Volume 9, Issue 1

This article examines the reception history of the story of the woman with a flow of blood as recounted in Mark 5:25–34, Matthew 9:20–22, and Luke 8:43–48 within the writings of two late antique poets: Jacob of Serugh (ca. 451–521 CE) and Romanos Melodos (b. ca. 485 CE). In their poetic compositions, Jacob and Romanos retell and interpret biblical stories employing narrative expansions and the attribution of imagined speech. The Syriac poet, Jacob of Serugh, wrote in the form of narrative poems, or mēmrē , while Romanos perfected the form of the Greek kontakion. Like prose homilies, these poems reached Christians from across the social spectrum, providing spiritual instruction and delighting audiences. Previous reception histories of this biblical narrative have largely overlooked late antique and early Byzantine poetry performed within the liturgical space. In addition to filling this lacuna in scholarship, this article also highlights how these understudied poems contribute to our understanding of early Christian discourses of (im)purity. Romanos emphasizes the symbolic value of the gendered body, blending the imagery of stain, impurity, and sin. In contrast, Jacob’s lexical choices and poetic style underscore the woman’s physical and emotional strife. Through speech and the description of the woman’s bodily state, both poets provide dramatic depictions of the woman’s encounter with Jesus that enrich our understanding of how late antique Christians interpreted this biblical story.

The scriptural citations of early Christian theologians have often been enlisted in scholarly reconstructions concerning the development of the canon. The underlying assumption in many such reconstructions appears to have been that the frequent quotation of a writing indicates a corresponding level of authority for that writing. More recent scholarship has challenged this assumption by drawing attention to the specific rhetorical contexts in which scriptural quotations are employed. The current work contributes to this trajectory of research and the field of reception history more generally by considering citations of the Epistle to the Hebrews among the second- and third-century Christian writers who utilize the epistle most frequently, namely, Justin Martyr, Tertullian, Clement, and Origen. The utilization of the Epistle to the Hebrews by these authors bears much greater resemblance, I argue, to the compositional and citational practices of their Greek predecessors than to the canon lists created by Christian theologians in the fourth century and beyond. The evaluation of these citations within the framework of later debates about canon, therefore, serves to flatten the diversity of approaches evident among the citations of Hebrews prior to the fourth century. Careful examination of citations from the Epistle to the Hebrews in the second and third centuries reveals that the various ways in which the document was quoted were frequently determined by the immediate rhetorical context in which those quotations were employed rather than by debates about the epistle’s authority.

Joseph Smith’s interpretation of the Lukan agony in the garden fits with Anglophone Protestant commentaries that were popular during his day. In the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants (D&C), the Lukan sweat-like-blood simile is understood as if literal, and Jesus atones in Gethsemane. This was standard fare in exegesis in England and America in the late 1600s, 1700s, and early 1800s. What Smith did was re-cast common interpretation as prophetic and dominical while probably defending the verses, known to be absent from the other Gospels and sometimes suspected to be an interpolation into Luke. On the golden plates of the Book of Mormon, he had an ancient Amerindian prophet-king named Benjamin predict Jesus’ hemorrhage more than a hundred years in advance, and he had none other than the risen Christ verify it in a direct revelation in D&C 19. These references to Luke 22:43–44 in Smith’s extra-biblical writings have created a further apologetic imperative to defend his defense of the Bible, one reason for the LDS Church’s King James Version onlyism.

The liturgical reception of the Lord’s Prayer (Matt 6:9–13 par. Luke 11:2 b–4) is well-attested and still evident in Catholic, Protestant and Orthodox circles. For instance, in reformed worship it is usual to hear varied versions of the statement: “And now as our saviour Christ has taught us, we humbly pray: ‘Our Father who art in heaven (…)’.” It is striking, however, that such a liturgical use of the text is scarce in Pentecostal-Charismatic Christian worship. Such is the case in Ghana, where Pentecostal-Charismatic Christianity forms the largest and most popular stream of the tradition. It only takes a visit to a Ghanaian Pentecostal-Charismatic church during a worship session to ascertain this fact. This article investigates this liturgical phenomenon in Pentecostal-Charismatic worship by analyzing a selection of popular literature written on the text of the Lord’s Prayer and through personal interviews with some of the leaders of Pentecostal-Charismatic churches. Before engaging in reception analysis, a brief exegetical study of the text is undertaken. The article concludes that the Lord’s Prayer does not appear in Pentecostal-Charismatic liturgy because it does not conform with the Pentecostal-Charismatic understanding of prayer. Instead it is conceived of as a pattern or model and hence chiefly employed as a means of instruction on effective prayer rather than for recitation each Sunday, as manifest in Protestant, Catholic, and Orthodox circles.

This article explores Ayako Miura’s Deiryū Chitai [“Mudflow Zone”] as a case study of the reception of the story of Job in Japanese literature. Despite the absence of righteous suffering as a theme, and its structural dissimilarity from the biblical book, this work should be read as a Joban adaptation where personal suffering is replaced by systemic suffering, and personal righteousness by social justice. Miura’s Job is the patient Job of the New Testament (Jas 5:11), but this Job, while accepting his lot in life without complaining, does not turn a blind eye to injustice around him. Miura’s message is that, in the face of one’s own suffering, whatever the cause, a Christian must not forget to love one’s neighbor. Not only does the story depict the struggle of a destitute man who, out of unconditional love, never gives up trying to rescue a victim of social injustice, but it also extols the lives of those who transform themselves to become serviceable and restore justice in the world. Set against the Exodus story of bondage and liberation, the work bespeaks the transformative power of a Christian life.

The exponents of fin-de-siècle literary artistry painted New Woman a lascivious man-eating beast whose emasculating initiatives would check Western European ascent to civilization’s apogee. Unfettered by tradition, her intemperate spirit, blind to the fine(r) things of a “higher” cultural order, would return humankind to a primitive state. Literature and science, it seems, conspire along these lines to curb Late Victorian sexual-social anxiety. In this article, I situate Josephine Butler’s reading of the story of the Levite and his woman (Judges 19) in the stream of a broader challenge to the literary sensibilities of the time. Butler’s voluminous writings from the latter half of the nineteenth century brought a Christian acumen to bear upon a sustained critique of the androcentric and misogynistic persuasion at the heart of a cultural consensus on women’s character and sexuality. Her contention through an astute consideration of the Judges story is that a pervasive masculine animus of lust and rapine is the root of a crippling decline that is moral and religious, not strictly devolutionary. Yet, Butler’s favor for the tropes of the time—female salaciousness, mangled bodies, diseased members, and national degeneration—is resonant of language in the service of a broader consternation respecting the revisionary social-sexual movements afoot. Butler’s co-option of the cultural cadences in currency, I contend, is symptomatic of a shared ethos—that European dominance and splendor is the high-water mark of human achievement. In this respect, I propose, Butler’s critique of fin-de-siècle literary and scientific discourse is ambivalent. In rejecting and replacing the faddish cult of the inordinate woman with the scourge of the intemperate man, she stays, still, within the bounds of a British (and European) masterly optic on the non-European world.