It takes three…

Apostolic church order 20 states (with some messing around with the text!): “Three deacons should be appointed. It is written “every matter of the Lord shall be determined by three.” In my annotation I wondered where it was written, and suggested Deut 19:3, Matt 18:16, II Cor. 8:1. I also noted Faivre’s suggestion of Deuteronomy 17:6.

On further reflection, occasioned by Tertullian’s statement at De baptismo 6 that “every statement is secured on the basis of three witnesses” I wonder whether this is a reference not to Scripture but to another kind of writing altogether. Neratius Priscus (first century CE) is cited thus by Ulpian at Digesta 85 pr. 1: “Neratius Priscus tres facere existimat ‘collegium’, et hoc magis sequendum est.”

Just a thought…

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More on the Sunday letter

Published last year but only just arrived on the island is Ute Heil (ed.), The apocryphal Sunday: history and texts from late antiquity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2023).

I have had it my hand for about five minutes, but see instantly that I have work to do. This is a thoroughgoing treatment of the Letter from heaven discussed below by Daniel Vaucher, but also note that, inter alia, a new edition of the Didascalia Domini edited by Nau (and mentioned in the church orders conspectus below) is provided, suggesting that Nau had combined two distinct versions to create a text which had never existed.

It will take some time to get to this, but I wanted to alert my readers of this publication as soon as I could.

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Church order collections, and Roman legal collections

Trying to get my head around the Pastoral Epistles for a lecture, and aware of the germane criticism by Matt Colvin of my treatment of I Timothy (who suggests that I have failed to recognize “the massive power and authority that these legates of Paul are charged to exercise”) I turned to think about the role of Timothy as a Pauline legate, and to Johnson’s characterization of the letters as corresponding to the mandata principis, and as a result read Margaret M. Mitchell, “PTebt 703 and the Genre of 1 Timothy: The Curious Career of a Ptolemaic Papyrus in Pauline Scholarship” Novum Testamentum 44 (2002), 344-370. Towards the end she writes:

Although PTebt 703 is clearly not a “mandata principis letter,” nor is its content mandata principis, it does include a body of instructions which have been culled from existing corpora of regulations or stipulations for financial and agricultural administration of the nome. Similarly, the mandata known to us from a time closer to the Pastorals, likely the same period as Pliny the Younger, were collected eventually into libri mandatorum. Could that Roman imperial chancery practice of collection and publication of mandates prove useful for investigating the movement among early Christian groups of the second to fourth centuries from epistolary paraenesis and commands to formal church orders such as the Traditio apostolica, the Didaskalia and the later composition, the Constitutiones apostolorum?

I am satisfied that Traditio apostolica, in origin at least, should be classified along with the Didache as an associational lex, and that its subsequent expansion related to live issues within the Roman Christian communities, but am still intrigued by the manner in which the later collections, in particular the Constitutiones apostolorum,came about. I have floated the idea of seeing this process in the light of the Codex Gregorianus and the Codex Hermogenianus in my “Didache as an associational lex”, and it seems to me that Mitchell and I have been thinking along the same lines. Admittedly Ulpian (Dig. 47.11.6) distinguishes between the mandata and the constitutiones, but the comparison nonetheless seems to me to hold good, in particular in seeing the Constitutiones apostolorum as reflecting the movement towards collection and codification.

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New Research Project in Fribourg (CH): The Arab Pseudo-Clementine Octateuch

After a few years of preparation, we have finally started a new project at the University of Fribourg (CH), under the direction of Prof. Franz Mali: “Lebendige Tradition: Der pseudoklementinische Oktateuch als historisches Dokument von der Spätantike bis ins arabisch-muslimische Mittelalter”.

The pseudo-Clementine Octateuch is a compilation of various early Church orders, which has become particularly important in the Coptic Church of Egypt and Ethiopia. Although the individual texts from it are equally important for theologians, liturgical scholars, and historians, they are only inadequately researched – which is due in particular to their transmission in various oriental languages, while the Greek originals are largely lost.

Researchers consider the influence of church orders to be correspondingly small for the period after antiquity. METZGER and SCHÖLLGEN, for example, describe them as a transitional phenomenon between the apostolic era and synodal law. These generalizing judgements must be put into perspective regarding the Arabic tradition. The Coptic Church of Egypt did not cease to collect, edit, and translate church orders such as the pseudo-Clementine Octateuch. As in the Ethiopian Church, these writings became an essential part of Coptic canon law and retained their importance up to the modern day.

Nevertheless, the development of the Arabic tradition of early Christian church orders is still in its infancy. One major reason for this is the neglect of the so-called “translation literature” within Christian Arabic. This project therefore aims to produce a critical edition of the Arabic pseudo-Clementine Octateuch with a German translation and a philological and historical commentary. In addition, the Arabic text is to be placed in the context of its Coptic original(s).

Making this work accessible to scholars will not only allow a better understanding of the late antique texts that are so important for liturgical and social history but will also highlight the reception and transformation of ancient ideas in a new, Arab-Muslim context. By perceiving the Arabic translations as texts of their time, they also shed light on the transformation of the Coptic-Egyptian Church in the areas of liturgy and canon law over the centuries. The fundamental work carried out here will trigger further studies in the research fields of Arabic studies, liturgical history, or studies of the Christian Orient.

The project team consists of Franz Mali, Andreas Ellwardt, Rocio Daga Portillo, Alexey Morozow, Daniele Grisoni and myself. We also collaborate closely with the CEDRAC (Centre de documentation et de recherches arabes chrétiennes) in Beyrut.

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St Cyprian of Antioch, the devil, and Church Orders

Five years ago I began my research on St. Cyprian of Antioch. (Cyprian of Antioch and Magic in the Church Orders | ancientchurchorders (wordpress.com)

My preoccupation with the magician and exorcist resulted from the study of church orders: for the Traditio Apostolica (and after it the Canones Hippolyti and the Apostolic Constitutions) forbid bishops to accept magicians into their churches. The Cyprian legend, whose sources date back to the 4th century, serves as an illustration of this requirement. The pagan magician Cyprian fails with his magic and despite the help of demons and devils to force the love of the Christian virgin Justina. With this realization, he converts to Christianity, burns all his magic books, and destroys his idols in order to be accepted into the church. He rises in the hierarchy, becomes a bishop, and finally dies a martyr’s death together with Justina.

At Alistair Stewart’s request, I will shortly summarize the results of my latest studies: In Vigiliae Christianae 76 (2022) 324–346: «Cyprian im Bund mit dem Teufel, Grundlegende Unterschiede in den Quellenschriften der Cyprianlegende» I point out a development within the various source writings on the legend. A close examination of the two source writings conversio and confessio reveals considerable differences in the notions of magic and demonology. The conversio depends, in its shaping of the legend, more on pagan sources such as Lucian’s Philopseudes, while the later confessio emphasizes the role of the devil and is heavily Christianized.

In «Gebet, Exorzismus und Magie. Die kirchliche Konstruktion legitimer und illegitimer Rituale am Beispiel der Cyprianlegende», in Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 64/65 (2021/2022) (printed with delay in 2023), I dive deeper into the rituals and prayers of the conversio. The paper examines the construction of legitimate and illegitimate rituals on the basis of the legend of Cyprian to elucidate the gray areas between prayer, exorcism, and magic in Late Antiquity. The Cyprian legend fits seamlessly into the late antique discourse on legitimate and illegitimate rituals. The author leaves no doubt as to what kind of rituals may be understood as legitimate: pious, humble prayer and the sign of the cross. But the church itself did not simply prohibit pre-Christian rituals. Rather, a long process of adaptation took place in which pagan and Jewish practices were not only suppressed but also incorporated. Old traditions and formulas were adopted and Christianized.

This leads me to my current preoccupation with the Coptic Church of the Middle Ages. Here, too, healing rituals and exorcisms are extremely popular. But despite all the appreciation of the apostolic tradition, non-Christian or pre-Christian influences are noticeable in Coptic rituals. The Coptic Church in its Islamic context is the subject of a research project at the University of Fribourg (CH), in which we are tackling a research desideratum that has long been formulated: the edition and translation of the Arabic Octateuch. Church Orders, again!

I will be happy to present this project in more detail in a separate post.

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Honouring age

It was my great pleasure this week to attend (virtually) a launch event for Mona Tokarek LaFosse, Honouring age: the social dynamics of age structure in I Timothy. This is a radical and compelling re-reading of I Timothy, and of chapter 5 in particular. I am especially grateful for this publication as when I first saw the work, in manuscript, I had for some time been working on an article for RAC on widows; I was baffled by I Timothy 5 but baffled no more once I had read this work. I am so happy to see the MS turned into a book. LaFosse offers fascinating insights into the material on widows in this document… I will not spoil the fun that I hope you have reading it for yourselves, but cannot resist offering a taster of the good things it contains… the puzzling statement that a widow under certain circumstances is to be recorded (καταλεγέσθω, I Tim 5:9) is taken as intending that she should be honoured with an inscription… as such the ordo of widows in I Timothy disappears. What I particularly appreciate is the manner in which the book combines insights from cultural anthropology with good old-fashioned exegesis.

Tarry no more… fork out the equivalent of $45Can in your own currency and get the book… you will not be disappointed.

PS: There’s also some good stuff on presbyteroi! But I think I’ve said enough about presbyteroi for the moment.

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The vine of David

I have long been convinced of the inaugurated/realized nature of early Christian eschatology, in particular seeing this as represented in the early Christians’ liturgical activities, broadly understood. In this light I have often wondered how the thanksgiving for the vine of David in Didache 9.2 operated, given that 9.4 offers precisely such an example of a liturgically realized eschatology. I had recognized that its position in the meal rite is that corresponding to the qedusha ha-yom and had also noted that whereas Traditio apostolica 25 refers to the same rite it does not illuminate its content or significance in any way. In particular Didache 9.2 offers a complex web of allusions.

In an article now available in advance of publication in JTS J. Brittain Brewer, “A Holy Vine and Scattered Bread: Realized Eschatology in Didache 9.2, 4” has done a great service in unpicking these threads to demonstrate the eschatological content of this petition.

Abstract:

Several recent studies on the eschatology of the Didache have concluded that the Didache maintains an entirely futurist eschatology. Following David Aune’s work, this article argues that the Didache’s eschatology, when understood in terms of the eucharistic prayers, is better described in realized or inaugurated terms. The two particular prayers in question concern the holy vine of David and the bread scattered upon the mountain. Both of these images, when understood against the backdrop of Old Testament and Second Temple theology, carry significant eschatological motifs, suggesting that the Didache is not restricted by futurist or strictly millenarian concerns. Instead, the Didache shows evidence of being a document whose community maintained both a participatory and anticipatory relationship to the kingdom of God.

I am particularly pleased to see this article answering the question which has long bugged me.

I thank the author for his work, and more particularly for supplying me with an offprint.

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Laodicea canon 14

Newly appeared is “τὰ ἅγια εἰς λόγον εὐλογιῶν: Laodicea Canon 14 in its Phrygian Context” published online in advance on the Vigiliae Christianae website: https://brill.com/vc

Abstract:
The 14th canon of Laodicea, forbidding the exchange of τὰ ἅγια εἰς λόγον εὐλογιῶν, has never received a satisfactory explanation. This article suggests that it may be legislating against a local paschal custom which has become suspect due to its practice by Montanist communities.

E-offprints can be supplied via the usual channels.

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Didache bibliography

A bibliography of the Didache, 2001-2023, newly published in the Polish journal Vox patrum, may be found here.

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Eurell on presbyters

I have just come across John-Christian Eurell, “Presbyters and the Development of Church Offices” Journal of Early Christian History, DOI: 10.1080/2222582X.2023.2279656

Abstract: This article questions two central presuppositions of recent research on early Christian ecclesial office. It argues that bishops and presbyters should not be too readily equated and that ecclesial office was not as closely connected to the providers of liturgical space (owners of house churches) as is often assumed.

Naturally enough when I saw this my instinct was to nod in agreement. Not equating bishops and presbyters was largely the burden of Original bishops, and in my subsequent essay in the Cambridge History of Ancient Christianity (which I understand has been published, but which I have not seen) I accepted, on the basis of Edward Adams, The earliest Christian meetings places: Almost exclusively houses? (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016) that I may have overestimated the role of the household in the development of office.

However a quick scan gave me cause to ponder as, in the first paragraph, we read:

The most recent comprehensive study on the subject is Alistair C. Stewart’s Original Bishops, which argues that the early bishops were in fact leaders of house churches, who would be referred to as presbyters in regional gatherings. Stewart’s study is highly commendable in many regards, but I find evidence for two of its central claims wanting, namely that bishops were leaders of house churches and that presbyters were in fact a regional synod of bishops. Rather, I will argue that presbyters are an older category of leaders that is not synonymous with the later bishops, but also that ecclesial office was separate from the patronage of wealthy house owners.

Sadly, Eurell seems not to have read the book as thoroughly as he might. Thus in the conclusion of the first part he states:

…two conclusions may be drawn concerning presbyters in the late first and early second century. First, being a presbyter is not a clearly defined office, but rather a loosely defined title of honour that is connected with church leadership. Secondly, presbyters are referred to in parallel with offices such as bishop and deacon. There is no clear indication that the terms are synonymous, although the perionymity suggested by Stewart remains a possibility. It is significant to emphasise the difference between what we find in the writings of this early period and the more hierarchical pseudo-Ignatians. When these are viewed as authentic early second century documents, it deeply flaws the reconstruction of the development of the church offices, and this problem taints Stewart’s study to a large degree.

The first conclusion is precisely that to which I came in the third chapter of Original bishops, relating in particular to the congregations of Asia, and of Asian provenance. The point is that “presbyter” is itself a multivalent term within Christian usage. It is quite probable that the honorific use is the earlier, but in time, perhaps borrowing from the same honorific tone, the term “presbyters” came to be employed to refer to a gathering of episkopoi from across a defined (usually urban) area (or so I argue.)

It is also apparent that he had not read what I, and subsequently Bart Koet, “The Bishop and his Deacons. Ignatius of Antioch’s View on Ministry: Two-fold or Three-fold?” in Paul van Geest et al. (ed.), Sanctifying Texts, Transforming Rituals (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 170-190, have written about Ignatius… namely that Ignatius does not treat the presbyters as an office. Eurell did not actually notice that I argue explicitly that Ignatius was not a figure of the early second century, but of the middle third of that century.

I will not deal with the rest of the essay, except to point out whereas I concur with the overall conclusion, the argument is flawed, in particular in his discussion of the organization of Christian communities in first century Jerusalem. And out of charity I pass over the exegesis of Titus 1:5-8. Adams’ work is overlooked.

In an acknowledgement it is stated that the research was funded by the Åke Wibergs Stiftelse. I think they should ask for their money back.

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Clerical symposia

In Vita Polycarpi Polycarp visits Daphnos, apparently a chorepiskopos. Polycarp had restored the bins in which Daphnos’ food was kept with the result that he was able both to sow again and eat. When Polycarp returns,

…in thanksgiving (εὐχαριστῶν) for this gift he [Daphnos] made an offering in his presence to a number of brothers. He placed a barrel in the midst of them containing wine, and told the domestic servants to bring wine and to pour it in…

Vit. Pol. 26

Polycarp directs that the wine should continue to flow, and so the barrel miraculously replenishes itself as they drink, until a servant finds this a cause of amusement.

In my recent exploration of the agapē I was uncertain as to whether this occasion should be classified as eucharistic or agapic (Breaking bread: the emergence of eucharist and agape in early Christian communities (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2023), 109-111), though I also suggest that even if we could be clear on the question, that on its own would tell us little. My overall argument is that the various agapic meals of which evidence may be found originated from distinct points of origin, as did eucharistic meals.

However, one intriguing piece of evidence was overlooked in this treatment, namely the 55th Canon of Laodicea, which forbids bishops or clergy to organize symposia:

Neither members of the priesthood nor of the clergy, nor yet laymen, may club together for drinking entertainments (συμπόσια.)

Conc. Laod. c55

What is forbidden here sounds very much like the occasion enjoyed by Daphnos and Polycarp, among others. The implication is that Daphnos, Polycarp,and the other “brothers” are doing nothing unusual.

Certainly by this point in the fourth century (the exact date of the Council is uncertain but it is certainly from the fourth century, and more likely later in the century than earlier) no eucharistic understanding is applied to this act, but we might also suggest that by this stage the canonical “eucharist”, as it is now recognized, had emerged, and thus that the Council would not have recognized any potential eucharistic overtone or origin. It is simply concerned with contemporary practice.

Nonetheless the observation that the description of a clerical symposium in Vita Polycarpi is not a unique reference to the phenomenon, indicating in turn that such practice may have been more widespread than a single description might lead us to believe, opens up the invitation to search for origins. Obviously this is simply a sub-type of the symposium, but the interesting question is that of what are the sub-typical characteristics of such a symposium.

The first point of observation is that the participants are all clergy. As such it is unlikely that this practice emerged from a “normal” eucharistic meal, but if the thesis that eucharistic meals were in origin diverse is sustainable then this does not mean that its origin is not eucharistic, but that it may have emerged from a eucharist of a particular type; it is to be noted that the account in Vita Polycarpi states that the event was staged “in thanksgiving.” The one account of a clerical symposium, or rather a symposium at which the participants would retrospectively be seen as clerical, is the last supper account in the fourth Gospel, but significantly there is no mention of wine. The sympotic setting is relevant to the interpretation of the discourses, as Heilmann (Jan Heilmann, Wein und Blut: das Ende der Eucharistie im Johannesevangelium und dessen Konsequenzen (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2014), 3.3.3-3.3.5 (np)) points out, insofar as the communion between the disciples and Jesus takes place under sympotic conditions of equality, but the image of the vine is intended to emphasize this communion, and says nothing about the actual consumption of the fruit of the vine. The same image, however, appears in the Didache as a “eucharistic” prayer, from which we may reasonably deduce that wine was drunk. Is it possible that this has been distantly derived from the same Traditionskreis as the Johannine discourse concerning the vine? I have argued previously for some overlap of Traditionskreise between the Didache and the fourth Gospel (in “The Fragment on the Mountain: A Note on Didache 9.4a” Neotestamentica 49 (2015), 175-188,) but the link here, given the absence of any convincing eucharistic reference in John 15, is tenuous. Thus Gary M. Burge, The Anointed Community: The Holy Spirit in the Johannine Tradition (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987), 189-190, is sympathetic to the possibility that John 15 encodes a eucharistic reference, but concludes that the “emphasis throughout is the personal indwelling of Jesus through the Paraclete.” This in turn has connection with the eucharistic coda of John 6 in which, I argue in a paper in the advanced stages of preparation, the bread is a “vehicle of the Spirit” (the term of C.K. Barrett, “The flesh of the Son of Man: John 6:53” in Essays on John (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1982), 37-49, at 43.)

All we have are some tantalizing connections… Could anyone make my day by finding a missing link?

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Von der Goltz on Traditio apostolica

Eduard von der Goltz, “Unbekannte Fragmente altchristlicher Gemeindeordnungen” Sitzungsberichte der königlich preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (Berlin: Verlag der königlichen Akademie, 1906), 141-157, is a study of certain fragments found in Horner’s Statutes of the apostles.

In it he notes some significant fragments previously unknown to the scholarly world, and compares the version of some chapters of the Didache found in the Ethiopian Senodos to the Greek text.

It is chiefly, however, of historical interest since von der Goltz was the first to identify the “Egyptian church order” with Hippolytus’ Traditio apostolica, a baton subsequently picked up in the better-known works of Connolly and Schwartz.

I stumbled across this on finding it re-published by de Gruyter as a book… at the highly affordable price of €109.95. That’s €6.46 per page… not counting the cover.

Should you wish to read it without parting with your hard-earned cash or delving into the depths of one of the few university libraries to hold this volume I have downloaded a copy and posted it here.

Enjoy!

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The Alexandrian baptismal formula yet again

A while back I discussed the active-form baptismal formula employed in Alexandrian sources, taking particular note of the authoritative essay from Heinzgerd Brakmann, “ⲃⲁⲡⲧⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲁⲓⲛⲉⲥⲉⲱⲥ: Ordines und Orationen kirchlicher Eingliederung in Alexandrien und Ägypten” in H. Brakmann et al. (ed.), “Neugeboren aus Wasser und Heiligem Geist”: Kölner Kolloquium zur Initiatio Christiana (Münster: Aschendorff, 2020), 85-196.

I have been re-reading this in connection with another project, alongside other related material. As a result of this I would like to offer two e-rrata relating to the discussion of the baptismal formula in my book on the Canones Hippolyti and relating to my article on the baptismal formula. These are both errors of omission and, I am relieved to say, in no way affect the argument of either.

First, in re-reading Brakmann, I note that I overlooked a piece of evidence for the use of an active baptismal formula in Egypt, in a commentary on Acts from Ammonius. The passage of sufficient interest to quote in its entirety:

Thus the baptism of John was solely an encouragement to repentance, but not for purification from sin. Thus this is the distinction between the baptism of John and that of those who are faithful, because that of the faithful also bestows release from sin. John, when he baptized, said: “I baptize you into the one who is to come after me, and I beseech you to believe in him, because he is the lamb of God.” The one who baptizes faithfully says: “I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the son and of the Holy Spirit, for faith in the consubstantial Trinity (ὁμοούσιον Τριάδα). And he washes him thoroughly and removes him from his prior cult, and clothes him in Christ, and pronounces to him the true faith in purity. And it is to noted again that, after baptism into Christ, the Holy Spirit visits those who are being baptized through the imposition of the hands of the baptizer.”

(Ammonius Comm. in Act. 19; PG85 1573).

The other point overlooked is that in the baptismal ritual found in Borg. Ar. 22 as a supplement to the Arabic version of Testamentum Domini and published by Baumstark (Anton Baumstark, “Eine ägyptische Mess- und Taufliturgie vermutlich des 6 Jahrhunderts” Oriens christianus 1 (1901), 1-45) an active formula is also to be found: “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, the co-equal Trinity”. What is intriguing about this is that it is nearly the same formula as that found in Canones Hippolyti. The Arabic word translated “co-equal” is slightly different in the two versions, though derived from the same root, perhaps rendering ἰσόθεος.

The argument of my article on baptismal formulae is that active and passive formulae had derived from the same origin, and that, given that John Chrysostom suggests that the active formula is incorrect, it must have been known to him. The observation of further evidence of an Egyptian active formula (in Ammonius) does not significantly affect that argument. In Canones Hippolyti I suggested that the presence of an active formula might be an indication of Egyptian reworking, given that the active formula is employed there, but might equally be a Cappadocian or Antiochene formula.

The appearance of the same formula in the Egyptian ritual published by Baumstark might then be seen as pushing in the direction of an Egyptian element in the revision of the Canones. However, I think the opposite is true; the eucharistic rite which precedes this baptismal ritual is, as Baumstark notes, odd, with many Syrian features. The same, we may suggest, is true of the baptismal rite; the baptismal confession is a syntaxis, and not the credal declaration and interrogation otherwise known in Egyptian rites, and the ritual makes reference to female deacons, otherwise unknown in Egypt. It is thus highly possible that this is actually a Syrian ritual which has simply been copied and subsequently rendered into Arabic (with a few localizing elements), rather than a ritual in actual use.

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Chase on the Barcelona anaphora

Through the kindness of the author, I have received a copy of Nathan Chase, The Anaphoral Tradition in the ‘Barcelona Papyrus’ (Turnhout: Brepols, 2023)

This really is a remarkable piece of work. Beyond the detailed discussion of the text-form of the anaphora, and the exploration of a possible expansion of an original to produce the form found in the various witnesses, the work is notable for its discussion of anaphoral development generally. It should be read, and studied, by anyone concerned with anaphoral history, as it interest goes far beyond the single anaphora on which the author focusses.

I refrain from any detailed discussion, urging you rather to read this for yourselves. Thus his discussion of the entrée of the anamnesis into anaphoras is groundbreaking and significant, his discussion of the introduction of the Sanctus is a model of good scholarship, his discussion of the introduction of the “words of institution” into anaphoras brings sense and moderation to a subject which is unnecessarily controverted.

What is particularly valuable is the manner in which he demonstrates the process by which written anaphoras may develop from original oral forms, pointing out the presence of USPs (unit-structuring phrases) as the themes from which improvisations might grow, and which provide the basis in turn for the discrete units of the classical anaphoras.

Perhaps I am biassed, in that he basically agrees with me in seeing anaphoral development as the growth on the basis of formal patterns, and the agglomeration of further material. In many ways his work concurs with and complements my own Breaking bread. In other respects it already supersedes it; for instance I was uncertain about the form of some epikleses, among them that of Barcelona, which Chase shows have been split through the introduction (I do not say interpolation!) of the institution narrative. “Never split your epiklesis” was a song sung when I was at College (sung to the chorus of John Brown’s body)… we can see now that ancient redactors were as prone to split epikleses as twentieth century liturgical authors.

A final word; this is a beautifully produced book, properly bound, well laid-out, with attractive colour plates. Good vibes all round!

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How did presbyters become eucharistic celebrants?

Celebrating Ignatius in college chapel my mind turned once more to the question posed in Original bishops about whether Ignatius was bishop of all Christ-confessing communities in Antioch (highly improbable, if not impossible), some but not all Christ-confessing communities (all of gentile origin), or of a single congregation. I seem to remember keeping a certain degree of agnosticism on the subject.

The question which jumped at me in turn is how, if he was episkopos of more than one congregation, the eucharist might be celebrated in multiple communities when the episkopos is only in one of them. The same is certainly a question to be posed of Onesimus’ Ephesus, where the church is exhorted to gather πυκνῶς (Ign. Eph. 13.1), and where I recollect that I suspected that Onesimus was bishop of more than one congregation.

The obvious answer is that it might be delegated. But to whom? “To a presbyter” you might say, and I would be inclined to concur, but with the important proviso that this is not to a presbyter qua presbyter but to somebody who is economically capable of hosting the gathering (having sufficient funds to supply the food and sufficient space to host the gathering), who in turn, by virtue of that ability to offer patronage, is likely to be a presbyter.

Perhaps a clue as to how presbyters rather than bishops, in a later period, come to be eucharistic celebrants.

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A queer reading of the eucharist

I did say that postings might be less frequent… Apart from the hassle of moving the library and myself from one country to another I have been busy re-learning the dark arts of New Testament criticism, re-remembering the intricacies of fifth-century christology, and figuring out the wonders of moodles and powerpoints (unknown when last I taught, but certainly helpful, if time-consuming, developments.)

However, conversations with a graduate student looking to write on trauma and the Gospel led me to read this review from RBECS.org which floated into my inbox this week: Sébastien Doane on Sarah Emanuel, Trauma Theory, Trauma Story: A Narration of Biblical Studies and the World of Trauma (Research Perspectives in Biblical Interpretation; Leiden: Brill, 2021).

I won’t be spending my precious post-colonial library budget on enriching a European publisher but particularly note the following from the review:

Dr. Emanuel offers an external, queer perspective on the intersection of trauma and the Eucharist (pp. 34–45), posing a crucial question: “How did the sacrament transition so drastically from trauma food to divine nourishment?” (p. 36). It rightly points out that much of Eucharistic theology has become disembodied, disconnected from the traumatic death of Jesus. The Eucharist, symbolizing the broken body of Jesus, bears the potential to address the brokenness within the body of Christ­­—the Church. This perspective challenges the prevalent notion of the “real presence” of the resurrected Christ in the Catholic Church, shedding light on Jesus’s own trauma and the trauma of those who partake in communion.

I do not have my copies of Breaking bread yet (there is no copy on the island) (Eerdmans please note) but memory, and a post below, perhaps suffice to suggest that the only eucharistic reference I can think of to broken bread in a liturgical context (before the fourth century, when the eucharist is becoming paschalized) is in Didache 9.4, where the broken and scattered bread is united. The Eucharist never, to my knowledge, symbolized the broken body of Jesus; indeed John 19:36 would suggest the contrary. I am aware of the hymn “Broken for me, broken for you, the body of Jesus broken…” but am not aware that it has entered the canon (indeed, I would, were I still a parish priest, tear out any page from a hymn book containing such a travesty.)

Admittedly there is a connection between paschal eucharistic meals (such as those represented in Mark 14 and Melito’s Peri Pascha) and the death of Jesus, but these are a) Annual eucharistic events, b) not disconnected from the resurrection and c) unconnected from the broken nature of the bread. And how the eucharistic event can be described as disembodied in the light of Ignatius Smyrn. 2 and Ignatius Smyrn. 7 (those who reject the eucharist are those who are disembodied) defeats me utterly. But then again perhaps a “queer perspective” has it’s old (OED) meaning of “strange, odd, peculiar… dubious.”

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A personal note

After ten years in Slough I am returning to Codrington College in Barbados to teach early Christian studies with an emphasis on the canonical writings which came to form the New Testament.

This blog was begun as I arrived here; I have decided to continue to maintain it, though postings will probably be less frequent.

It is an opportune moment, as Breaking Bread, possibly my last major monograph, is published this week. Do enjoy the following, from the Eerdmans blog:

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Zerstückelungssucht

I have recently stumbled across a thorough review of Bradshaw’s Ancient church orders on Goodreads from Theodore George. I do not know whether this is a pseudonym; Theodore George’s profile picture has a striking resemblance to John XXIII, which strikes me as a bit like the apostolic claim to the authorship of the Apostolic Constitutions.

It is a thorough and well written piece. However, John XXIII does not think much of my attempt to assign levels of redaction to the Didascalia; he employs the charming term Zerstückelungssucht – defined as “the scholarly compulsion to carve a text up into myriad minute sources combined by ever more elaborate strata of redactors until the original document is mutilated beyond recognition.” He is surprised to find me at this, given that many years ago (and it is encouraging to think that somebody can remember it) I argued strongly against such approaches to the Corinthian correspondence.

I would suggest, however, that the cases are distinct. My main reason for rejecting the carving up of the Corinthian correspondence was that such a procedure would be impossible using letter rolls. By the time the Didascalia is being edited, codices are in use. There are, moreover, other differences. Church orders are community property, and not an individual’s correspondence. Church orders are living literature, and are constantly rewritten to remain relevant; the Corinthian correspondence, despite becoming canonical, was not intended to be universal in application, and therefore might not be rewritten. And once it had become canonical it was effectively protected (although the Zerstückelungssucht proposed for I and II Corinthians was almost contemporary with their original production). The proposed redactional history for the Didascalia took place over several centuries, whereas that proposed for the Corinthian correspondence supposedly took place in a matter of a few years.

In short, I don’t think I’m being inconsistent!

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Food for widows

The following passage appears in Traditio apostolica:

If anyone wishes that widows, who should have attained seniority in age, should have a supper, he should send them home before evening. If, however, he is unable because of the lot which has fallen to him, he should give them food and wine and send them away so that they can partake of the gifts at home when it suits them. TA 30

This is straightforward enough. Support for widows is widespread enough, as is the practice of providing a sportula.

This paragraph does not survive in Testamentum Domini, but is reworked in Canones Hippolyti.

If anyone wishes to feed widows, he should feed them and dismiss them before the sun sets. And if they are numerous, so that they should not become restive and unable to leave before evening, he should give them enough to eat and drink, and they should depart before the onset of the night. CH35

I have long, however, been puzzled by the appearance of the following passage in the Didascalia:

Those who wish to give an agapē, and to invite the widows, should send more frequently for her whom he knows to be in distress. And if anyone gives gifts to widows he should especially send to her whom he knows to be in need. And the portion which is to be set apart for the pastor should be set aside in accordance with the rule, even though he be not present at the agapē or the supper, in honour of Almighty God. DA 2.28.1-2

This is reworked lightly in Constitutiones apostolorum, the main change being that the deacons, rather than the individual patron, are those who ensure that those who in particular need should be invited.

The reason for the puzzle regarding the Didascalia is that it cuts across the fundamental aim of so much of the document to restrict the charity of the church to that provide through the agency of the bishop. I can therefore only assume that it derives from an independent source.

The question which then arises is whether this is the same source as Traditio apostolica. After much consideration I begin to think that it does not (although I do suggest, only suggest mind, that it might in my forthcoming Breaking bread.) There is nothing in Didascalia about dismissing the widows before nightfall, and nothing in Traditio apostolica about a sportula for the absent bishop.

But the very observation that these are probably independent is itself a point of interest. It demonstrates the widespread occurrence of agapic meals for widows provided by private patrons in the third century.

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More Arabic Testamentum Domini

Just out is Martin Lüstraeten, “Edition und Übersetzung der Euchologie der Eucharistiefeier der Redaktion „M“ des arabischen Testamentum Domini (I.23–I.28): Eine späte Antwort auf Anton Baumstark und Gérard Troupeau”

Abstract: The Testamentum Domini is considered to be one of the youngest Church Orders. Since its discovery in the early 20th century there have been questions concerning its origin and historical value while its original text and structure remain undetermined. This article considers a newly edited translation of several chapters of an Arabic recension which appear to be much closer to the Testamentum Domini’s original Greek text than Rahmani’s well-known edition of a Syriac manuscript. It argues that many apparent peculiarities of the Testamentum Domini are particular only to the manuscript Rahmani edited.

The text (with annotation) is preceded by a detailed introduction to the text, and to the Arabic textual tradition. Check it out at https://exfonte.org/index.php/exf/article/view/7399/8023

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Was the Didache inspired by God?

A while back, in a comment, the question was asked “Was the Didache inspired by God.”

Obviously it was never (to my knowledge) included in canonical scripture, but appears as a book commended nonetheless by Athanasius (Ep. fest. 39.7) and known to Eusebius who is slightly less complimentary (Hist. eccl. 3.25.4–6a), whereas Rufinus states (if he is referring to the entire Didache and not simply the two-ways chapters, or even to the κ document incorporated into Apostolic Church Order) that the book is not canonical whilst it is ecclesiastical (Symb. Apost. 38). In other words the only “canon lists” which refer to the Didache do so in order to exclude it.

But what, in any event, does the questioner mean by “inspired by God”? Direct verbal inspiration? Here we meet the problem of presupposition. I would struggle, for instance, to suggest that (say) the narratives of the Gospels are inspired in that sense, although would admit that the prophetic speeches of the Johannine Jesus (deriving, I suspect, from the activity of prophets in the Johannine Christ-group) are inspired directly. I might class, for instance, the Didache’s instructions for prayer, baptism, and eucharistic meals as, like the narratives of the Gospels, the work of authors or redactors who were faithful to their tasks and were simply concerned to present the truth about God as they knew and understood it. And I cannot exclude the possibility that they were assisted by the Holy Spirit in doing so. Such is the catholic understanding of “inspired by God”, but such a definition might be extended to a great deal that is not, nor was ever considered to be, canonical scripture.

I am finally inspired(!) to answer the question, over two years after it was posed, through coming across Amiel Drimbe, “The Didache – Between Canons and Canonicity” Plērōma 21 (2019), 105-147.

Abstract: Modern scholars identify six major criteria that the early Church employed to determine the canonicity of NT writings: apostolicity, orthodoxy, antiquity, use, adaptability, and inspiration. It could be that, at some point, the Didache satisfied most, if not all criteria. In this study, however, I have argued that the Didache was never considered for canonicity on a larger scale. This was due to its original design and evolving nature. Namely, it was meant to be a companion writing, and it was a living text. Thus, the Didache was a writing for the canons, but not a canonical one.

I think this is a very helpful way of looking at the question. What I realized in reading Drimbe’s article is that the Didache refers back to the Gospel, whether that be a written or an oral Gospel. It thus explicitly states its own secondary nature. Not only does it not claim to be inspired, it implicitly denies any such inspiration; as such, for all its antiquity, claimed apostolicity, recognized orthodoxy, and utility, it is not canonical, nor was ever considered such, and never claimed inspiration.

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A partial reception history of Traditio apostolica

One of the questions I would ask of those who take a “Bradshavian” view of the development of Traditio apostolica, namely that it is the result of a series of fourth-century accretions, is how it is that so much of it is extant in other fourth-century documents, namely Testamentum Domini, Canones Hippolyti and the eighth book of Apostolic constitutions. My argument, in essence, is that the book must have been substantially complete before being reworked in these various dependent documents.

However, I confess that this does not have the force that it had when first I rehearsed it in my response to Paul Bradshaw in 2004. At the time I suggested that the proponents of the accretional view also had to explain how it came to be substantially complete in three different places at the same time, namely Syria (Testamentum Domini), Egypt (Canones Hippolyti) and Antioch (Apostolic constitutions), these being the provenances conventionally ascribed to each of these documents. However, my subsequent work, in which I have argued that Testamentum Domini and Canones Hippolyti are Asian, from somewhere in between Constantinople and Antioch, and from around the third quarter of the fourth century (thus close in time and provenance to Apostolic Constitutions), means that it is quite possible that the same recension of Traditio apostolica was extant and circulating in fourth-century Asia, probably in the second half of the century, and was reworked to produce these three derivatives. This in turn means that those who deny the third-century and Roman provenance of the final redaction of Traditio apostolica might be able to suggest a redaction in this region, in the first half or so of the fourth century.

I don’t think so, for a host of reasons, but must admit that, by virtue of being simpler, this is a more tenable position than that presented in the Bradshaw/Johnson/Phillips commentary which I criticized back in 2004.

It is, in any event, an interesting observation on the reception history of Traditio apostolica.

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The reception history of the Didascalia

Sarah Whitear, in a comment below, asks about the reception history of the Didascalia. She asks, “Other than Apostolic Constitutions, are there any later Christian texts which comment or use the DA?” I thought it worth turning an answer into a post, though I should acknowledge that what follows is mostly taken straight from F.X. Funk, Didascalia et Constitutiones apostolorum II (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1905), 3-14.

First up is the one I knew without looking it up! Epiphanius, in his chapter on the Audians (Haer. 70) refers to the Audians’ use of the Didascalia to justify their Quartodeciman practice. The text is called τῶν ἀποστόλων διάταξις; I conclude in my treatment, following many of the learned, that this is indeed the extant Didascalia. Things are slightly confused, however, by a statement elsewhere in the Panarion in which, discussing the “Aerians”, in which Epiphanius states: “If, indeed, I need to speak of the Ordinance of the Apostles (τῆς διατάξεως τῶν ἀποστόλων), they plainly decreed there that Wednesdays and Fridays be fasts at all times except Pentecost and directed that nothing at all be eaten on the six days of the Passover except bread, salt and water; and which day to keep, and that we break our fast on the night before the Lord’s Day. (Epiphanius Haer. 55.6.1). The mention of Wednesdays and Fridays is not derived from the Didascalia; it is not derived from the Didache either (as the Didache does not except the Pentecost), and nor is it Apostolic Constitutions 7. Most puzzling. Unless Epiphanius is quoting from faulty memory.

Finally we may note that in Haer. 45.4.5 Epiphanius states: καὶ οἱ ἀπόστολοί φασιν ἐν τῇ διατάξει τῇ καλουμένῃ ὅτι «φυτεία θεοῦ καὶ ἀμπελὼν ἡ καθολικὴ ἐκκλησία». This may either be the Didascalia or the Constitutiones, though I’m inclined to think it the Didascalia.

In conclusion, I think we can take it that Epiphanius had some knowledge of the Didascalia, and that the Audians did likewise.

We may next turn to a Coptic version of Athanasius’ Paschal letter, edited by Carl Schmidt, “Der Osterfestbrief des Athanasius vom J. 367” Nachrichten von der königlichen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen. Philologisch-historische Klasse 1898 (Göttingen: Horstmann, 1898), 167-203. Where the Greek text refers to the Didache, the Coptic refers to ⲧⲇⲓⲥⲕⲁⲗⲓⲕⲏ ⲛ̄ⲛⲁⲡⲟⲥⲧⲟⲗⲟⲥ and adds, “I do not mean that which is said to censure Deuteronomy”. Schmidt suggests that the translator does not know the Didache at all, but has some knowledge of the Didascalia and was therefore confused. This seems entirely reasonable. We may add that the existence of a (lost, apart from a tiny fragment) Coptic translation of the Didascalia would point to some circulation in Egypt.

There are a number of citations of the Didascalia in the Opus imperfectum in Matthaeum, cited in detail by Funk, though I deal with these rather briefly. There is no doubt that the Didascalia is cited here, but given our total lack of knowledge about the origin of this work, it does not assist us much with tracing a reception history. Perhaps somebody with greater knowledge of the Opus imperfectum could jump in here and assist.

Finally we may note, with Funk, some citations of the Didascalia in Bar-Hebraeus, in his Nomocanon, and in his Ethicon. No surprise here.

R.H. Connolly (Didascalia apostolorum (Oxford: Clarendon, 1929), lxxxiv-lxxxvii) discusses Funk’s work and ventures to suggest that the Didascalia was also known to Aphraahat. As discussed in a recent post, there is certainly a large overlap at significant points between the two, though I would tend to consider this the result of a common cultural and theological milieu, rather than looking for direct influence in one direction or another. In part this comes about because I have dated the Didascalia rather later than Connolly.

Connolly also believes that the ps-Clementines made use of the Didascalia (again, I think this unlikely due to the dating of the Didascalia to the fourth century, though, again, perhaps this could be explored further), and finally suggests that the Apostolic Church Order and Canones Hippolyti knew the work.

I have discussed the relationship between Apostolic Church Order and the Didascalia in my edition, where I suggest that the two do share a common source. I leave the discussion there.

Turning to the Canones Hippolyti Connolly reckons three points of derivation. I do not think any of them can be sustained.

Firstly he points to the gathering of the apostles in the first chapter. However, the Canones do not refer to the apostles; the reference is certainly to a council of some sort, but it could equally well be Nicaea.

He further refers to the paschal provisions of Canones Hippolyti in canon 22. “Every point emphasized here is to be found in chapter xxi of the Didascalia” he states. I deal with these parallels in pp24-27 of my edition of Canones Hippolyti and conclude that they do not point to literary dependence, but to a common paschal practice, rooted, we may add, in the Quartodeciman origins of the communities which produced these documents. This in turn was part of the basis for my argument that the Canones are not Egyptian.

The final parallel to which he points had me stumped for a while. He refers to Canon 22 and to a provision that women being baptized should be assisted by other women in removing their clothing before baptism which is, he suggests, reminiscent of the role of women deacons in the Didascalia. His source is the edition of Hans Achelis, Die ältesten Quellen des orientalischen Kirchenrechts 1: die Canones Hippolyti (TU 6.4; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1891), who had in turn lifted a Latin translation from D.B. von Haneberg, Canones S Hippolyti Arabice e codicibus Romanis cum versione latina, annotationibus et prolegomenis (Munich: Academia Boica, 1870). Sure enough I do find this in Haneberg’s Latin, but the puzzle is that there is nothing corresponding to it in the Arabic text! How it got there I know not, but on this occasion it has misled Connolly significantly

In summary, the reception history is thin. But the enquiry has been interesting.

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Sex and menstruation in the Didascalia

An interesting conversation today with Sarah Whitear, a graduate student at Leuven who is working on attitudes to menstruation in early Christian circles.

We discussed the passage of the Gnomai regarding Mary’s amenorrhoea (6.1, stating that due to her purity (ἁγνεία) “the way of women was not with her.”) Since editing the text (I referred to Soranus Gyn. 1.4.19-23 in which he suggests that particularly active women (such as those preparing for singing contests) do not menstruate because there is no excess nutrition which needs to be diverted into menses) I have thought further about this; my medical knowledge is limited, but I understand that secondary amenorrhoea may result from malnutrition and in particular protein deficiency. One therefore wonders, given the extremity of asceticism undergone in some circles, whether such secondary amenorrhoea was actually common among female ascetics, and the description of Mary thus typical of female ascetics known to the redactor. We also compared this statement to that of the Protoevangelium Jacobi in which Mary is removed from the temple prior to beginning menstruation.

However, the greater part of our conversation was taken up with an intriguing passage in the Didascalia: I translated, back in the day as “Therefore you should not go to your wives when they are undergoing natural flux, but hold to them…” (DA 6.22.6)

My version was fundamentally based on the Latin: Nolite convenire illis sed sustinete eas.

On this I wrote:

‘You should not go to’ is absent in Syr. which reads instead ‘And when they (your wives) are in their natural flux you should hold to them (ܢܩܦܝܢ) in the manner which is right…’ Flemming in Achelis and Flemming (1904), 223, suggests some accidental omission on the part of the Syriac translator and Vööbus (1979b), 244, similarly opines that Lat. is closer to the original and that accidental omission has occurred. However, although the suggestion of Flemming and Vööbus is followed here there is much to be said for Connolly’s assertion (1929), 255, that Syr. is ‘more in the spirit of the author’. Although CA tends to support Lat. there is little verbal correspondence, thus supporting Connolly’s suggestion that Lat. and CA are independent ‘improvements’ of the original.

I remember puzzling over this when I was translating all those years ago, so was glad to be called back to it. In general I think my footnote is fair, though perhaps I give too much air-time to Connolly. What I did not write at the time, but may now say, as I said to Ms Whitear, is that Connolly probably didn’t know what he was talking about, since he was a monk! Ms Whitear, very perceptively, pointed out that we should probably not take CA into account, as it really goes off piste here. I am convinced, having re-examined the passage. And so we are left with Latin and Syriac with no help from CA which has “improved” the original so as to obliterate it entirely.

My common sense reading of Latin is that men are being told to be good and understanding husbands while their wives are having periods, and not to attempt to have sex with them. Ms Whitear said that this was what she was thinking, so we were in fundamental agreement. The combination of common sense and the witness of the Latin indicates that this is probably the correct understanding.

The Syriac is less common-sensical, particularly if it is telling husbands to have sex with their wives while they are menstruating. However, Ms Whitear, very properly, pointed out that whereas Connolly, and many since, have taken ܢܩܦܝܢ to mean sexual congress this is by no means the most obvious meaning for the verb. We thus spent some time wondering what Greek Vorlage might have led to ܢܩܦܝܢ in Syriac and sustenere in Latin. One candidate was ἀντιλαμβάνεσθαι. This remains possible, as does (I now think) ὑπολαμβάνεσθαι. In other words we discounted the first part of the phrase, (nolite convenire in Latin) assuming it to have been omitted by the Syriac through some form of corruption.

Since then it has dawned on me, since the Syriac is probably corrupt (or taken from a corrupt Greek text), that ܢܩܦܝܢ might actually represent the word rendered in Latin as convenire. This might be συνεῖναι, which might indeed have a sexual connotation (though not exclusively so).

Here we enter the muddy waters of retroversion. If the Vorlage began: οὔκ οῦν δεῖ ὑμῖν συνεῖναι ταῖς γυναιξὶ ὑμῶν… it might have been corrupted to, or misread as, οὐκοῦν δεῖ ὑμῖν συνεῖναι ταῖς γυναιξὶ ὑμῶν… The phrase rendered as “sed sustinete eas” is missing, perhaps as a result of earlier misunderstanding.

I am not being dogmatic here. There is some corruption, and the meaning certainly is that men should not have sex with their menstruating wives, and that they should be loving and faithful husbands. The Latin is correct (I do have great confidence in the Verona Latin as an early text and careful, if painfully literal, translation.) Quite how the Syriac ended up as it did I know not. One of the two clauses is absent; the question is that of which.

Comments, corrections, and observations are welcome!

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An apology

Some years ago (2017 to be precise) I had a correspondence with Fr Robert Two Bulls of Minnesota. Fr Bob is a former student. It started with some very perceptive observations from him.


RTB: I have a question that maybe I should know but I am sure you do. Here it is: Are the bread and wine at the Eucharist equal? Or is the bread more important? Many of our clergy colleagues make a show of bread breaking (remembering your GTS Liturgy class, that it’s just breaking bread) and it’s usually the clergy or Bishops who distribute the bread and the lesser folks who share the cup. My take is simple consumption -that bread is eaten first and then washed down with wine and then somewhere in history someone decided to add something more symbolic to it. Thoughts?
ACS: They are surely equal (though I cannot cite authority for this, as Anglicans don’t work that way.) There’s a whole load of stuff at the Council of Trent on this, especially since they decided that the whole of Jesus was present in either, so why, they asked, both, and then had to come up with an answer to their own question.
Now you are right, and I always hated it, when clergy make a huge thing of the fraction. It is, after all, solely practical. No more symbolic than pouring wine out of a bottle (though we could no doubt make something symbolic out of that.)
And you are right that we entrust the chalice to all sorts, but keep hold of the host. When, to make the point, I have asked laypeople to administer the host while I take the chalice they never seem comfortable with that; possibly it’s just because it’s unusual, but maybe there’s more going on.
Not sure about bread being washed down with wine, however, simply because, as you may recall, in some rites the wine came first (Didache, possibly Luke.) But it may be some reason as brutally practical as that. Recollect that in many early rites bread and wine were not the only possible eucharistic foods… but always, and perhaps this is critical, always bread. Simply because this was the normal food at every meal without fail in the Greco-Roman world.
Now if you remember the way my mind works, when it does, you will see that this poses thoughts about inculturation. What about societies which never used wine? Or bread come to that? Why are these (Mediterranean) foods so privileged?
Of course part of the answer is the privileging of the Last Supper narrative as the origin of the eucharist, rather than the meals Jesus had with his disciples before and after his resurrection. In particular I suggest the feeding of 5000 (wineless) might be seen as foundational for the eucharist, a meal in which the Kingdom of God is shown and made present.)

Now the post is headed “an apology”. The reason for this is that, thinking about the date, I realize that it was about then that I had the thoughts which led to my Oxford paper “ἄριστον μὲν ὕδωρ: ancient breakfasts and the development of eucharistic foods” subsequently published in JTS and now incorporated into the first chapter of my forthcoming book. I strongly suspect that it was the ball that Fr Bob passed to me that I picked up and with which I ran. I have failed, however, to acknowledge that, but seek to make good that omission now.
For those unfamiliar with the work, the article suggests that wine was dropped from the eucharist in some quarters because it (the eucharist) was transferred to the morning. Wine is not a morning drink or a breakfast food! In my forthcoming book I argue that the wine usually preceded the bread, and that it only came to follow because people thought they were doing what Jesus did at the last supper, and that the last supper was distinct because it was a Passover rite (and therefore annual.) Not quite what Fr Robert was suggesting, but along those lines and quite possibly inspired by his questions. I’m thinking that I might go further and suggest that the wine functioned distinctly when it preceded the bread, perhaps to sanctify the time to be with Jesus, who came in the bread.
Not that we have the authority to mess with the liturgy; I am also aware that in ministry to the dying I have sometimes given viaticum with a pipette in the species of the Precious Blood. This practice, however, is the result of development, and the phenomena to which Fr Bob draws attention perhaps indicate that there is a sort of genetic memory of when things were different.
Thank-you Fr Robert Two Bulls. And every blessing on your amazing ministry.

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Coming soon!

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by | February 17, 2023 · 10:12 pm

The origin of the baptismal formula

I am happy to announce the publication of my article “The Baptismal Formula: a Search For Origins” in Ecclesia Orans 39 (2022), 391-414.

Abstract:
The origins of the baptismal formula found in fourth century eastern baptismal rites are explored. It is suggested that the formula originates as early as the first century in a syntactic dialogue between the candidate and the baptizer. The prayer of the candidate is subsequently transferred to the baptizer and, because it originated as a calling out by the candidate, is known as an epiklesis. The recognition that “epiklesis” in the third and fourth centuries may refer to the formula clarifies a number of aspects of the development of the baptismal rite.

Sommario:
Vengono esplorate le origini della formula battesimale presente nei riti battesimali orientali del IV secolo. Si suggerisce che la formula abbia origine già nel I secolo in un dialogo sintattico tra il candidato e il battezzatore. La preghiera del candidato viene successivamente trasferita al battezzatore e, poiché ha origine da un’invocazione da parte del candidato, è nota come epiklesis. Il riconoscimento che “epiklesis” nel III e IV secolo possa riferirsi alla formula chiarisce una serie di aspetti dello sviluppo del rito battesimale.

Canones Hippolyti, naturally enough, provide some evidence for the argument, as indeed does Traditio apostolica. There is some mention of Constitutiones apostolorum and a citation of the Didascalia, so we can say that this really is relevant to the blog! Towards the end I also suggest a solution to the issue of whether Didache 7.1 represents a baptismal formula.

Offprints may be supplied through the usual channels.

Disclaimer: I have no comment on goings-on in Detroit and Phoenix, or on the response from the Congregation.

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Music to my ears!

Forthcoming in Vigiliae Christianae, and available as advance publication on the Brill website, is Alex Fogleman, “The Apologetics of Mystery: The Traditio apostolica and Appeals to Pythagorean Initiation in Josephus and Iamblichus”

Abstract:
While the Traditio apostolica ascribed to Hippolytus has primarily been the focus of studies about authorship and dating, this unique work also has much to suggest about rhetorical presentations of catechesis in the early Christian era. Comparing the TA to Josephus’s account of the Essenes in the Judean War and Iamblichus’s account of Pythagorean initiation in De vita Pythagorica, this essay argues that the TA’s presentation of catechesis can be read as constitutive of a quasi-apologetic defense of the Hippolytan “school” during the transitional period from school Christianity to monepiscopacy during the second century. Deploying similar Pythagorean imagery to describe the process of initiation, the author/editor of the TA makes a case for the Hippolytan school as offering a true philosophical way of life.

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Oh deer! Some rambling thoughts on Christian animal sacrifice

In a conversation about something else Euthymios Rizos drew my attention to a Vita of St Athenogenes. I have now had the opportunity to read this in the edition of Pierre Maraval, La Passion inédite de S. Athénogène de Pédachthoé en Cappadoce (BHG 197b) (Brussels: Bollandistes, 1990).

What struck me most was the account of Athenogenes’ meeting a deer which he had raised; the saint promises that the deer will not be taken by hunters, but that its offspring will be offered to the glory of God each year. Subsequently we hear that a fawn is presented by its mother each year for sacrifice and consumption at the feast of the martyrs.

However, perhaps I should not be surprised; for all that we hear constantly of the cessation of animal sacrifice in Christianity (early Christians, as well as wearing open-toed sandals, being vegetarians and perhaps, UK readers will suspect, Guardian readers) the practice continued, particularly in Armenia, and continues still (see here for instance.) The surprise is that (as Andrew McGowan pointed out to me) the sacrifice should be of a deer, generally a wild animal. Canons attributed to Basil prohibit the offering of a hunted animal (see on these Fred C. Conybeare, “The Survival of Animal Sacrifices inside the Christian Church” American Journal of Theology 7 (1903), 62-90, at 79-80). But perhaps the point is that the deer on this occasion is not hunted, but is willingly offered by itself (thus I am unsure of the connection to a sacred hunt made by Franz Cumont, “L’ archevêché de Pédachtoé et le sacrifice du faon” Byzantion 6 (1931), 521-533.) However, we may also note that deer were reportedly offered by Justinian at the dedication of Hagia Sophia (at least according to a later account, on which see Kateryna Kovalchuk, “The Encaenia of St Sophia: Animal Sacrifice in a Christian Context” Scrinium 4 (2008), 161-203.)

Apart from being told that animal sacrifice was abandoned by Christians we are also frequently told that the eucharist, by becoming ritualized and by delivering food in token amounts, has lost its significance, and that it should once again take on the aspect of a meal. I do not cite extensively here, as the theme is surely familiar to all my readers, though I cannot resist referring to one contribution which suggests that, in rejection of the industrial meat-economy, the eucharist should be rediscovered as a “real vegetarian meal, and not just a token meal.” (Michael S. Northcott, “Eucharistic eating, and why many early Christians preferred fish” in Rachel Muers and David Grummet (ed.), Eating and believing: interdisciplinary perspectives on vegetarianism and theology (London: T & T Clark, 2008), 232-246, here at 243-244.) This essay exhibits such an astounding level of ignorance regarding both the early Christian eucharist and the pastoral reality of parishes that it comes as no surprise to learn that the contributor is a professor of practical theology.

In the spirit of “restoring” the meal-aspect to the eucharist I wonder whether I might start slaughtering animals at the church door during our parish mass; such has been considered seriously elsewhere (see here and here) but I think I will leave this to the Armenians (and to other cultures still familiar with acts of slaughtering) and allow the meal-logic which is already implicit in the mass we celebrate to speak for itself. This, after all, is why we keep a eucharistic fast, as Traditio apostolica 36 already reminds us. In its original context this provision intended that the eucharistic food should be consumed first in the meal; but who would eat a meal before going for a meal?

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Aphrahat and the Didascalia on the secondary legislation

I have just read Sergey Minov, “Food and social boundaries in late antique Syria-Mesopotamia. Syriac Christians and Jewish dietary laws and alimentary practices” Antiquité Tardive 27 (2020), 69-82.

Abstract: Le propos principal de cet article concerne les différentes façons dont le discours touchant le domaine alimentaire a été utilisé par les chrétiens syriaques pendant l’Antiquité tardive pour parvenir à construire une identité collective distincte, indépendante du judaïsme, et établir des frontières sociales avec les Juifs. Il examine comment les règles alimentaires bibliques ont été réinterprétées par les exégètes syriaques, comme Aphrahat (IVe siècle) et Jacques de Sarough (VIe siècle), qui se sont efforcés de montrer le caractère inadapté des prescriptions pour les chrétiens. Il examine également la façon dont les hymnes comme les Canons prescrivaient d’éviter les repas entre chrétiens et juifs. Enfin, il aborde la question complexe du rapport entre ce discours discursif du christianisme indépendant des juifs et du judaïsme et la réalité sociale non moins complexe de la Syro-Mésopotamie tardoantique.

Beyond its intrinsic interest, the reason for mentioning it here is Minov’s observation that Aphraahat employs the same distinction between the still binding decalogue and the “secondary legislation” that is found in the Didascalia, and indeed links this to the making of the golden calf. This tends to place the “deuterotic redactor”, rather as I suspected, somewhere early in the fourth century, and in east Syria.

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On the origin of votive lights

A while back I had a correspondence regarding votive lamps in early Christian churches.

This started with an enquiry regarding a text in II Enoch 45: “If anyone makes lamps numerous in front of the face of the Lord, then the Lord will make his treasure stores numerous in the highest Kingdom.”

I couldn’t shed a lot of light on this text, but more generally I observed that whereas lights are brought in for any Graeco-Roman meal lasting into the hours of darkness, thinking of Traditio apostolica and of Tertullian Apol. 39 inter alia, the burning of a perpetual light is something different.

I was able to cite a few texts; Tertullian (Apol. 35) didn’t think much of burning lamps during the day, and the same attitude persists in the Synod of Elvira c34 forbidding burning candles in cemeteries during the day: Cereos per diem placuit in coemeterio non incendi, inquietandi enim sanctorum spiritus non sunt. Qui haec non observaverint arceantur ab ecclesiae communione. Whereas this applies to cemeteries, and not churches, it does tell us that lights were burnt in cemeteries. This may relate to burial at night, (note that in the Acta of Cyprian the body is borne to the cemetery by the light of candles and torches) but may also indicate that lights were kept lit in the cemeteries beyond the time of burial and that burial might be accompanied by lights even during the day. The accompaniment of candles to the grave of Macrina (Greg. Naz. Vit. Macr. 994C) is less obviously taking place at night.

Things are much clearer towards the end of the fourth century. Paulinus refers to lights burning night and day (De S. Felice natal. 3) (PL61.467), and there is dispute between Jerome and Vigilantius (Jerome adv. Vigilantium) in part over the very issue of burning lamps in the martyria. This leads me to suspect that the votive lamp in churches originated in the martyria, and that this in turn originated from the custom of burning lights in the cemeteries. Dix (Shape of the liturgy, 419) states that “perpetually burning lights at the martyrs’ tombs are found before the end of the fourth century”, but gives no reference for this (unless he is mindful of Jerome, whom he cites in the following pages.) I would not put much confidence in the report of Anastasius Bibliothecarius that Constantine provided a massive pharum to burn before the tomb of Peter (PL127 1518-19), but it is significant nonetheless that this perpetual light is placed before a martyr’s tomb.

I was reminded of this reading an apocryphal Vita of Herakleidios from (6th century?) Cyprus, where it is said that “The Father Mnason, arriving at the same time as us, prayed a great prayer, and taking oil from the un-extinguished (ἀσβέστου) lamp he put it on the father Heracleides and anointed him entirely (συνήλειψεν αὐτὸν ὅλον.)”

On this F. Halkin, “Les actes apocryphes de Saint Héraclide de Chypre, disciple de l’Apôtre Barnabé” Analecta Bollandiana 82 (1964), 133-170, at 165, comments: “Une lampe á huile qu’on n’éteint jamais, voila une attestation rare, sinon unique, de usage des « veilleuses » ou lampes du sanctuaire. Je ne trouve rien sur cet usage dans le Dictionnaire d’archéologie chrétienne et de liturgie, ni dans le vieux Thesaurus de Suicerus, ni á l’article ἄσβεστος du Patristic Greek Lexicon.” Hopefully this goes some way to filling the void.

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The Stipulatio and the Egyptian baptismal confession

The article discussed in a post below, “The Interrogation in Egyptian Baptismal Rites: a further consideration” Questions Liturgiques 102 (2022), 3-15 has appeared.

Requests for an offprint may be filed in the usual way(s).

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Wandering widows in the Didascalia (and the Talmud)

In making a start on a new project, an article for RAC on widows, I immediately stumbled across this gem:

Our Rabbis have taught: A maiden who gives herself up to prayer, a wandering (שׁוֹבָבִית) widow, and a minor whose months are not completed– these bring destruction upon the world.

TB Sotah 22a

Inevitably this brought to mind:

Thus the widow should know that she is the altar of God, and she should sit constantly at home, not wandering or going to the houses of the faithful to receive, for the altar of God does not wander or go anywhere, but is fixed in a single place. A widow, therefore, should not wander or go from house to house. Those who roam and who have no shame cannot be still even within their own houses.

DA 3.6.3-4

I am not suggesting a literary parallel, but perhaps some common cultural ground.

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Why and when did Antioch adopt post-baptismal anointing?

A puzzling question in liturgical history is the date and reason for the entrée of post-baptismal anointing into the Antiochene rite. The same question may be posed of the Jerusalem rite. A good summary overall of the discussion (with bibliography) may be found in Juliette Day, The baptismal liturgy of Jerusalem: fourth and fifth-century evidence from Palestine, Syria, and Egypt (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 105-131.

I was led to think about this, without coming to any real conclusion, by reading Gregorios Ioannides, “Christian initiation in the Cypriot liturgical sources” in that remarkable collection, about which I have already posted, H. Brakmann et al. (ed.), “Neugeboren aus Wasser und Heiligem Geist”: Kölner Kolloquium zur Initiatio Christiana (Münster: Aschendorff, 2020), 273-332.

Iohannides has reference to an apocryphral vita of Heraclides, which contains a number of accounts of baptism (ed. F. Halkin, “Les actes apocryphes de Saint Héraclide de Chypre, disciple de l’Apôtre Barnabé” Analecta Bollandiana 82 (1964), 133-170.) This is indeed a valuable source for the historian of the baptismal liturgy.

I have one cavil with an otherwise excellent essay. On p279 he states: “Although there was no direct reference to the anointing with holy chrism, it can be considered to be self-evident, and to have followed right after the triple baptism in the water.” In the light of the absence of such anointing from the Antiochene rite at the time of Chrysostom I don’t think this is self-evident. He goes on: “In the case of the sailor’s baptism … indirect reference was made to the occurrence of the Holy Spirit after the baptism in the water.” In support of this assertion he cites the text thus: τῆς τοῦ Χριστοῦ σωτηρίας ἡμᾶς καταξίωσον καῖ δούλους ἡμᾶς καταξιωθῆναι αὐτοῦ (=through baptism) ποίησον καὶ πνεύματος ἁγίου ἡμᾶς ἔμπλησον (= through chrismation) ἵνα εἴμεθα σύν σοί. I do not think that the text here can stand the interpretation put onto it, given the absence in the other accounts of any post-baptismal anointing. Indeed at p291 he notes architectural changes brought about in a baptistery, commenting, “The initial architecture of the main place for pre-baptismal rites and the »chrismarion« without the apse most likely reflect the Antiochian liturgical order of the bishop anointing the candidates with holy chrism not after but rather prior to the baptism in the baptismal font.” In other words, the Cypriot church followed the Antiochene pattern, and continued to do so after Antioch had adopted post-baptismal chrismation.

It is this which leads me to ponder again on the initial question. I might have hoped that the identification of Canones Hippolyti as reflecting Antiochene, rather than Egyptian, liturgy would offer some clarification, though sadly this text does not. Although there is some confusion the post-baptismal rites follow the pattern of Traditio apostolica.

Is it even possible that the influence of Traditio apostolica, or some version thereof, led to the Antiochene and Hagiopolite adoption of post-baptismal anointing? Juliette Day does canvass this suggestion, (Baptismal liturgy, 138) but does not follow through on it. Nor will I, or at least not on this occasion!

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The Alexandrian baptismal formula

For some years I have been pondering the history of the baptismal formula, and an article on the subject is forthcoming in Ecclesia orans, possibly this year. The abstract follows:

The origins of the baptismal formula found in fourth century eastern baptismal rites are explored. It is suggested that the formula originates as early as the first century in a syntactic dialogue between the candidate and the baptizer. The prayer of the candidate is subsequently transferred to the baptizer and, because it originated as a calling out by the candidate, is known as an epiklesis. The recognition that “epiklesis” in the third and fourth centuries may refer to the formula clarifies a number of aspects of the development of the baptismal rite.

What the abstract does not say (though I recollect that the article does) is that the active formula and the passive formula in eastern circles derive from the same original dialogue.

The reason for mentioning this is that I have just been reading Heinzgerd Brakmann, “ⲃⲁⲡⲧⲓⲥⲙⲁ ⲁⲓⲛⲉⲥⲉⲱⲥ: Ordines und Orationen kirchlicher Eingliederung in Alexandrien und Ägypten” in H. Brakmann et al. (ed.), “Neugeboren aus Wasser und Heiligem Geist”: Kölner Kolloquium zur Initiatio Christiana (Münster: Aschendorff, 2020), 85-196.

As one might expect this is a remarkable and detailed treatment of a vast amount of literature. However, I find one cause to question Brakmann. On p113 he observes the use of an active baptismal formula (“I baptize…”) in the Alexandrian literature, and observes its distinction from the passive use of other eastern churches (“The servant of God, N, is baptized…”), and its common ground with the Roman church. He deduces from this some Roman influence on Alexandria.

I do not think that this can be sustained. Critical in this is, of course, the evidence of Canones Hippolyti, in which an active formula is found, awkwardly combined with a baptismal interrogation derived from Traditio apostolica. Historically, and on the assumption that the Canones are Egyptian, this has been taken as (further) evidence for the active formula in Alexandria, though if I am right and the Canones are Antiochene or Cappadocian, then this indicates that the active and passive formulae are found alongside each other in Antioch in the fourth century (which is not unreasonable, as Chrysostom criticizes the active formula, which he would hardly do if such a formula were unknown to him.)

The active formula in Alexandria derives, I suggest, from the original syntactic dialogue taking place at baptism, in the same way that the now common (in the east) passive formula did. I do not think that there is a link to Roman practice. Indeed I do not think that the use of the formula in the west is ancient, but rather agree with E.C. Whitaker “The history of the baptismal formula” JEH 16 (1965), 1-12, that this came about due to growth in numbers being baptized, and the fact that the majority of candidates were infants.

More generally I have always been slightly sceptical about the often-heard assertions of a link between Roman and Alexandrian liturgical practice. The suggestion of a link on the basis of a common (but, I think, unrelated) active baptismal formula gives me no cause to abandon such scepticism.

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New priest is but old presbyter writ large?

A recent conversation about when presbyters began to exercise liturgical functions (and I’m still none the wiser, though the significant point is that we should not assume that somebody called a presbyter in the first four centuries or so did so, unless there is evidence of other presbyters doing so in the same place at the same time), and in turn the point at which we should render “presbyter” as “priest” (with reference to M.R. James’ rendering of πρεσβῦτις as “priestess” in the Martyrium Matthaei) brought back memories of Fr Bown’s campaign against “priestesses” in the Church of England (I am showing my age), but also to the happier recollection of the delightful poem of Fr Forrest. Those unfamiliar with the name of Stanley Forrest will hopefully be encouraged to seek further.

I long to be a Presbyter,
A Presbyter or Priest,
And grow an elder’s whiskers,
Like the Esbyter or East,
A yard in length at lesbyter,
I mean, of course, at least.
I’m sure that they would operate
Like yesbyter or yeast,
And flocks would be incresbyter,
Tremendously increased,
At every major festival,
Each fesbyter or feast.
And though I’d look a besbyter,
I’d be a kindly besbyter,
A gentle and adorable
Apocalyptic Beast.
SJ Forrest, (1955)

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Ancient church orders at NAPS 2022

Only one church order paper at the upcoming meeting of NAPS in Chicago, but it’s a good one! Here, with thanks to the author, is the abstract of what sounds like a fascinating paper.

Christological Titles in the Prayer-Texts of the Apostolic Tradition
PAUL F. BRADSHAW

Abstract
Prayer-texts form a distinctive category of material within ancient Christian literature, not least because of their tendency to retain styles and vocabulary that have become archaic or even obsolete in other forms of discourse. Following the now established conclusion that the anonymous ancient church order known as the Apostolic Tradition is not a third-century work by a certain Hippolytus but a piece of “living literature” that gradually developed between the second and fourth centuries, this paper examines the use of the designation “your servant Jesus Christ” in its prayers in comparison with the same expression in other sources. While the phrase tended to be superseded by other more Christologically advanced titles in those sources in the course of the second century, it was still preserved alongside them in certain doxological formulae down to at least the fourth century, especially in Egyptian prayers. In contrast to these, however, in the Apostolic Tradition this primitive epithet is not confined to doxologies and usually appears without other titles for Christ in prayers. This suggests that any exceptions have been subjected to later interpolations, and that the substance of the whole prayers is genuinely extremely old.

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Ramelli on presbytides

I recently reviewed Joan Taylor and Ilaria Ramelli, Patterns of Women’s Leadership in Early Christianity, for Reading Religion.

Ilaria Ramelli has responded on Researchgate.

I have tried to contact her, to clear what follows with her. I understand she has been gravely ill of late and is in poor health, and so is probably not circumstanced to respond. I am therefore posting this response with an apology that I have not done so with her consent and foreknowledge. However, I do feel that Ramelli’s response to my review requires a response in return.

I really don’t have an ecclesial dog in this fight, but do believe, as I have stated previously elsewhere, that historians need to be very careful when the history we write might affect our present ecclesial realities, and church leaders (in whatever guise they may be) need to be careful in listening to us historians (that is to say, they should listen to us, but listen with a hermeneutic of suspicion!) Moreover, I have always studiously stepped back from engaging in discussions in other parts of the catholic church than my own whilst seeking to provide such historical guidance as I can.

Ramelli offers some clarifications of her statements where she suggests I have misunderstood her; the context, as may be seen from the review, was that I made some minor criticisms of some statements, particularly in her own essay, suggesting that some further nuancing was necessary. I was brief because, in a review, I did not want to become sidetracked or turn it into something other than a review of a book!

My suggestion of nuancing was made with regard to two issues.

Firstly that we should be wary of assuming that “presbyter” and its female form necessarily refers to an order of ministry like bishop and deacon. Even in the fourth century, in some communities, such as that of Testamentum Domini, I suspect that this was not the case. Hence my questioning of Bill Tabbernee’s use of the term “presbyteral” to describe the eucharistic activity of the prophet reported by Firmilian; I would have suggested that she was acting episcopally.

My second concern is to note that the eucharistic meal had developed considerably between the first and fourth centuries; I have a book in the final stages of preparation on precisely this subject, and suggest that the movement was from a variety of meals, which are generically eucharistic, to a single meal, “the” Eucharist. Thus, for instance, whereas I appreciated Teresa Berger’s suggestion that the virgins’ meal in ps-Athanasius Virg. was eucharistic in a domestic setting, my suspicion is that it had once been so, but by the time ps-Athanasius wrote it was no longer so, but had become something else, since what might have been recognizable as eucharistic in a broad sense in an earlier period is not eucharistic in a fourth-century context, as “eucharist” has by now a narrower definition. To give another example: on p32 of Ramelli’s essay she notes that Prisca is mentioned before Aquila and goes on to say: “This suggests that Prisca, not Aquila, was the leading member, and key host, who can be considered to have presided over a house church and to have celebrated the Eucharist there.” Certainly it is plausible that Prisca was the host, but to use the language of eucharistic celebration to describe what happens in the first century is, I believe, to impose a greater degree of liturgical order on the household gatherings of the earliest generation than they actually possessed and to paint a rather anachronistic picture of what a eucharistic gathering in this period might have looked like.

In this light I turn to what she says about Origen and presbytides. She states, correctly, that Origen both in the catena to I Cor. and in the Comm. in Joh. proposes that women might teach other women. My objection, however, is not to this but to the equation of presbyteroi as an office and presbytides. My point was that, in the fourth century, we have presbytides (Conc. Laodic.) who have particular seats and status in church, but that these are not the same as female presbyters. I think they are like the widows in Testamentum Domini who are certainly the female equivalent of the (male) presbyters, but that the male presbyters in this community, whilst ordained (as are the widows) are actually aged male ascetics rather than people holding ecclesiastical ministerial office as we would understand it. These widows teach younger women; I think that is exactly the picture Origen also gives us, but this in no way makes them female presbyters. Indeed, in Comm. in Joh. 32.132 I do not even think that Origen is referring to male presbyteroi as an office.

In this context I was surprised to read of presbytides in the Didascalia and even to hear that they were female presbyters (55-56). Where in the Didascalia? The only presbytides (assuming that the retroversion from Latin aniculas is correct, and I think I more likely that it is presbuteras, on the basis of Apostolic Constitutions) are those who are fed charitably (DA 2.28). In sum, I think there is some confusion here.

Ramelli also states, with further reference to my review:

On p. 45 I do not “conflate” the Eucharistic bread with other Eucharistic meals. Rather, after pointing to Theosebia, called by Nazianzen homotimos of a hiereus (“having the same dignity” as a presbyter and bishop, her brother Gregory) and involved in the Eucharistic celebration, I adduce a passage in Gregory Nyssen’s Life of Macrina in which Macrina herself is said to “lend her hands in service to the liturgies” and then “prepare bread with her own hands” for her mother, but I do not conflate the two: Gregory’s emphasis lies on the same hands which prepared the bread, in humility and service (a cypher of Macrina’s lifestyle:) and were used at the Eucharistic liturgy. What I say, based on Gregory, is that Macrina “used her hands to celebrate the Liturgy” (p. 45), not that the bread she prepared for her mother was Eucharistic in any sense.

Here I apologize if there is some misunderstanding; however, my objection was to her acceptance of Teresa Berger’s interpretation of the ps-Athanasian meal as though it were fact (as I suggest above, I think it supposition, albeit interesting supposition) and the subsequent conflation with the liturgical activity of Theosebia. I am sorry if this was unclear.

And again, I do not think that Theosebia was a presbyter, in the sense of holding an order of ministry. And so the two concerns mentioned above converge. She may have been homotimos with a hiereus, but this does not mean that she was one (and, in any case, a hiereus is a bishop rather than a presbyter…) Again I think her status was comparable to that of the widows of Testamentum Domini, as was the nature of her liturgical participation. I do not follow the point here in as much detail, because I think that the fundamental point, that we should see these statements in the light of contemporary Asian evidence, such as Testamentum Domini and the canons of Laodicea, has been made already.

What Ramelli does present is a “gender divided” participation of women and men in the eucharistic liturgy in fourth century Cappadocia and elsewhere. I think we get some picture of this from Testamentum Domini, where the widows have a place by the altar comparable to that of the presbyters, and I suspect that this is what brings about the reworking of an older polemic by the redactor of Apostolic Church order. Thus fleshing out of the picture we may derive from these “church orders” is the contribution that Ramelli, Joan Taylor, and indeed others in this volume have made; this is a substantial contribution.

As I state in my review, this volume of essays sets the standard for discussion. But I also say that it is clearly not the last word on the material they discuss.

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Just fancy that (2)!!!

“Stewart’s use of the current Coptic rite of baptism as the key for interpreting the earlier Egyptian sources… is problematic methodologically…. to read the sources from the interpretative lens of the current Coptic rite results in an anachronistic reading of those sources.” Maxwell E. Johnson, “Interrogatory creedal formulae in early Egyptian baptismal rites: a reassessment of the evidence” QL 101 (2021) 75-93, at 92-93.

“Two prayers following renunciation and profession occur precisely at this point in the Coptic order of Baptism… that this prayer follows both the renunciation and profession, as in the Coptic rite, may be suggested… ” Maxwell E. Johnson, The prayers of Sarapion of Thmuis: a literary, liturgical and theological analysis (OCA 249; Rome: PIO, 1995), 131.

Within the Coptic Order of Baptism, however, a brief prayer for the regeneration of the one who be baptized is also offered by the priest upon entrance into the baptistery… Sarapion’s Prayer 10 certainly may be read as corresponding to this…” Johnson, Prayers, 135.

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Just fancy that!

Recently appeared is John S. Kloppenborg, “The Didache and the Apostolic Constitutions in the context of association rules” in Joseph Verheyden et al, Texts in contexts: essays on dating and contextualising Christian writings from the second and early third centuries (Leuven: Peeters, 2021).

In essence Kloppenborg argues: “The comparison of the Didache with the bylaws of Greek, Roman, and Judaean associations indicates many commonalities, but some distinctive features as well. It is unexceptional that the Didache’s regulations treated entrance and initiation, the vetting of those who wished to join or interact with the group, meal practices, the general behaviour that should be expected of members, and a keen interest in not falling prey to financial fraud. The selection of leaders – that is, the ἐπίσκοποι – is also unexceptional.”

Cf. “We may thus suggest that if an ancient hearer were to hear a document setting out the conditions for admission to a religious association, describing the means of entry, regulating the manner in which meals are to be conducted, and appointing officers, such an ancient reader would readily recognize an associational lex.” Alistair C. Stewart, “The Didache as an associational lex: re-opening the question of the genre(s) of the church orders” JbAC 62 (2019), 29-49.

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An Antiochene version of the “eucharistic words”

I have just read Kevin Künzl, “The Ignatian eucharist in transition: textual variation as evidence for transformations in meal practice and theology” in Markus Vinzent (ed.), Studia patristica 126 (Leuven: Peeters, 2021), which is perhaps not as exciting as it sounds. Künzl observes the variations between the middle and long recensions of Ignatius in passages relating to meals, in order to demonstrate that the understanding of Eucharist had undergone some change between the second century and the fourth, though he interestingly observes other versional evidence. However, one fascinating observation, which I had overlooked, is the use of the verb θρύπτω in one passage, as opposed to the more usual κλάω.
This passage is in the long recension of Philadelphians 4: the expansion reads, “There is one bread which is broken (ἐθρύφθη) for all, and one cup which is shared with the whole congregation.” Künzl renders ἐθρύφθη as “ground”, which is perhaps overdoing it, but I really feel I should have observed this when I was working on the pseudo-Ignatians, and rendered “broken up”, rather than simply “broken.”
Künzl offers the following interesting parallels to the use of this word:
Constitutiones Apostolorum 8.12.36: …καὶ κλάσας ἔδωκεν τοῖς μαθηταῖς εἰπών· Τοῦτο τὸ μυστήριον τῆς καινῆς διαθήκης, λάβετε ἐξ αὐτοῦ, φάγετε, τοῦτό ἐστι τὸ σῶμά μου τὸ περὶ πολλὼν θρυπτόμενον εἰς ἄφεσιν ἁμαρτιῶν.
and:
Theodoret, Epistula 145 (PG 83, 1251A): καὶ τὰ θεῖα δὲ παραδοὺς μυστήρια, καὶ τὸ σύμβολον κλάσας καὶ διανείμας, ἐπήγαγε· Τοῦτό μού ἐστι τὸ σῶμα, τὸ ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν θρυπτόμενον εἰς ἄφεσιν ἁμαρτιῶν.
This peculiar version of the words of institution seems to be common Antiochene property. I would not, however, read more into it than that.

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A webinar for John Collins

As John Collins turned 90 the indefatigable Bart Koet organized a webinar honouring his contribution to the study of diakonia. There are contributions from Sven Erik Brodd, Anthony Gooley, Anni Hentschel, Edwina Murphy, Pauliina Pylvänäinen, as well as from Bart Koet himself, and a response from the birthday boy and honoree.

The webinar was recorded and may be seen here.

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Testamentum Domini 1.37

A point of discussion has arisen between myself and Grant White with regard to Testamentum Domini 1.37. Here the translation following Cooper and McLean:

If any woman whatsoever suffer violence from a man, let the deacon accurately investigate if she be faithful and have truly suffered violence; if he who treated her with violence was not her lover. And if she be accurately thus, and if she that suffered mourn about the violence that happened to her, let him take it up to the hearing of the bishop, that she may be shewn to be in all things in communion with the Church. If he who treated her with violence be faithful, let not the deacon bring him into the church for partaking, even if he repent. But if he be a catechumen and repent, let him be baptized and partake.

The key term here is that translated “suffer violence”. The Syriac root is ܩܛܪ.

For White the passage concerns spousal violence. Thus he refers to Norman Russell Underwood, The Professionalization of the Clergy in Late Antiquity (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation. Berkeley: University of California, 2018), 106, who suggests that the deacon is here adopting the role of medical examiner.

In my own version I translated as “suffer compulsion”, and understood this to refer to an allegation of rape, which may prove not to be rape but consensual sex. Thus I understood that the deacon, on establishing that it is not consensual, reports this to the bishop so that no blame attaches to the woman. Then the deacon does not allow the perpetrator into the church, as he is doorkeeper, but the woman, who is a victim and not a fornicator, is permitted to communicate. The deacon’s investigation is not, therefore, the investigation of injuries to the woman but of the circumstances.

This uncertainty was a good enough excuse to pay a visit to Fr Darrell Hannah, and to consult regarding the Ethiopic text. He informs me that the Ethiopic root is ḥyl, which like the Arabic cognate حيل is suitably vague. Alas we are none the wiser as a result, though I did enjoy my trip to Ascot!

One piece of evidence which might offer support to White (and Underwood) is a brief statement of Epiphanius De fide 21.10 in which he states that deaconesses are appointed only to assist women “for modesty’s sake… if there is a need because of baptism or an inspection of their bodies.” The nature and purpose of this investigation is not stated. However, I have a recollection that the bodies of catechumens might be inspected for signs of demonic infestation, which would link in with the role of female deacons in baptism.

Here I have to ask the help of my readers as I cannot remember where I came across this! Can anyone help?

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The disappearing deaconess

A comment on the post below about the disappearing deacon has led me to read Brian Patrick Mitchell, The disappearing deaconess (Alexandra VA: Eremia, 2021).

Although there is some historical material here (some of which is outside the period of my competence), the book is also a contribution to the ongoing debate in Orthodox circles about the restoration of a female diaconate. As a matter of policy I never comment on internal issues relating to another part of Christ’s vineyard (DA1) which restricts me somewhat. Beyond that, Mitchell’s book is largely a work of theology, a field in which I can claim a complete lack of distinction.

I therefore limit myself to a few observations on the first chapter, which is concerned with history. Two points emerge from my reading.

The first is that Mitchell states that the first evidence for female deacons is found in Didascalia apostolorum which derives, he says, from the third century (“around 230”, p11). Sadly he appears to have overlooked more recent work on the Didascalia, which tends to date it somewhat later. As such we cannot be so sure that this is the first evidence. With due recognition of the uncertainties of interpretation of the 19th canon of Nicaea, I still often think that this is the first certain evidence of such an order. However, Mitchell believes that the female diaconate was a new institution in the church of the fourth century. Here I agree, and suggest that a later dating for the Didascalia material might strengthen his case.

My second major observation is that the attempt to deny any female diaconate or office in the first century or so of Christ-confession (pp5-10) misses the mark. In Original bishops I suggest that there may well have been female episkopoi and diakonoi in the first century, but that female leadership rapidly disappears with the re-institutionalization of the church as associational (whilst clinging on in separated communities). To accept this would do no harm to Mitchell’s thesis since, as he states in his preface, “History is not tradition. History becomes tradition only when it is handed down.” (pxi)

The book is a light reworking of a dissertation dating from 2017; it thus inevitable that the treatment of deaconesses in Testamentum Domini does not deal with my own (2020) contribution, though what it has to say (pp16-17) is largely fair. He notes Martimort’s suggestion that the Testamentum knew only of deaconesses from his sources (unlikely I think) and also suggests that there is a reaction against the presence of deaconesses. I don’t think either is correct; I think the Testamentum is just puzzled at this new order and doesn’t really know what to do with them!

I hope that the author and his readers and supporters will take these comments in the constructive spirit with which they are offered.

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A subdeacon’s sex-change

Carolyn Osiek, and Kevin Madigan, Ordained women in the early church: a documentary history (Baltimore MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2011), 70, note an inscription dedicated to “Alexandra, subdeacon.” They comment: “The office of subdeacon is known for men, but is otherwise unknown for women.” This intrigued me sufficiently to check the reference, which is given as BE (1963): 152. Sure enough the name of the subdeacon is given there as “Alexandra”. However, a full reference is given to Georgi Mihailov, “Epigraphica”, Bulletin de l’Institut archéologique bulgare 25 (1962), 205-209, here at 208-209. There Mihailov reads ὑποδιακάνον Ἀλέξαν[δ]ρος. Jeanne and Louis Robert in BE appear to have subjected him to gender re-assignment!

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Euodia and Syntyche again

Richard Fellows draws our attention to an article on Euodia and Syntyche in significant agreement with ours.
I think that wraps that particular matter up nicely! Mind you, we got there first!!!*

*(Actually James C. Watts, “Did Euodia and Syntyche Quarrel?” Methodist New Connexion Magazine and Evangelical Repository 61/3 (1893), 24–29, got there first but his contribution was totally forgotten until Dr Stewart turned it up in the British Library!)

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Krankenpflege and the ministry of deaconesses in the Didascalia

A correspondence with Esko Ryökäs has emerged from the diakonia webinar, which may be of more general interest. It is presented here as a dialogue:

ER: On 9th December, we discussed “taking care of the sick in Didascalia 3,12: “You too have need of the ministry of a deaconess in many things, so that they may go into the homes of pagans, where you may not go, where there are believing women, that they may minister as necessary to those who are sick and bathe those beginning to recover from sickness.”. I think there is the verb ܫܡܫ in the Syriac text. Do you believe that “sitting by” is a possible translation? “Krankenpflege” is possible, but it has a particular meaning in our languages.

ACS: It’s an interesting passage. First up we are certainly talking about the sick (infirmes, ܠܐܝܠܢ).
Latin (an ancient translation) simply has ministrent, which is surely derived from a διακ-·stem in Greek. I have a high opinion of this Latin version, as in general it is extremely literal, and when it is clearly mistaken it is usually possible to see what the error was; for this reason, where possible, I always use this as my base version in reconstructing the lost Greek originals which it renders. Syriac rather confuses the matter by doubling up the statement, “visiting” the sick (a word with the root ܣܥܪ which I would tend to translate with stems from ἐπισκοπ-… this is the word used in Peshitta Luke 1:68 to render ἐπεσκέψατο) and then to minister (ܡܫܡܫܐ) (διακ-) to those in need. I thus think that Krankenpflege is quite a good translation here. I do not think “sitting by” does the word(s) justice. We have episkopē and diakonia. Probably the Greek had a διακ- verb.
Also note the interesting textual variant in some Syriac MSS which have her “anoint”, rather than wash, those who are recovering.

ER: This with anointing is very interesting. It is very logical, too. This could mean that some deaconesses did anointing, which (later, of course) was understood as an mysterion/sacrament.

ACS: And note that this variant reading is found only in MSS of a much later recension of the Didascalia.

ER: I will have to think more about Krankenpflege I am writing on this, and have to be clear about the direction of my argument. What do we know about Krankenpflege in Syriac area during those years (2nd-4th c.). At least they don’t have any vaccinations. Or did they?

ACS: The Didascalia itself describes a number of medical treatments… none of them alas vaccination.
As to what we know of Krankenpflege in the area and period of the production of DA… what can we know unless we know a) the area and b) the period at which this part was produced! I am fairly sure that this is one of the later layers, and would date it to a period around Nicaea. I am also fairly sure that it derives from a more easterly and bilingual area of Syria. Cappadocia and Antioch had organized Krankenpflege, or at least poor relief to which the care of the sick was allied, and the widows in Apostolic church order are charged with this… there’s a lot about this in my book on the Canons of Hippolytus… but further east there seems to be little. Note the story at Sozomen HE 3.16 when Ephrem has to sort out poor relief in Edessa as there is nobody else who can be trusted… and the Krankenpflege ceases when the plague is over.

ER: The role of deaconesses in comparison with that of widows gives rise to a question. Pauliina Pylvänäinen’s book about deaconesses has the title: Agents in Liturgy, Charity and Communication. Could it be that deaconesses were more for liturgy/common celebrations – and the widows more for taking care? This is one of the questions I have in editing our books. I don’t have an answer, mostly due the fact that in our book we analyse only the one side. What did widows do in those texts?

ACS: In my book on the Didascalia I argue that deaconesses were instituted to bring ministering women under episcopal control… thus replacing the widows and taking over their historic functions. In my essay on deaconesses in the Testamentum Domini I see more of this. Wendy Mayer (Chrysostom expert) agrees with me that the same was true of Chrysostom’s ordination of female deacons.

ER: I think this could be another way of saying what I did. Also perhaps the tasks were more of a liturgical character. It could be some other, too. But perhaps those for the common meeting was more important.

ACS: Or more prominent in the contemporary literature because more obvious. If people are asked what I do they will talk about liturgy and preaching, but not about editing church magazines, checking accounts, chairing meetings…
So to come back to Krankenpflege, all in all the passage is a bit of a mystery! Woman deacons are doing a job that is otherwise not mentioned of male deacons… although the bishop in Traditio apostolica visits the sick I would not call it Krankenpflege.

ER: The logic of Krankenpflege was not at all so technical as we have it. It is not easy to read the old texts; you use your own time as a reference without knowing it.

ACS: With this I must agree.

Post script on 22nd January 2022
Thinking further about this passage it dawned on me that the reference to the female deacons washing might mean that they washed the bodies of the women when they died. It brought to mind Lampadia washing the body of Macrina (Vita Macrinae in PG 46 988-90). I ran this past Esko who replied that he had asked Serafim Seppälä, according to whom, in Greek culture, it was an everyday praxis that women washed the bodies of the dead. This seems to me to be what the text means.

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Getting into hot water with Anton Baumstark

Borg. Ar. 22, one of the manuscripts containing the Arabic Testamentum Domini, has a liturgical appendix with material related to, but distinct from, parallel material in Testamentum Domini. Some of this was published by Baumstark in “Eine aegyptische Mess- und Taufliturgie vermutlich des 6 Jahrhunderts” Oriens christianus 1 (1901) p. 1-45. I had a note from a colleague querying Baumstark’s rendition of بحميم الميلاد الثانى in one of the prayers after baptism, as “per aquam calidam regenerationis.” The question was whether I could make any sense of it; where, indeed, did Baumstark find the aqua?

My first look was to see what the word was in the Testamentum Domini. Although this isn’t straight Testamentum there is a comparable prayer there, where the word is ܣܚܬܐ. That is straightforward. But this passage is derived from from Traditio apostolica. The Latin here is lauacrum regenerationis, with an apparent reference to Titus 3:5, and so in keeping with the Syriac of Testamentum Domini.

The Sahidic of this section of Traditio apostolica is not extant and the Bohairic rather free but the Arabic is للحمي الى للولدة الثانية (Horner, Statutes of the apostles, 101), thus using the same root. So I went to check the dictionaries, going first to Wehr, to find on p203 حم with form 10 as “take a bath”. And so to Lane, who has this form 10, but also the noun حمة meaning a hot spring. I can only think that the root came to refer to a bath through metonymy, though the usage here is otherwise unattested. If this is the case the meaning is straightforward and entirely in keeping with the original, and although Baumstark’s translation is rather forced we can see where he got the water from!

However, beyond the minutia of this single word, the correspondence reminds me of how fascinating this liturgical appendix is as witness to the Egyptian Nachleben of the liturgies of Testamentum Domini.

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The baptismal rite in the Ethiopic versions of Traditio apostolica

One baffling aspect of the mediaeval Ethiopic version of Traditio apostolica is the presence of an additional baptismal rite, apart from a version of that found in other versions of Traditio apostolica (ed. Hugo Duensing, Der Äthiopische Text der Kirchenordnung des Hippolyt (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1946), 81-127.)

Alessandro Bausi, “The baptismal ritual in the earliest Ethiopic canonical liturgical collection” in Heinzgerd Brakmann et al (ed), Neugeboren aus Wasser und Heiligem Geist”: Kölner Kolloquium zur Initiatio Christiana (Münster: Aschendorff, 2020), 31-83 has now published a version of a clearly closely related baptismal ritual from the Axumite collection from which he derived the new text of Traditio apostolica. I have yet to explore it in detail, but since I have at present, as a result of the ongoing discussion with Maxwell Johnson about the interrogation in the Egyptian rite, a particular interest in the introduction of the syntaxis into Egyptian baptismal rites (generally suggested to have taken place in the fourth century on the basis of the appearance of such a syntaxis in Canones Hippolyti, evidence which has now disappeared with the denial of an Egyptian provenance to this document) and in the role and presence of the five-membered creed found in the Deir Balizeh papyrus and elsewhere (including Epistula apostolorum) as part of my overall argument that declaratory creeds are no less primitive than interrogatory creeds (though the language is misleading), I took a particular interest in the baptismal confession found in the Axumite ordo.

Essentially this baptismal confession is the same as that found in the present Coptic rite, namely the declaration of the five-membered creed, followed by a brief interrogation: “Do you believe?” “I believe” repeated three times. What is notable, however, is the absence of any syntaxis. This implies a rather later entrée of the syntaxis into Egyptian rites (it is, for instance, present in the current Coptic rite) than previously thought.

Turning to the version in the mediaeval Ethiopic of Traditio apostolica we find that the same baptismal profession that is in the Axumite rite, as in the present Coptic rite, in in place, namely the prompted repetition of the five-membered creed and the repeated question “Do you believe?” (though are very slight variations between the Axumite version and the mediaeval version.) This later rite, however, has a syntaxis. This syntaxis, however, is none other than, yet again, the same five-membered creed, which is thus repeated twice in the ritual! In the version of the rite of Traditio apostolica within this text the same, expanded, version of the five-membered creed as found in the Coptic version of the Traditio is found, albeit partly conformed to the interrogatory shape of the original. But given that the version in the second ritual lacks the expansions this can hardly be put down to the influence of Traditio apostolica. I think there may be more to say about this… but consider that after writing a 138 word sentence that that’s enough for now.

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More shameless self-aggrandizement

Sydney College of Divinity have now got around to posting the details of my two most recent books, the re-edition of Apostolic church order and my version with introduction of Canons of Hippolytus. The titles will bring up the link… with the opportunity to buy a copy!
I’m particularly excited about Canons of Hippolytus; reading recently on Egyptian liturgy I see how often these are cited as evidence. However, I believe that I have shown that the Canons are not Egyptian but, in agreement with Georg Kretschmar (who made the suggestion in passing but did not argue it), that they are more likely Cappadocian, or perhaps Antiochene. Interestingly I reached this conclusion independently, having forgotten that Kretschmar had suggested it.
If I am right, then this has fairly far-reaching consequences both for the study of Egyptian liturgy and of Cappadocian liturgy. Of course, I may be wrong… I have been wrong before, notably in dating Apostolic church order to the third century (being misled as the sources are all from that period or before) and hence being glad of the re-issue and the opportunity to correct myself (whilst staying relatively muted on the subject!) As to the Canons, I suppose I just have to wait for critical reaction.

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