John William Colenso’s Commentary on Romans, written during his time as Bishop of Natal and published in 1861, remains neglected in the field of New Testament studies, as does Colenso’s work more generally, despite some notable recent attention. The commentary is, however, of considerable interest. It displays some significant similarities with the much later New Perspective on Paul, and offers an early example of a participationist reading of Paul, seen through the lens of Colenso’s inclusive and universalist theology. It also shares some of the problems of the New Perspective, particularly in terms of its critique of Judaism. The commentary is also significant and relevant to current debates about decolonisation, because of the ways in which the African context shaped Colenso’s reading of the letter and because of the powerful critique of (English) ethnic and (Christian) religious superiority that Colenso finds in Romans.

According to David M. Moffitt, Passover themes permeate Hebrews 1–2. While Passover is normally understood to be apotropaic, Jesus’ death in 2.14–15 defeats the devil. How is this defeat achieved? This article proposes that this victory is a synthesis of several strands of Jewish and early Christian tradition, conflating traditions about Jesus’ paschal death and war against demonic evil. This conflation likely reflects contemporary Jewish beliefs about angels. In Second Temple literature, Michael, Melchizedek and the heavenly hosts fight against demonic forces opposed to God. In Hebrews, the Passover typologically foreshadows the liberating work of Christ, with the devil taking the place of Pharaoh and the realm of the dead as Egypt, the place of bondage. Just as Moses leads the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, so does Christ liberate the dead from death and slavery to the devil through his complete experience of human death and his triumphant resurrection. This article therefore suggests that Hebrews contains early evidence for Christian belief in the descensus Christi and the harrowing of Hades, conceived as a new exodus from the bondage of death to heavenly glory. Therefore, when Christ rises from the dead, he does not do so alone, but rises as the first of those liberated from death, providing new significance to the quotation of Isa 8.18 in Heb 2.13.

Against the near-universal consensus that it was created by a pagan (non-Christian) in order to satirise Christian worship, this article contends that the Alexamenos graffito can plausibly be read as a Christian self-parody, created by the enslaved Alexamenos himself. It is the first full-length treatment of the authorial origins of the Alexamenos graffito. The article first provides an overview of the visual and scholarly histories of the image since the nineteenth century. Then it addresses evidence for and against reading the text as non-Christian or Christian in origin, focusing on the apparent sexualisation of Jesus, early Christian receptions of satirical depictions of Jesus, the graffito’s use of a titulus, the solidarity of the image with enslaved workers and the relevance of nearby Christian graffiti. Finally, it places the graffito in conversation with ancient self-parody practices from wider Greek, Roman and Christian sources. While it is impossible to argue definitively about the identity of the graffito’s creator, this article contends that scholarship cannot exclude the possibility and potential likelihood that it may be Christian in origin.

Early Jewish parodies of ancient Mediterranean cult images have long been taken as a point of cat- egorical difference between Jews and non-Jews. The basic logic can be stated with maximal brevity: Jews were aniconic, indeed ‘anti-idolic’, while Greeks and Romans were iconic. When it comes to the question of so-called idolatry and Jewish polemics against it, Jews were ostensibly unique within the wider world of ancient Mediterranean religion. In this article, I interrogate such claims specifically as they relate to the apostle Paul, as one such Jewish polemicist, who wrote to a predominantly gentile audience well accustomed to image piety and sensitive to its internal politics. I argue that early Jewish image parodies, including Paul’s own, are better understood to be situated within an iconopolitical strategy of cultural production that was otherwise common among Greeks and Romans, no less than Jews. By caricaturing cult images as non-existent, disabled or dead, it is my contention that Paul operated within and innovated upon a widespread tradition of ancient Mediterranean image politics, which configured social power relations between humans and their gods by abducting, mutilating or destroying their images, and that Paul's parodies were intelligible and recognisable as such among his gentile followers. After outlining the comparative problems of ‘idolatry’, I draw from classical and art-historical scholarship to theorise the epiphanic and reciprocal dynamics of images in ancient Mediterranean religion, and then redescribe Jewish image parodies in Paul’s letters as operating within these same dynamics, even while polemicising against them.

This article examines the function of the night burglar similes (1 Thess 5.2, 4) within the broader context of Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians. It aims to demonstrate that these similes are integral to Paul’s discourses on the Lord’s parousia (4.13–18) and the Lord’s Day (5.1–11) and argue that the similes serve as a thematic link between these narratives, creating a connection that aligns their timing and unfolding. Furthermore, the article examines the Lord’s parousia and Day, along with the associated events of dispossession and dislocation, as complementary aspects of a single eschatological event – bringing salvation to those in the light and disaster to those in darkness. The literary structure, rhetorical strategies, thematic elements and linguistic nuances of 1 Thess 4.13–5.11 support this interpretation, positioning the similes as integral components of the parousia and Day discourses. Additionally, the article reflects on the significance of the night burglar’s ‘loot’ and its connection to the Thessalonians as valuable vessels (4.4–5) and their need to don God’s armour (5.8).

This article develops the position of Rebekah Eklund’s earlier NTS article on ἀνοία in Luke 6.11. Eklund argues that there is no basis for translating ἄνοια in Luke 6.11 as rage or fury. Instead, she shows that ἄνοια is used consistently to indicate folly that is either induced by madness or ignorance. This article offers a reading of the healing of the man with the withered hand in Luke 6.6–11 that provides a more congenial context for the conventional way of reading ἀνοία as madness-induced folly.

In the BDAG entry for the noun σκηνοποιός (used in Acts 18.3 to refer to the trade in which Priscilla, Aquila and Paul worked during Paul’s first visit to Corinth), Frederick Danker broke with tradition and listed the word’s primary sense as ‘maker of stage properties’. The more familiar translation of ‘tentmaker’ is listed second as an alternative possible meaning, but after a brief survey of the surviving evidence, Danker concludes that ‘one is left with the strong probability that Luke’s publics in urban areas, where theatrical productions were in abundance, would think of σκηνοποιός in ref. to matters theatrical’.

Despite the far-reaching implications of Danker’s claim, if true, it has been given little consideration in subsequent scholarship and has been more frequently ignored than evaluated or adopted. In this article I assess Danker’s claim, beginning with the lexicographical evidence that he himself adduces before broadening the field of inquiry to include discussion of texts in which cognate terms such as σκηνοποιέω and σκηνοποιΐα are used with theatre-related meanings, the translation decisions made in the surviving Vetus Latina versions, the scenic architecture of Roman theatres in the early imperial period, and theatre-related attitudes and practices in first-century Judaism and early Christianity. After weighing the various evidence sources and contextual considerations, I conclude that Danker’s proposal is more likely than not, and that a stronger case can be made for it than he himself makes within the confines of the BDAG entry.

While faith is central to the Gospel of John, the focus of interpreters on the faith responses of John’s characters tends to regard these characters rather simplistically. This article considers Martha’s engagement with Jesus in John 11 and contends that her faith takes a journey of lament as she comes to a place of understanding Jesus’ person. Martha speaks with Jesus regarding Lazarus’ death, and Israel’s lament poems frame the depth found in the progression of their conversation, which serves a rhetorical purpose that provides dynamic depth to her character. Grounded in the work of Gail R. O’Day that traces Martha’s conversation within the lament structure, this article examines this interaction that leads to the pinnacle of Johannine confessions to the identity of Jesus made by Martha herself. The process of lament as the expression of Martha’s faith develops John’s resurrection theology, given that her faith and understanding are clarified by Jesus’ identification as the resurrection and the life. This disclosure is what leads to Martha’s paradigmatic confession in 11.27. Building on previous characterisations of Martha by scholars such as Adeline Fehribach, Colleen M. Conway, Sandra M. Schneiders and Cornelis Bennema, a fresh perspective emerges that engages Martha’s conversation and ensuing confession, and the contribution this makes to the Johannine theology of resurrection. Lament is significant in the context of faith in John’s portrayal of Martha and suggests more depth in Fourth Gospel characterisation than many interpretations have recognised.

The article argues that the reference to the fig tree under which Jesus claims to have seen Nathanael (John 1.48) has not been satisfactorily discussed by previous critical interpreters. Instead, the tree should be understood against the backdrop of Second Temple and later Jewish and Christian exegetical discussions about what species the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil exactly was. After tracing these debates in ancient and early medieval sources, including iconography, the argument moves on to show the interpretative possibilities created by this proposal. The conclusion makes a case for understanding the Fourth Gospel as an inherently open work which invites the audience to actively participate in a variety of exegetical discourses, and whose author function builds its authority through polysemy.

A growing consensus interprets the Pastoral phrasing μιᾶς γυναικὸς ἀνήρ (1 Tim 3.2, 12; Titus 1.6) and ἑνὸς ἀνδρὸς γυνή (1 Tim 5.8) in reference to church leaders and widows as ‘spousal fidelity’, despite this not being an intuitive approach to the phrases. This article contends that one-spouse traditions were widely enough known in the Greco-Roman and Jewish worlds – especially once objections and misunderstandings are resolved – to render comprehensible a limitation to a single spouse. The univira traditions, for instance, apply to both women and men and include reference to faithfulness. The application of these traditions to widows was not a Christian innovation, lasted into the imperial era and influenced both Jews and early Christian authors. One-spouse traditions were also extant in the eastern part of the Empire. Some sectors of Judaism attest to such traditions. Jesus-sayings also prohibit remarriage. Lastly, the requirement for χήραι to marry in 1 Tim 5.11, 14 does not contradict this qualification for ‘real’ widows (5.9) since they were likely ‘virgin-widows’, admonished to marry for the first time, and the Pastoral emphasis is on identifying those with less resources, requiring more extensive assistance from the churches. The Pastorals’ insistence on a single marriage for officeholders and ‘real’ widows is yet another example of how Christ-believers are to be exemplars of, if not exceeding, the very best in Roman piety and marital values.

The similarities between the Jericho Episode (Luke 19.1–10) and the second Messenger Speech in Euripides’ Bacchae (1043–152) are so extensive that the most probable explanation is the existence of a direct genetic dependence of the first story on the second. By making this reference, the author of the Gospel portrays the figure of Zacchaeus as a ‘converted Pentheus’, while by comparing Jesus to the cruel Dionysus, who punishes Pentheus for his sin, he reveals the mercy of the God of Israel in a new light.