of which He is the image. Irenaeus has helped correct this fallacy by specifying of Whom and in what the image consists. Still, one can hardly look at humanity in its present condition and get a clear picture of God. Herein lies the impetus behind the Gnostics distancing of God from creation. Irenaeus, prompted by an identical concern will argue in terms of creation, that man’s likeness to God is realized through progress and maturation. Steenberg summarizes the idea, “the perfected image is an eschatological, not a protological reality. It is known and realized only in the Incarnate One who stands as the full human ‘adult,’ whereas Adam had been a ‘child.’” By the very fact of its being created, the creature is “infantile.” Infants are not perfect, but must be accustomed to and exercised in perfect discipline. Man could not receive perfection from the beginning, therefore he had to be trained by means of milk before partaking of Bread. Despite the Biblical imagery of the Son as the Bread of Life and despite a recurring theme of progression from the Spirit through the Son to the Father, Irenaeus here places the Spirit at the end of the progression as the “Bread of Immortality.” The Spirit, of whom we have received a portion, tends toward perfection, pre79

pares us for incorruption, and accustoms us to receive and bear God. The “complete grace” for which we wait, renders us “like” God. Irenaeus offers his definition of “perfect” in contrast to the Gnostic designation of those who are “spiritual.” The latter are those devoid of soul and flesh. For Irenaeus the perfect are those who in addition to the body and soul, “[receive] the likeness through the Spirit.” This perfecting ministry of the Holy Spirit is not new, but has been His role from the beginning. Irenaeus observes the Trinitarian roles as follows, “By this arrangement, therefore, and these harmonies, and a sequence of this nature, man, a created and organized being, is rendered after the image and likeness of the uncreated God,—the Father planning everything well and giving His commands, the Son carrying these into execution and performing the work of creating, and the Spirit nourishing and increasing [what is made], but man making progress day by day, and ascending towards the perfect, that is, approximating to the uncreated One.” Steenberg, commenting on this chapter of AH, claims, “Irenaeus in fact makes extensive use of this possessed-but-not-realized concept in his references to Adam as possessing the image and likeness of God… The possession may be said, however, to exist in its potential. Adam ‘possessed’ likeness to God, but with respect to the fullness of this likeness he possessed it potentially.” Irenaeus makes a logical connection between infinite progress and infinite regress in Book 4 Chapters 9 and 11. He concludes paragraph 2 by asserting “we have not been taught another God…nor another Christ…” He goes on in the following paragraph to explain that the successive covenants, rather than depicting higher gods, show the One God’s desire that man “might make progress through believing in Him, and by means of the [successive] covenants, should gradually attain to perfect salvation.” In Chapter 11 he returns to the idea of progressive revelation to demonstrate the continuity between the prophets and the advent of the Son. The simplicity of God is maintained in light of the progress of man. “God makes…man is made…For as God is always the same, so also man, when found in God, shall always go on towards God. For neither does God at any time cease to confer benefits upon, or to enrich man; nor does man ever cease from receiving the benefits, and being enriched by God.” God’s unity is seen in his “always” being the same. Man’s is seen in his “always” making progress. The next paragraph recalls the language of infants by quoting Psalm 8:3, and the final paragraph concludes with Irenaeus’ clarification that “types” and “shadows” did not point man upward beyond their Creator, but ahead to Christ. This infinite progress is the process of being made in the image and likeness of God. Behr asserts, “There can be, for man, no end to this process, since he can never become uncreated; his perfection lies, instead, in his continual submission to the crea80

tive activity of God, through which he is brought to share in the glory of the Uncreated.” Since the Spirit prepares man “into the Son,” the incarnation of the Word is essential to the establishment of both image and likeness. “For in times long past, it was said that man was created after the image of God, but it was not [actually] shown; for the Word was as yet invisible, after whose image man was created, Wherefore also he did easily lose the similitude. When, however, the Word of God became flesh, He confirmed both these: for He both showed forth the image truly, since He became Himself what was His image; and He re-established the similitude after a sure manner, by assimilating man to the invisible Father through means of the visible Word.” Conclusion Irenaeus is not merely repairing a broken cosmogony in his polemic against the Valentinian doctrine of image and likeness. He points out two weaknesses in their doctrine, and demonstrates how an orientation around the divine Persons addresses these concerns. Only the incarnate Word can show forth the image truly, and that only by bringing the Spirit through Whom we receive likeness to God.

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MUSIC IN THE EARLY CHURCH Kerry Hillier, Choir and Worship Band Director Are you like me? When I picture the first few centuries of Christianity I don't usually think music. Now, move a few centuries later and we all get pictures of dark cathedrals and monks in robes singing Gregorian Chant. So what was happening before the monks? How did the early church fathers worship our Savior? The music of the early church had one goal: to glorify God with song. At the very beginning, Christians began to create their own style of worship. They had examples from the Jews and the Romans, but nothing original to Christianity. In Colossians 3:16-17 Paul writes briefly about the music used in house churches. He says, “Let the word of Christ richly dwell within you, with all wisdom teaching and admonishing one another with psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with thankfulness in your hearts to God. Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through Him to God the Father.” First, Psalm means literally to twang a harp. It can also mean a sacred song or poem used in worship. A hymn is defined as a song of praise to God. These seem fairly self-explanatory. The third form of musical expression that Paul refers to is the Spiritual Song. According to Pulpit Commentary, a Spiritual Song is “singing and making melody with your heart to the Lord.” In modern terms, a Spiritual Song is free worship or singing a new song to God with your own voice and melody. Instruments were used in Judaism and pagan religious practices thousands of years prior to the early church, yet they were often shunned within worship for the first thousand years of Christendom. In fact, throughout the Medieval Era of music, instruments were rarely used in the church. The term a-capella literally means “of the chapel” but has come to mean singing without accompaniment. It is logical that the early church fathers would have wanted to distance themselves from both the Jews and Romans in their worship practices. According to the Augustine of Hippo,

"... musical instruments were not used. The pipe, tabret, and harp here associate so intimately with the sensual heathen cults, as well as with the wild revelries and shameless performances of the degenerate theater and circus, it is easy to understand the prejudices against their use in the worship.'â&#x20AC;? (Augustine 354 A.D., describing the singing at Alexandria under Athanasius) As the church grew, so did the variety expression of worship. By 313, choirs had formed to help celebrate the Eucharist. These choirs would have been very simple compared to our modern choirs. Their text would have been straight from scripture and sung in a single melody line with the rhythm matching the natural rhythm of the words. This is known as plainchant. Pope Gregory in the 5th century pushed through many reforms in the Catholic Church. He started a school for singing so the choirs in the church could increase in excellence. In addition, he formalized the Mass and the style of chant used: Gregorian Chant. Throughout the centuries we have seen many styles, but the goal of music in the church has not changed. We desire to glorify God with our song. As Paul states in Ephesians 5:19 â&#x20AC;&#x153;Speaking to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody with your heart to the Lordâ&#x20AC;?.

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EUCHARIST, MALACHI, AND THE EARLY CHURCH Jon Jordan, Dean of Students | History and Theology Faculty My Masters Thesis explored the Eucharistic interpretation of Malachi by New Testament and early Christian authors. What follows are adaptations of the concluding paragraphs of each chapter. To read the full thesis, please visit my Academia profile. Abstract In describing the Eucharist as the "new oblation of the new covenant," Irenaeus of Lyons presents Malachi 1:10-11 as a foreshadow of this new sacrifice. He is not alone in doing so: the Didache and Justin Martyr also view the Eucharist as the fulfillment of Malachi 1:10-11. The primary question for this project is whether the text of Malachi itself or its use by New Testament authors warrants the type of Eucharistic interpretation seen in these second century authors. In his essay “Eucharist, Sacrifice, and Scripture”, Michael Vasey comments that "two facts are clear: the New Testament never speaks of the Eucharist as a sacrifice, and the early church very quickly began to do so." One might well get the impression that the two bodies of literature are at odds. We will propose that when second century writers speak of the Eucharist as sacrifice, they are doing so on the basis of what they find in the New Testament’s own use of Malachi. We begin by exploring Malachi in its own Old Testament context and highlighting key changes to the text during its translation into the Septuagint. This is followed by an overview of two key New Testament allusions to Malachi that are found in Eucharistic contexts. An overview of the Eucharistic use of Malachi before Irenaeus is followed by a final chapter on his own use of Malachi in the context of his wider sacramental theology.

Malachi and the Old Testament In his A New Testament Biblical Theology, Beale convincingly concludes that Isaiah and other exilic prophets provide a framework for understanding that in the latter days, “God will make gentiles from the nations to be Levitical priests.” In Malachi, the reader is presented with yet another instance of the rebuking of a failed Levitical priesthood. If the establishment of the inclusion of gentiles into Israel’s priesthood is made in Isaiah, what development of this theme is seen in Malachi? Isaiah’s vision of a priesthood including gentiles is echoed in the pure offering made by “the nations” in Malachi 1:11. Inclusion of the gentiles into the priesthood is not as directly addressed in Malachi as it is in Isaiah. Instead, Malachi’s eschatological vision is of a day when Yahweh’s “name is [made] great among the nations” through the bringing of a pure sacrifice (thusia, θυσια) “in every place”. While the Levitical priesthood is not named in this vision, the functions of the priesthood are necessarily present in the nations’ worship of Yahweh. Both sacrifice (thusia, θυσια) and “the table of the Lord” are presented as essential components of future global worship of Yahweh. The necessity of sacrifice (thusia, θυσια) for the proper worship of Yahweh is seen throughout Malachi. The impure sacrifice (thusia, θυσια) brought to the table of the lord (trapeza kyriou, τραπέζης κυρίου) by the Levitical priests is preventing Israel from truly honoring Yahweh, causing Yahweh’s name to be profaned, and will ultimately bring a curse upon the priests and their offspring. From negative examples to a positive one, sacrifice (thusia, θυσια) is also presented as central to the future global worship of Yahweh. If “the nations” are to worship Yahweh, they are to do so in a way that includes sacrifice (thusia, θυσια). Given that the impure sacrifice (thusia, θυσια) is brought to the the table of the lord (trapeza kyriou, τραπέζης κυρίου) in 1:7–8 and in 1:12–13 there is no reason to see the pure sacrifice (thusia, θυσια) of 1:11 as being offered anywhere other than on the the table of the lord (trapeza kyriou, τραπέζης κυρίου). As sacrifice (thusia, θυσια) is an essential component of the future global worship of Yahweh, the table of the lord (trapeza kyriou, τραπέζης κυρίου) is an essential context of the offering of a pure sacrifice (thusia, θυσια).

In Malachi, then, we see a new development of Isaiah’s theme of the inclusion of gentiles into the priestly service. In the future global worship by the nations, the the table of the lord (trapeza kyriou, τραπέζης κυρίου) and sacrifice (thusia, θυσια) are seen as the means through which the gentiles are brought in to participate in the worship of Yahweh. At the closing of the Old Testament canon, there is hope for a day when gentiles are included in the priestly service, and all nations are able to worship Yahweh through sacrifice (thusia, θυσια) presented on the the table of the lord (trapeza kyriou, τραπέζης κυρίου). Eucharist and Malachi in the New Testament Though the allusions are sparse, we have seen the two most prolific New Testament authors use Malachi 1:6-12 in passages that are directly or indirectly Eucharistic. Along the way to reaching the climactic meal of his Gospel, Luke alludes to Malalachi 1:11 in his own portrayal of Jesus’ eschatological vision in Luke 13:29. When viewed within the series of meal references that lead to the climactic Last Supper, the reason for Luke’s association of sacrifice and meal in 13:29 becomes clear. For Luke, Malachi’s vision of a day when the nations are included in the sacrificial worship of Yahweh is linked—in the celebration of the Eucharist itself—to Jesus’ vision of a day when the nations are able to join together in a great kingdom meal. The Apostles are to continue celebrating the meal εἰς ἀνάµνησιν (eis anamnēsin, in re-presenting remembrance) of the sacrifice of Jesus until the day when Jesus will join His people in the great eschatological kingdom meal. Malachi’s vision of a day when the nations are able to participate in the sacrificial worship of Yahweh is fulfilled every time “the nations” participate εἰς ἀνάµνησιν (eis anamnēsin, in re-presenting remembrance) of Jesus’ sacrifice in the Eucharist. Paul, in a more direct manner, uses Malachi’s language of the table of the lord (trapeza kyriou, τραπέζης κυρίου) as one of his many names for the celebration of the Eucharist. The Eucharist serves as the perfect counter-example to the participation in the alimentary sacrifice to idols because, for Paul, it is in the Eucharist that Christians themselves participate in a form of alimentary sacrifice. Before addressing 1st and 2nd

century non-canonical Eucharistic use of Malachi, we see the New Testament set a precedent that to do so is indeed plausible. Eucharist and Malachi in Didache and Justin In a survey of extant Eucharistic texts before Irenaeus, including two with a direct Eucharistic use of Malachi 1:11, several themes have emerged that will prove significant to our understanding of Irenaeus’ own Eucharistic use of Malachi. In 1 Clement we see the office of the bishop given the task of offering the gifts (προσενεγκόντας τα ̀ δῶρα, prosenegkontas ta dōra). Ignatius also relates the office of the bishop to the true celebration of the Eucharist in his encouragement to "partake of the one Eucharist ... just as there is one bishop" (Phil 4:1). The one altar (hen thysiastērion, ἕν θυσιαστήριον) of the Eucharist serves as both a sign of unity and, in some cases, a test for orthodoxy. Like the Levitical sacrificial system, the celebration of the Eucharist in the earliest century of the Church was only considered valid if performed by an approved presider (cf. 1 Clement 44:4; Phil 4:1; FA 65; and esp. Smyr 8:1). The Eucharist as a test for orthodoxy was needed as a growing number of groups from within and without Christianity challenged the practice and its teaching (cf. Smyr 2:2; Dialogue 10). Continuing the trend seen in our New Testament passages, sacrificial language continues to be used in the first and second centuries in discussing the Eucharist. Whether it is the insistence on describing the Eucharist as the bringing of gifts, taking place on one altar, containing the flesh and blood of Jesus, or referred to explicitly as the pure sacrifice of Malachi, it is clear that even before it is described as the “new oblation of the new covenant," the Eucharist is being treated as such. Specifically concerning the Eucharistic interpretation of Malachi 1:11, we find far more content in the writing of Justin than in the Didache. What the Didache offers, however, is a very early account of a Eucharistic interpretation of Malachi. Justin offers a more substantial contribution to the question of how Malachi was used in a Eucharistic sense before Irenaeus. For Justin, the Eucharistic elements, when they become for us the "flesh and blood" of Jesus through the Eucharistic prayers, are the "pure sacrifice" offered to God in Malachi's vision. The nations participate in making 87

the name of the Lord great every time they offer Jesus, the pure sacrifice of the Eucharistic elements and prayers (cf. Dialogue 41, 117). Eucharist and Malachi in Irenaeus We have seen in Irenaeus the beginnings of an early sacramental theology of the Eucharist. In instituting a sacrament that uses—and transforms—the created order, God is blessing his people by revealing “the Incomprehensible by means of the comprehensible, and the Invisible by the visible.” The whole economy of God's plan of salvation—including creation, incarnation, atonement, and resurrection—is captured in the sacrament of the Eucharist. It is perhaps due to this summative nature of the Sacrament that it is given such a central role in the life and practice of the early church. In his Eucharistic use of Malachi, Irenaeus clearly presents the Eucharist as the new Christian sacrifice. If the Eucharist is indeed the “new oblation of the new covenant,” what exactly is offered to God during its celebration? In the Eucharist, the Church offers “the firstfruits of His own created things.” Who better fits the description of "the first-fruits of [the Father's] own" than Christ? Elsewhere Irenaeus describes the offering as “the things taken from His creation” and that in celebrating the Eucharist “we offer to Him His own.” Who is more "His own" than His own Word? It is clear that the Eucharistic offering—like the making of wine at the wedding at Cana—begins with those elements that are part of the created order; it is equally clear that throughout the celebration of the Eucharist they do not remain as such: When, therefore, the mingled cup and the manufactured bread receives the Word of God, the Eucharist of the blood and the body of Christ is made. . . . [The elements] having received the Word of God, becomes the Eucharist, which is the body and blood of Christ. (AH 5.2.3) When the Eucharistic elements, offered by the Church, "receive the Word of God," they become the body and blood of Christ. What began as a simple offering of bread and wine has become the only thing that can be considered a pure sacrifice. The Eucharist, for Irenaeus, serves as the fulfill88

ment of Malachi 1:11 because it is through the Eucharist that the church is able to offer to God that which is His own: the pure sacrifice of Jesus His son. Conclusion Eucharist and Malachi in the Early Church Of our five extant Eucharistic writings from the first and second century, three explicitly reference the Eucharist as the fulfillment of Malachi 1:11. This certainly makes the validity of such an interpretation worthy of further consideration. Before reaching the first Eucharistic use of Malachi in the Didache, the Apostolic Fathers are certainly seen using themes from Malachi 1:10-11 in their own writing on the Eucharist. In Clement and Ignatius, we see the Eucharist presented as the sacrament of unity, a theme certainly present in Malachi’s vision of a day when the nations will offer a pure sacrifice to Yahweh. Also present in these authors is a stress on the significance of proper observance of the Eucharist, bringing to mind Malachi’s warning against the offering of impure sacrifice. It is towards the end of the first century and throughout the second that we see our three Eucharistic interpretations of Malachi 1:11 most explicitly. In the Didache, the confession of sin and call for reconciliation with one another before participation was seen as the way to ensure that Malachi’s vision of a “pure sacrifice” was fulfilled in the community’s own celebration of the Eucharist. For Justin, it is the transformation of the Eucharistic elements into the flesh and blood of Jesus, as well as the global nature of its celebration that make the Eucharist the fulfillment of Malachi’s vision. In seeking to demonstrate the continuity between the orthodox Christian faith and the Old Testament, Irenaeus presents the Eucharist as the pure sacrifice of Malachi’s eschatological vision. The former sacrifices have indeed ceased, but it is still through sacrifice that God’s name is glorified among the nations. Irenaeus places the Eucharist within his own wider understanding of sacrament and sacrifice. The Eucharist, as a sacrament, serves to reveal “the Incomprehensible by means of the comprehensible, and the Invisible by the visible.” This sacrament was instituted by God as the “new oblation of the new covenant.” God does not stand in need of this “new oblation,” but rather instructs that sacrifice be made in order to benefit “he who offers.” In 89

the Eucharist, the Church offers the visible and comprehensible bread and cup, which God transforms into the body and blood of His Son, which in turn nourishes and blesses the one who offers. It has been demonstrated that the “pure sacrifice” of LXX Malachi is certainly open to being interpreted as alimentary in nature. Luke’s use of LXX Malachi in passages that relate sacrifice and meal and Paul’s Eucharistic use of table of the Lord (τραπέζης κυρίου, trapeza kyriou) both contribute towards the plausibility of a Eucharistic interpretation of Malachi 1:11. That our first and second century non-canonical authors use Malachi in a Eucharistic sense cannot be viewed as a departure from the faithful interpretation of Scripture. Eucharist as Sacrifice While our primary purpose has been to present the Scriptural foundation of the second century Eucharistic interpretation of Malachi, this project may shed some light on the sense in which the early Church understood the Eucharist to be a sacrifice. What follows are some ways in which this study can contribute to the understanding of early Christian notions of Eucharistic sacrifice. Rather than understanding the Eucharist as the realization of a specific Jewish or Greek sacrificial meal, this author would contend that the early Church understood the Eucharist as sacrifice in the broadest sense of those sacrifices which they read about in their Old Testament. In those sacrifices, an offering is brought forth to God in a worthy manner, over which a qualified presider prays, and from which blessings are given to those who participate. At a minimum, the early Church understood the Eucharist to be a sacrifice in the sense that by partaking, the church is making an offering to God. What offering can be brought before the God who stands in need of nothing? For the Church to participate in the “new oblation of the new covenant,” they are to offer ordinary elements from creation in a worthy manner. When the Eucharistic prayers are said, their ordinary offering is made by God into the broken flesh and poured-out cup of Jesus, our Passover lamb. In the Eucharist, “we offer to Him His own,” both His own creation and His own

Son. Those who partake receive from God all the blessings of creation, incarnation, atonement, and resurrection.

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RECOMMENDED RESOURCES We hope that your interest in the earliest centuries of the Christian Church has been piqued through this brief selection of articles. Should you wish to explore the Early Church further, the Faculty of Coram Deo Academy recommends the following resources.

Getting to Know the Church Fathers: An Evangelical Introduction Brian M. Litfin This book currently serves as the primary text of our Ancient Christian Theology elective course in Flower Mound. Dr. Litfin introduces the reader to the life and teaching of ten significant early Fathers and Mothers of the church.

The Spirit of Early Christian Thought Robert Louis Wilken Written by one of the most widely-recognized religious historians, The Spirit of Early Christian Thought explores how “early Christian thinkers set in place a foundation that has endured. Wilken successfully shows that they can still be heard as living voices within our own culture.

Popular Patristics Series St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press This growing collection of books is comprised of readable and accurate English translations of over 40 early Christian works. These works may be purchased individually ($14-$25 each) or as an entire set ($605). Editor’s Note: This set is currently on our Theology Department’s wish list. 92