Peter M. Head on the High Christology of Matthew's Account of Jesus' Walking on the Water

Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, "It is a ghost!" And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, "Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid." Peter answered him, "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." He said, "Come." So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, "Lord, save me!" Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, "You of little faith, why did you doubt?" When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, "Truly you are the Son of God." (Matt 14:22-33 NRSV; cf. Mark 6:45-52)

Commenting on the differences between Matthew’s account and that of Mark, and how such differences show Matthew had a high Christology, Peter Head wrote:

The storm and epiphany of Jesus (vv. 24-27)

In v. 24 Matthew emphasises the distance of the boat from the land: ἤδη σταδίους πολλοὺς ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς ἀπεῖχεν (v. 24a). This involves an alternation of Mark 6.47 (‘in the midst of the sea’) which does not use characteristically Matthean vocabulary: ‘Neither σταδιον nor απο τησ γης is attested elsewhere in the First Gospel, and απεχω is not otherwise redactional’ (Davies and Allison, Matthew, vol. II, p. 503, n. 26). For this reason Davies and Allison prefer the variant reading μεσον της θαλασσης ην (with א C L W f¹ it Maj etc., also read by Greeven, Synopsis). This view, however, takes insufficient account of the possibility of scribal harmonisation to the parallel text in Mark and the strength of the external support for the reading of NA27 given above (B (θ 700) f¹³ syr cop).

Matthew also omits a few words from Mark and adds a new clause resulting in βασανιζομενον υπο των κυματων. This addition is the first of several which increase the parallelism between this account and the stilling of the storm (Matt 8.23-27); in this case, υπο των κυματων is also found in 8.24, where the boat was being swamped by the waves. Matthew’s account focusses attention on the boat throughout v. 24 – as the object of the passive verb βασανιζομενον and the referent of εναντιος – and tends to increase the severity of the problem, which in Mark is effectively limited to difficulty in rowing. These alternation align Matthew more closely to the ‘distress at sea’ motif discussed by Heil and prepare for the christological point which Matthew will press: God alone can rescue from the sea and ‘distress at sea implies rescue by God’ (Heil, Jesus Walking on the Sea, p. 36. He discusses Exod. 14.10-15.21; Ps. 107.23-32; John 1.1-16; Wis. 14.2-4; IQH 3.6, 12-18; 6.22-5; 7.4f; T. Naph. 6.1-10 [pp. 17-37]).

The report of Jesus’ coming, walking on the sea, is very similar to that of Mark. This plays a important role in the christological focus of the whole pericope, particularly in light of the OT background concerning Yahweh walking on seas (Job 9.8; Hab. 3.15; Ps. 77.19; cf. Isa. 43.16; 51.9f; Frg. Tg. Exod. 15.11). Matthew omits the enigmatic statement of Mark 6.48: και ηθελεν παρελθειν αυτους. Although some argue that Matthew omitted this phrase because it seemed to imply that Jesus was not able to do what he wanted (Davies and Allison, Matthew, vol. Ii, p. 505), a simpler and more obvious reason is that for Matthew, unlike Mark, παρελθειν normally means ‘to pass away’ (5.18; 24.34f; 26.39, 42) (Gundry, Matthew, p. 298).

Matthew slightly rearranges Mark’s description disciples’ response (v. 26): inserting μαθηται, shifting εταραχθησαν from a later phrase in Mark 6.50, changing Mark’s εδοξαν to λεγοντες, and adding απο του φοβου; resulting in οι δε μαθηται ιδοντες αυτον επι της θαλασσης περιπατουντα εταραχθησαν λεγοντες οτι Φαντασμα εστιν, και απο του φοβου εκραξαν. This combination of fear and being troubled echoes Psalm 76.16LXX: εἴδοσάν σε ὕδατα ὁ θεός εἴδοσάν σε ὕδατα καὶ ἐφοβήθησαν καὶ ἐταράχθησαν ἄβυσσοι πλῆθος ἤχους ὑδάτων (‘When the waters saw thee, O God, when the waters saw thee, they were afraid, yea, the deep trembled’). This it might be said that Matthew revises Mark in light of the OT background (as also in vv. 30f). In v. 27 in response to the disciples’ cry Jesus identifies himself in words identical to Mark: Θαρειτε, εγω ειμι μη φοβεισθε. In view of Matthew’s interest in the OT it is probably right to take this not only as an identification formula (a in Luke 1.19; 24.39; Acts 9.5; 22.8; 26.15) but also as revelatory, theophanic statement, echoing the εγω ειμι language of Exodus 3.14; Isaiah 41.4; 43.10; 47.8, 10; and the μη φοβεισθε language of Genesis 15.1; 26.14; 28.13; 46.3; Isaiah 41.13; 43.1-3; Revelation 1.7 (cf. Apoc. Abr. 9.2f; 2 Enoch 1.8). (Peter M. Head, Christology and the Synoptic Problem: An Argument for Markan Priority [Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series 94; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997], 88-89)

With respect to Peter walking on the water (Matt 14:28-31) and how it presents Jesus as being divine, Head writes:

Matthew’s long addition its well into this context, with a parallel between Jesus’ coming to the boat (v. 25) and Peter’s later coming to Jesus (v. 29). As already noted, many of the terms used in this account echo Matthean preferences (particularly phrases in the stilling of the storm of Matt. 8.23-7): Peter’s use of the vocative Κυριε (vv. 2a, 30b; cf. 8.25b), particularly Κυριε, σωσον με (v. 30b; cf. 8.25b: Κυριε σωσον); Jesus use of ολιγοπιστος (v. 31b; cf. 8.26); and the use of κελευω (14.28 cf. 8.18). As for the story itself we cannot attempt a complete analysis. It is noteworthy that Peter’s dilemma (v. 30) is provoked by the wind (linking with vv. 24 and 32), and is expressed in terms reminiscent of Psalm 69.1-3 (Ps 68 LXX):

Save me (σωσον με), O God! For the waters (υδατα) have
come up to my neck.
I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold;
I have come into deep waters (θαλασσης),
and the flood sweeps over me (κατεποντισεν με).
I am weary with my crying (κραζων); my throat is parched.
My eyes grow di with waiting for my God. (Heil, Jesus Walking on the Sea, p. 61)

It is also noteworthy that Jesus’ saving action involves stretching out his hand (cf. also 8.3; 12.49; 26.51), which is allusive of OT rescue passages such as Psalm 18.17f; 144.7f: ‘Stretch forth thy hand from on high, rescue me and deliver me from the many waters . . .’ Therefore, although the insertion readily provides teaching about discipleship (cf. Peter’s role elsewhere in Matt.), it is also of a piece with the overall christological impact of the passage (Davies and Allison, Matthew, Vol. II. pp. 497-8). (Ibid., 90, emphasis in bold added)

So we see that in this incident, Matthew presents a high Christology. Furthermore, this should not be taken to mean that Mark’s Christology is “low” as is commonly believed by many, including many errant commentators. On the High Christology in the Gospel of Mark, see:

Julie M. Smith on Mark's Christology and Jesus as God in the Garden of Eden and

High Christology and the Baptism of Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels

Andrew Malone on God being "Invisible" and 1 Timothy 1:17 and 6:16

Commenting on the term αορατος (“unseen”/”invisible”) as used in texts such as Col 1:15, Andrew Malone, himself a Trinitarian, wrote the following:

The meaning of ‘invisible’

Scholars may sometimes intend ‘invisible’ in a nuanced fashion. But the word is no longer adequate as a convenient shorthand. It is now too easily misunderstood and any nuance overlooked. We need to reconsider what we understand when encountering this word—and what the biblical authors themselves intended us to understand . . . As the Old Testament drew to a close, Greek thought increasingly flourished. Philosophers such as Plato (428-347 BC) and Aristotle (384-322 BC) probed the visible and invisible realms. Plato especially was fond of describing divinity negatively: God should be unlike anything in the imperfect created order. If creation is ‘visible’, by definition God must be ‘in-visible’. And so a new Greek term was birthed. The adjective for ‘visible’, oratos (itself only recent; sometimes written horatos), yielded a-oratos. It’s aoratos that occurs in key New Testament passages (Col. 1:15; 1 Tim. 1:17; Heb. 11:27) and that has cemented the notion of ‘invisible’ in Christian language.

Before considering such passages, it is instructive to consider how other Greek authors of the era understood and used the word.

Josephus’ life overlapped with Jesus’ disciples’ (AD 37-100). Josephus uses aoratos to depict things that ‘are not seen’ more than things that strictly ‘cannot be seen’. At least five of his seven uses mean this. He describes the off-limits interior of the Jewish temple, a city concealed in the mountains, a cave at the bottom of a well, and the deep valleys around the fortress mesa of Masada. Only once does he describe something intrinsically invisible, the human soul, which ‘remains invisible to human eyes, just as God himself’. This application, including mention of God, is important. But the other uses show that aoratos confirms only that something is unseen; it does not explain why the object cannot be viewed (Respectively, Josephus, Jewish War 1.7.6 §152 [Antiquities 14.4.4 §71]; 3.7.7 §160; 3.8.1. §341; 7.8.3 §280; 7.8.7 §346).

This same sense is attested by another contemporary author, Plutarch (AD 46-120). Souls and divine forces are ‘invisible’, especially when he echoes forebears such as Plato and Aristotle. Yet Plutarch also uses the word for tangible items hidden from view. He writes of captive women who have been cloistered from men, ‘incommunicado and invisible to others’. He describes war catapults and signal fires strategically stationed to be ‘invisible to the enemies’ (Respectively, Plutarch, Alexander 21.3; Marcellus 15.5; Romulus 29.5). The Greek word aoratos has the broader sense, and the English translation ‘invisible’ may be too narrow or misunderstood.

Scholars who delve into the origins and applications of the word confirm this broader sense. One wide-ranging study of theophanies summarizes it this way: ‘In Classical Greek invisibility is normally affected [sic] by materially obstructing visibility’; it is not at all a statement about (in)tangibility. A standard Greek dictionary like-wise promulgates this breadth of meaning: ‘unseen, not to be seen, invisible’ (Respectively, W. Wesley Williams, ‘Tajallī wa-Ru’ya: A Study of Anthropomorphic Theophany and Visio Dei in the Hebrew Bible, the Qur’ān and Early Sunnī Islam’ [PhD diss., University of Michigan, 2008], p. 30-34 [quote on p. 31]; Henry George Liddell and Robert Scott, An Intermediate Greek-English Lexicon [Oxford: Clarendon, 1889], p. 86).

This is further affirmed by similar negated adjectives in the New Testament. Preaching in Athens, Paul mentions an altar dedicated ‘TO AN UNKNOWN GOD’ (Acts 17:23). Paul means ‘a god not currently known’ rather than one forever knowable. Jesus fences with the Pharisees about people eating with ‘unwashed hands’ (Matt. 15:20). He obviously means hands that ‘have not been washed’ rather than those that ‘cannot be washed’ (cf. Mark 7:2, esp. NRSV). The general consensus, backed by Paul’s own explanation, is that the ‘inexpressible words’ he heard in a heavenly vision are not cleared for publication (2 Cor. 12:4, esp. NRSV, ESV); it’s less likely he is describing concepts for which there is no adequate language. A similar phrase occurs elsewhere as Paul describes the Spirit’s interceding through ‘unspoken groanings’ (Rom. 8:26 HCSB); though less consensus exists here, most scholars again affirm that the Spirit could (but does not) articulate his intercessions.

In short, there’s every basis to take such negated adjectives as describing something that, for whatever reason, does not happen. There is no claim being made as to whether it could happen or not. This means it’s far wiser to translate aoratos as something that is currently ‘unseen’, not something that is permanently ‘invisible’. (Andrew Malone, Knowing Jesus in the Old Testament? A Fresh Look at Christophanies [Nottingham: Inter-Varsity Press, 2015], 47-50)

In other words, as LDS apologists have been arguing for a long time, αορατος is not about the ontological nature of God; instead, it just means God is “unseen” in the sense we cannot see him, not that it is impossible to see him as he has no “form” or is, ontologically, invisible. On Col 1:15, see Anthony Hoekema on Man being in the "Image" and "Likeness" of God

With respect to 1 Tim 1:17 and 6:16, two common "proof-texts" against the historicity of the First Vision, Malone wrote:

In the first and last chapters of this letter, Paul breaks into praise of ‘the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God . . . who lives in unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see’. Once again, the New Testament seems to teach that God cannot be seen and, thus, has not been. Case closed? . . . this may be a way of praising God’s excellence without fully defining him as never seen, never mortal, and so on. Thus we need to determine whether Paul is praising God this way because God is unique in all these respects or whether Paul is using this idiom as part of his rhetoric without intending the claims to be taken as absolutes.

Long story short: reading these as absolute claims creates many more difficulties than if we see them as a way of exalting God with superlative idioms. Consider the problems if we insist that Paul is being completely definitive.

The word ‘only’ recurs several times in these doxologies, praising ‘the only God’, ‘the . . . only Ruler, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone [only] is immortal’ (1:17; 6:15-16). We have to presume that Paul is describing God the Father; if the Son is addressed in any way, a new dilemma is created with the Son himself praised as ‘invisible’! But then it’s the Father who is the ‘only Ruler’. Common sense tells us that the word ‘only’ is being used in a special way, not least because there are other human rulers named in Scripture (e.g., Luke 1:52; Acts 8:27). Moreover, the last book of the Bible says it’s the resurrected Lamb—God the Son—who is the King of kings and Lord of lords (Rev. 1:5; 17:14; 19:16; cf. Jude 4).

And what does it mean that the Father is ‘the only One who has immortality’ (1 Tim. 6:16 HCSB)? Have we just denied the immortality of the Son and Spirit? Paul teaches elsewhere that our own mortal bodies look forward to ‘immortality’ and ‘the imperishable’ (1 Cor. 15:53-54), the same terms that belong ‘only’ to the Father according to 1 Timothy (though not always clear in English translations).

Rather, words like ‘only’ must have a relative sense. God is being contrasted with any potential rival and protected from any comparison. Paul ‘affirms four truths about God’s sovereign power, four ways in which he is altogether beyond human control or manipulation’ (John R. W. Stott, The Meaning of 1 Timothy & Titus, BST [Leicester: Inter-Varsity Press, 1996], p. 159). In idol-filled Ephesus, where Timothy is ministering, pagans could approach and view their gods at any time. But the true God, by comparison, is unapproachable and invisible. Again we’re dealing with relative language. As in the Old Testament and John’s Gospel, Paul is emphasizing that our God cannot just be tracked down on a human whim. The Old and New Testaments affirm that God can be approached—through Jesus. Relatively speaking, God is unapproachable. Relatively speaking, he is the only one who controls immortality. Relatively speaking, God is not seen. Although it can feel like a subtle distinction, ‘contrasted with the visible’ is not the same as saying ‘never visible’.

And so the notion of the Father’s invisibility—the foundational evidence for Old Testament theophanies being construed as christophanies—continues to evaporate. (Ibid., 61-62, emphasis in bold added; cf. James Stutz, Can a Man See God? 1 Timothy 6:16 in Light of Ancient and Modern Revelation)

To claim that God (the Father) cannot be seen rests on eisegesis, not sound exegesis, of the biblical texts. It is refreshing to see even Trinitarians and others who would be not friendly towards Latter-day Saint theology admit to this.

I. Howard Marshall on the Wrath of God

Many, including some Latter-day Saints, tend to shy away from passages that speak of God  having genuine wrath and the concept of “propitiation.” For a fuller discussion, see Critique of “The Christ Who Heals”. I. Howard Marshall wrote the following points about how to approach God’s wrath which is rather apropos:

5. God’s wrath is not arbitrary, uncontrolled rage. There is a tendency on the part of critics to understanding the divine feeling of wrath by analogy with a human emotion. Human anger may be arbitrary: it may burst out for no reasonable cause, it may be uncontrolled and intemperate and not know when to stop, it may be disproportionate to the offence, and it may be irrational in that it somehow gives satisfaction to the wrathful person, as when I deal with my frustration by shouting at my computer. Whatever we may make of some of the more difficult material in the Old Testament, which I leave to others more competent than myself to discuss, the New Testament does not ascribe such arbitrariness and selfish uncontrolled anger to God. To use such a term as “fury,” although it is found in Scripture, is to run the risk of misunderstanding. When Paul forbids the human activity of taking vengeance and says “leave it to God,” it does not follow that divine vengeance is exercised in the same sorts of ways as sinful, human vengeance would be.

6. It is sometimes said what wrath if not a fundamental to the character of God in the way that loves is. It is true that wrath is kindled as a reaction to evildoers, but it is equally the case that mercy is kindled as a reaction to pitiable people. The criticism arises from failing to observe that love and wrath are not on the same level. The fundamental character of God is expressed in terms of love and holiness (or righteousness). But qualities express themselves in secondary ways in response to human sin, namely grace (or mercy) and wrath. You may say, if you will, that the wrath is called forth only when evil is present and to that extent is not fundamental, but precisely the same thing could be said about God’s grace which is necessitated only when sin causes his creatures to need it. (I. Howard Marshall, Aspects of the Atonement: Cross and Resurrection in the Reconciling of God and Humanity [London: Paternoster, 2007], 22-23)

Elsewhere, Marshall, responding to those who make a contrast between God striking out in vengeance against sinners and letting people suffer the consequences which are inherent in their own sins, that:

this does not take into account passages that speak of God’s action subsequent to human sin (2 Thess. 1:6-9) or God expressing his wrath (Rom. 3:5), or God wishing to show his wrath (Rom. 9:22), or God’s wrath coming upon disobedience (Eph. 5:6; Col. 3:6), or the Old Testament language of God swearing in his wrath that is used in Hebrews (Heb. 3:11; 4:3), or God carrying out judgment. The term “vengeance” is not the best one for the holy response of God to sin, but the notion that God does not act in reaction to sin is false. (Ibid., 22 n. 39)

Mitchell Dahood and Herberg Haag on Psalm 51:5 and "Original Sin"

Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me. (Psa 51:5 [Heb: v. 7])

This is a commonly used proof-text for the doctrine of Original Sin and the various approaches thereof (e.g., Roman Catholic and Reformed Protestant). Notwithstanding, at best, this only teaches that one has a propensity to sin, not that Adam’s sin is infused and/or imputed against people. As Mitchell Dahood wrote:

brought forth in iniquity. All men have a congenital tendency toward evil; this doctrine finds expression in Gen viii 21; I Kings viii 46; Job iv 17, xiv 4, xv 14, xxv 4; Prov xx 9. (Mitchell Dahood, Psalms II, 51-100: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1968], 4)

On this text, Herbert Haag in his book-length refutation of Original Sin, noted:

The idea that Adam’s descendants are automatically sinners because of the sin of their ancestor, and that they are already sinners when they enter the world, is foreign to Holy Scripture. The well-known verse from the psalms, ‘Behold I was born in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me’ (Psalms 51:7; 50:7), merely means that everyone born of woman becomes a sinner in this world, without fail. The Bible often uses the device of attributing a man’s later deeds or achievements to him from the time of his conception and birth. (Cf., for example, Jeremiah 1:5, where Jeremiah is made a prophet in his mother’s womb.) (Herbert Haag, Is Original Sin in Scripture? [trans. Dorothy Thompson; New York: Sheed and Ward, 1969], 106-7)

Brian E. Daley on Eusebius' and Epiphanius' Opposition to the Veneration of Images

Brian Daley, a Roman Catholic scholar and Jesuit priest noted that:

The early Jewish, Christian, and Islamic traditions of faith all took generally negative positions about the use and role of religious images in community life . . . (Brian E. Daley, God Visible: Patristic Christology Reconsidered [Changing Paradigms in Historical and Systematic Theology; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018], 233)

While noting that “visual images did decorate Jewish and Christian places of worship in at least some parts of the Mediterranean world” (p. 233 [Daley references Dura-Europas]), with respect to the veneration of such images, Daley correctly noted that “Jewish artisans were allowed to make images for non-Jewish consumers, and Jews might even possess images in their houses, as long as they did not worship them” (p. 234) and that:

Second-century Christian apologists, of course, like Justin and Athenagoras (Justin, Apol. 1.9, 24; Athenagoras, Plea for the Christians 17-18; Letter to Diognetus 2; Theophilus, To the Autolycus 2.2.), drew on the Old Testament to heap what soon became standard on “pagan” devotional practices, centered on statues and paintings made by human hands. Clement of Alexandria, generally affirming towards the cosmopolitan culture of his day, nevertheless insisted that well-formed Christians worshipped a totally transcendent God without the aid of images (Clement, Protreptikos 4.1; Paedagogos 3.59.2; Stromateis 5.1, 11-14); the north African Tertullian, two decades later, contrasted the abstract purity of Christian worship with the visual luxuriance of pagan idolatry (De Idolatria 3-4, 6, 18, 20). Origen insisted that not only the incarnation of the Word genuinely succeeded in making the transcendent God visible (De Principiis 1.6.4; 2.4.3); otherwise, God’s image in the world was achieved most fully in the creation and the virtuous life of the human person (Homilies on Genesis 1.13; 4; 13.4). (Ibid., 234)

Daley then presents a discussion of two other patristic-era witnesses against the veneration of images: Eusebius and Epiphanius. While many have called into question their polemical work against such a practice, Daley notes that “there seems to be no strong reason to reject them” (p. 238) and, with respect to Epiphanius:

John of Damascus, On the Divine Images 1.25; 2:18 rejects the anti-iconic passages attributed to Epiphanius as spurious. Some modern scholars have also questioned the authenticity of these fragments, which—like those of Eusebius’s letter—are mainly preserved in the acta of the Second Council of Nicea (787), or in the treatises of Patriarch Nicephorus in defense of icons. Besides an a priori unwillingness on the part of some to think of this venerable enemy of heresies condemning the use of images, however, there seems to be little reason to doubt that this was Epiphanius’s position. (Ibid., 237 n. 24)

On Eusebius, Daley noted:

The first extended Christian polemic against the use of visual images for Christian devotion, however, was the celebrated letter later attributed to the fourth-century church historian Eusebius of Caesaraea, supposedly written to the Empress Constantia, the sister of Constantine and wife of his rival Licinius. The authenticity of this letter, which survives only in large fragments quoted by the protagonists in the eighth-century iconoclastic controversy, has frequently been questioned, because it is otherwise unattested in fourth-century sources and because its argument seems so conveniently to fit into eighth-century polemics; its language and its theology, however, seem to resonate remarkably well with the rest of Eusebius’s spiritualizing, Platonically inspired thought. In these fragments, Eusebius responds to the Empress’s request for a painted image of Christ—the kind of portrait he elsewhere says he himself has seen of both Paul and of the Savior (Church History 7.18)—by a detailed but forceful refusal. Assuming that she cannot be asking for a picture of the Son of God in his true, eternal identity, which transcends imagining, Eusebius concludes that she is looking for a depiction of “that image, which he took up for our sakes, when he put on ‘the form of a servant’” (Letter to Constantia, sec. I). But even this form, the bishop argues, cannot be drawn by an artist, since the transfigured human body of Christ, now in heaven as once on Mount Tabor, radiates heavenly splendor.

Who, then, would be able to draw, with dead and lifeless colors and lines, the flashes of splendor and glory that shine forth and burst out of him, since even the holy disciples could not endure gazing on him when he appeared in this way, but fell on their faces, confessing that the sight was beyond their endurance? (Letter to Constantia, sec. IV)

To attempt this would be to try to limit the transcendent, to grasp the ungraspable; even the pagans—if they are philosophically sophisticated—know such a project is impossible. Eusebius continues:

If even among unbelieving Gentiles no one would, in this way, try to depict that has no resemblance to anything else—as for example an artist, attempting to draw what has nothing like it, ends up sketching and sculpting shapes that look like humans, yet are wholly different [from the gods] (for such are those who form idols, either of what they think is divine, or of what they call heroes, or of something of this sort, and want to make images of them, but are unable to draw them or even anything close to them)—then you will conclude yourself that it is wrong for us, too, to do such things. (Letter to Constantia, sec. V).

Pictorial representation, as Eusebius understands it, always attempts to show a link between two different realities—the original and the attempted copy—that in some respect share the same form. With the divine, no such visual comparison is possible.

Eusebius goes on to remind the Empress of the biblical prohibition of venerating “graven images,” which he insists has also been the universal practice of the Christian Church up to his time. He tells the story of meeting “a certain woman,” who casually mentioned that she had pictures of St. Paul and of the Savior, as if they belonged among the sages (ως αν φιλοσοφους); he confiscated them, he says, to avoid scandalizing people by seeming to condone idolatry (Letter to Constantia, sec. VII). The practice resembles what Gnostics have done, in making portraits of their own leaders.

For us, such practices are forbidden. When we confess the Lord our Savior as divine, after all, we are preparing ourselves to see God, purifying our hearts with all seriousness, so that—in purity—we may gaze on him; for “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” And if you think images are really important, besides this, before the face-to-face vision and sight of our Savior that is to come, what greater portrait could a person have than the very word of God? (Letter to Constantia, sec. VIII)

Like his hero Origen, Eusebius seems to assume what the Word of God became “flesh” in the word of the Bible, before becoming flesh in the Virgin’s womb. Study the Scriptures, he is urging the Empress, and you have the only representation you will ever need! (Ibid., 235-36)

With respect to Epiphanius, Daley wrote:

During the last two decades of the fourth century, another busy author who was later claimed as a spiritual ancestor by the opponents of sacred images was Epiphanius, a Palestinian who later became bishop of Salamis in Cyprus. Learned, but less intellectually subtle than Eusebius, Epiphanius was essentially a theological polemicist, who served the later Christian tradition mainly by his careful and detailed descriptions of ancient Christian heresies. He also seems to have been opposed to the public erection and veneration of sacred images, on the traditional philosophical grounds of the essential deceptiveness of artistic representation. A passage from his letter to the Emperor Theodosius I, probably from around 394, gives a representative example of Epiphanius’s position:

I beg you, O devout Emperor, enemy of the wicked: challenge all deviance by the zeal or God that is truly in you, through your firm legislation—sanctioned by fines, if possible. And I trust that you can accomplish, by God’s grace, whatever you will. Wherever tapestries are found, with false pictures on them that nonetheless claim to represent the Apostles or the prophets or even the Lord Christ himself, they should all be stripped from the Churches or baptisteries or residences or martyrs’ shrines where they are hanging, and you should provide them with a poor man’s burial! What is painted on walls should be whitewashed. And since it will be difficult to remove that is planned for depiction in mosaics, your God-given wisdom will now what orders to give; if it is possible to remove them, that would be best, but if that is impossible, one should imitate the efforts of our forebears, and never have figures represented in this way again. Our ancestors, after all, painted nothing but the sign of Christ, the cross, on the doors and everywhere. (This passage is cited by Nicephorus, in his Challenge and Refutation 202)

Epiphanius’s main objection to images, in the anti-iconic passages of his works that survive, also seems to be their lack of authenticity: they falsify the realities they claim to represent, by relying simply on the painter’s imagination (Epiphanius, Letter to Theodosius). In contrast, he argues, the only representation of Christ and the saints that can lay claim to adequacy is the image offered in the lives of the people who imitate them (Ibid). Beyond this, the simple sign of the cross should be enough to satisfy both the need for decoration and the demand for religious symbolism. As Son of God, Jesus is the very person, “beyond our grasp” (ακαταληπτον); so it is strictly impossible to form an adequate image of him, in words or by any other human art (Ibid). A lifeless portrait cannot take the place of the living God; so to offer genuinely religious veneration to such an image is idolatry (Ibid.) (Ibid., 236-37).

Daley is not the only Roman Catholic who will readily admit that Epiphanius opposed the veneration of images. As Catholic apologist Patrick Madrid succinctly noted:

[Epiphanius] was not free from all error . . .[as] revealed by his fanatical opposition to icons. (Patrick Madrid, Any Friend of God’s is a Friend of Mine: A Biblical and Historical Explanation of the Catholic Doctrine of the Communion of Saints, 114).

The Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox dogmatic teaching on the veneration of images being an apostolic tradition is not just simply without any positive evidence from the earliest centuries of Christianity; there is a mountain of patristic witness against such.

Matt Slick Unknowingly "Plugs" a Roman Catholic Apologist

I just recently received an email from Matt Slick (as I am subscribed to the CARM email list):

Dear Friend,

Here is just one example of how God has used CARM.

Tom wrote to us to let us know about his experiences with CARM.

Tom said,“Through my encounter with CARM a seed was planted which was watered by various other ministries and churches over the years before God made it grow.” Praise God!

Tom grew up in a Bible-believing religious home. However, the previous five generations on both sides of his family were members of a non-christian cult called The Christadelphians. During his years with this group, he did not know Jesus as his Lord and Saviour but he was interested in proving that the group’s unusual doctrines were biblical. These doctrinal positions included a denial of the deity and pre-existence of Christ, interpreting the devil as an allegory rather than a real personal being, and minimizing the present work of the Holy Spirit in the hearts of believers.

He believed Christians outside the Christadelphian community were willfully ignorant of the Bible. One day he discovered the CARM website and was shocked to see it countered Christadelphian teaching with biblical reasoning. This led Tom to a path of study and reflection and eventually the realization he was trusting a system of man-made doctrines for salvation rather than trusting the Lord Jesus Himself.

Today, like his namesake the apostle Thomas, he confesses Jesus as "my Lord and my God." Now living in Cape Town, South Africa, Tom is studying toward a degree in theology by distance learning with King’s Evangelical Divinity School in the UK. He is also reaching out to others lost in the Christadelphian community.

To God be the glory for drawing Tom to His Son. Praise God for CARM and the other ministries He used to reach him. Tom went on to say,

“God works through His people and I believe CARM was one of the ways He reached out to me.”

Partners like you make everything we do possible. We are here through His grace and those He leads to support us financially and with their prayers. This is a critical time for CARM. We have a number of new initiatives and a significant amount of new content and resources we would like to add to our site. Your support today can help make that possible.

The problem? “Tom” is Thomas Farrar, who is now a practising Roman Catholic and has moved into defending unique Roman Catholic theology and critiquing core Protestant tenets such as sola scriptura (e.g., We Have an Altar: The Call to Eucharistic Worship in Hebrews 13:9-16; Simon Peter, Chief Steward of the King's Household: An Exposition of Matthew 16:17-19; you can also read Tom's conversion story at Journeys from Christadelphia to orthodoxy: My story) According to Slick, however, Roman Catholicism is apostate and Tom will, if he continues to believe Roman Catholic theology, spend eternity in hell. Perhaps Slick should do a bit more research into individuals he props up as examples of the work CARM engages in, especially in the context of looking for funds to support this organisation.

Brian J. Daley on the Depiction of the Church Post-Ascension in the Ascension of Isaiah

Commenting on the pseudepigraphical Ascension of Isaiah, Brian J. Daley wrote the following about its depiction of the spiritual nature of the Church post-ascension which would resonate with many Latter-day Saints vis-à-vis the Apostasy:

After Jesus' ascension according to Isaiah's vision, the church will fall into disorder and corruption, "and many elders will be lawless and violent shepherds to their sheep" (AI 3.23 [this portrait of a Christian Church in discord may be alluding to the same disturbances that seem to have prompted Ignatius’s arrest and condemnation]). Prophets and their visions will be set aside (AI 3.31), and the world will be led by Beliar, the prince of darkness, and by the Antichrist, into its final apostasy (AI 4.2-13). At the end of a limited period, however, "the Lord will come with his angels and with the hosts of the saints from the seventh heaven," and will defeat the forces of Beliar; then "the saints will come with the Lord in their garments which are stored on high in the seventh heaven," and will descend to rule those will alive in the world (AI 4.14-16). After a time of peace for the just--the standard apocalyptic picture of a final millennium--the Beloved will rebuke Beliar and consume the wicked with fire (AI 4.18). (Brian E. Daley, God Visible: Patristic Christology Reconsidered [Changing Paradigms in Historical and Systematic Theology; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018], 46)

Two Recent Articles Refuting Sola Fide and Eternal Security

Roman Catholic apologist Mario Lopez has two great new articles on his Website which Latter-day Saints will also appreciate:

Matt's Response to an Essay That Teaches Faith Alone and Eternal Security... by Matt1618.

Matt's Response to a Critique of My Interpretation of Verses Which Teach That One Can Lose Salvation... by Matt1618.

Did Jesus Use the Book of Tobit in his Controversy with the Sadducees about Marriage and the Resurrection?

In his review of Michael Griffith's One Lord, One Faith: Writings of the Early Christian Fathers as Evidences of the Restoration, John Tvedtnes wrote:

In his discussion of Matthew 22:23-30, Griffith seems unaware of the story (perhaps "fictional") in the Apocrypha in which we read of a young woman, Sara, who had been married to seven husbands (all brothers), each of whom was killed on the wedding night by a demon. But in the story (Tobit 6: 10-8:9), Sara ultimately marries an eighth husband, Tobias, son of Tobit, who, following instructions from the archangel Raphael, manages to chase the demon away and is therefore not slain. Of special interest is the fact that the archangel (who, according to Tobit 3: 17, had been sent to arrange the marriage) tells the young man that his wife had been appointed to him "from the beginning" (Tobit 6:17). This implies that she had not been sealed to any of her earlier husbands, which would explain why none of them would claim her in the resurrection, as Jesus explained. But if she were sealed to Tobias, the situation changes. Assuming that the Sadducees (whose real issue was one of resurrection, not of eternal marriage) were alluding to this story but left off part of it, this would explain why Jesus told them, "Ye do err, not knowing the scriptures, nor the power of God" (Matthew 22:29).

The claim that Jesus was referencing the incident in the book of Tobit is one that a few other LDS apologists have latched onto, including, at one time, myself. Notwithstanding, there are serious problems with this argument.

In a rather hit-and-miss book on the Catholic Old Testament canon, Steve Christie, a former Catholic who has been a Protestant since 2004, wrote the following against the thesis Jesus was referencing the book of Tobit, contra Tvedtnes et al.:

First, the religious sect who asked this question to Jesus were Sadducees, who only believed the first five writings of the Bible written by Moses (“the Pentateuch”) were Inspired. In the footnote to Matthew 3:7 in the New American Bible:

“The Sadducees were the priestly aristocratic party, centered in Jerusalem. They accepted as scripture only the first five books of the Old Testament . . . and were opposed to teachings not found in the Pentateuch.” (emphasis added)

Why would they choose a story from a book (Tobit) they did not believe was Inspired nor part of their canon? When Jesus responded to them, He referred back to “the Law” as “the book of Moses” (Mark 12:26) instead of referencing the Deuterocanon. Since the Sadducees rejected the second half of the Old Testament – “the Prophets” – Jesus responded by quoting Exodus 3:6: “But regarding the resurrection of the dead, have you not read what was spoken to you by God: ‘I AM THE GOD OF ABRAHAM, AND THE GOD OF ISAAC, AND THE GOD OF JACOB’? He is not the God of the dead, but of the living” (Matthew 22:31-32). Just as the Sadducees inquired from “the Law” from the Hebrew Bible (not the Deuterocanon), likewise, Jesus responded from “the Law” from the Hebrew Bible instead of the Deuterocanon.

Second, the story of Tobit does not say the woman, Sarah, had been married to seven brothers, but simply seven husbands (Tobit 3:8 NAB). Plus, in the tale, Sarah ends up getting married an eighth time to Tobit’s son Tobiah (Tobit 7:9-17 NAB), and they end up having seven sons (Tobit 14:3 NAB, emphasis added). The example given by the Sadducees does not say anything about the woman having any children, let alone an eight husband.

Although Tobiah was Sarah’s closest relative (“kinsmen”) and had the right to marry her (Tobit 3:17; 6:12; 7:9-10 NAB) based on “levirate marriage” (see below), the text does not specify her previous husbands were actually brothers, let alone related. Although the stories are similar, they are not the same. The Sadducees would not have been referencing this story from a text they did not believe was Inspired.

If these “husbands” were all brothers and since Tobiah was next of kin, then why was not he the second husband to marry her instead of the eighth? Sarah’s father told Tobiah “you are my closest relative” (Tobit 7:10 NAB, emphasis added). Nothing in the text indicates these seven “husbands” were also “brothers,” only that she had seven husbands before she married Tobiah.

Third, the actual text the Sadducees quoted (Matthew 22:24) was from Moses. In Deuteronomy 25:5 (“the Law”), which discusses “levirate marriage.” The Sadducees’ point of bringing up this command from God was to demonstrate all seven brothers were legally married to the same women after the previous brother died. Since the Sadducees did not believe in a bodily resurrection (Matthew 22:23), and because all seen brothers in their hypothetical story had been married to the widow, they were simply asking which of them were married to her if indeed there was a resurrection of the dead (v. 28) . . . Fourth, the use of the number “seven” is an indivisible number used in the Old Testament to symbolize completion or perfection. A woman who bears seven children was seen as receiving a blessing from God (1 Samuel 2:5). Ruth was seen by the women as being “better to you [Naomi] than seven sons” (Ruth 4:15). A person who had seven sons was considered to have the ideal family (Job 1:2; 42:13; Jeremiah 15:9). The number “seven” is also used extensively in the New Testament to signify the spiritual realm (Luke 8:2; Luke 11:26), including referring to the fullness of the Holy Spirit as the “seven Spirits of God” (Revelation 1:4; 3:1; 4:5; 5:6). (Steve Christie, Why Protestant Bibles are Smaller: A Defense of the Protestant Old Testament Canon [Cambridge, Ohio: BookMark Press, 2019], 159-60)

On Matt 22:30 and other like-texts and the Latter-day Saint doctrine of eternal marriages, see:

Defending Latter-day Saint theology about Eternal Marriage (a response to Dave Bartosiewicz)

Some Problems with the Traditional Protestant Understanding of the Atonement

Paul Pavao, while critiquing the Roman Catholic teachings on the papacy, also warned readers of his book, Rome’s Audacious Claim, to avoid various Protestant churches due to serious soteriological issues, such as their rejection of baptismal regeneration. Commenting on the penal substitutionary nature of atonement as taught by many Protestants, Pavao wrote:

The Atonement

Protestants often teach that Jesus paid for our sins in the sense that he took the penalty for all sins that have ever been done and ever will be done by mankind.

This cannot be true. The letters to the churches in the New Testament are full of penalties for sin. These include corruption (Gal. 6:8), death (Rom. 8:12), being worse off than before we were saved (2 Pet. 2:20-21), and being spit out of his mouth (Rev. 3:16). Those are not only penalties—they are severe penalties.

Jesus died not only so that past sins could be forgiven (2 Pet. 1:9), but also to release us from slavery to sin. God has always been willing to forgive the sins of those who turn from wickedness to righteousness, as Ezekiel 18:20-30 and many other Old Testament passages testify. The problem is that humans, as a whole, are incapable of continuing in the righteousness that brings eternal life (Ezek. 18:21-22; Rom. 2:6-7). Paul devotes two chapters of his letter to the Romans (3 and 7) to the problem, and then says that the sacrifice of Jesus resolves the problem (Rom. 8:2-4; cf. Gal. 6:8-9).

The penalty that Jesus took care of was our slavery to sin. When Protestants say Jesus “paid the price, they mean that he took away the penalties for sin. This is wrong. As we have seen, the penalties for sin still exist, even for Christians. When the Bible says Jesus paid a price, the price is for us. He brought us out of slavery to sin (e.g., 1 Cor. 6:20).

The words “redemption” (Eph. 1:7) and “ransom” (Matt. 20:28) and purchase words. To redeem is to “buy back,” and to ransom is a payment to release from captivity. The Bible is even more clear than this, though, saying, “Do you not know that . . . you are not your own? For you have been purchased at a price” (1 Cor. 6:19-20).

There is a critical verse in Romans 5:19. It says:

For just as through the disobedience of one person the many were made sinners, so through the obedience of one the many will be made righteous.

We are not guilty of Adam’s sin. Instead, we inherited death and slavery to sin from Adam (Rom. 5:12-14; Eph. 2:1-3). Romans 5:19 tells us that “just as” we were all made sinners by Adam, we will be made righteous by Jesus. Adam did not give us “wrong standing” with God. He gave us death and a propensity to sin. “Just as” Adam did this, so Jesus gave us more than “right standing” with God. He gave us life, and a propensity to do righteousness.

This is why the apostle John was so bold as to say that only those who practice righteousness are righteous as Jesus is righteous (1 Jn. 3:7). He knew that practicing righteousness is the normal behavior of someone who has been bought with a price by Jesus.

Titus 2:11-14 is an excellent description of the purpose of Jesus’ death.

For the grace of God has appeared, saving all and training us to reject godless ways and worldly desires and to live temperately, justly, devoutly in this age, as we await the blessed hope, the appearance of the glory of the great God and of our savior Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to deliver us from all lawlessness and to cleanse for himself a people as his own eager to do what is good.

Protestants often confuse grace and mercy. Mercy is God forgiving us of our sins. Grace, God’s favor, brings us the power of the Holy Spirit so we are no longer under the power of sin (Rom. 6:14; Gal. 5:16). Grace is the foundation of spiritual gifts as well (1 Pet. 4:10-11). Grace means “favor,” but that favor teaches us to “reject godless ways and worldly desires.”

This passage also teaches us that one purpose of Jesus’s death was to have a people he owned who are eager to do what is good.

Protestant translations, such as the New American Standard Bible, say we are a “people for his own possession,” who are “zealous for good deeds.”

Romans 14:9 says he died (and rose) so that he might be Lord of the living and the dead. 2 Corinthians 5:15 says he did for all so we would not live for ourselves any longer, but for him.

The Scriptures say that we have “redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses” (Eph. 1:7). 1 Corinthians 15:3 tells us that he “died for our sins.” Neither of these statements can mean that he paid the penalty for all sins of mankind, whether past, present, or future. As pointed out, there are a lot of penalties for sin threatened in letters to Christian churches.

“Forgiveness” or “remission” in the Bible is a very interesting word. There are four Greek words that are translated with some form of the word “forgive” in the Bible: aphesis, aphiemi, apoluo, and charizomai. Almost any time forgiveness is associated with the death of Jesus, and every time the word “remission” is used (at least in the King James and New King James Versions), the Greek word is aphesis.

Aphesis has a grand history in the Old Testament. In the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures (called the Septuagint or LXX), aphesis translates the release from debts that occurred every seven years (Deut. 15:1-10), “Jubilee” (Lev. 25:10-12), and most importantly, the “scapegoat,” the goat that was released with a red cord around its neck every year on the Day of Atonement (Lev. 16:26). Isaiah 61:1 prophesies that the Messiah will proclaim aphesis to the captives.

While “forgiveness” is not a wrong translation of aphesis, it means much more than that. Its primary meaning is “release.” Thus, the scapegoat represents the “release” or sending away of Israel’s sins. The year of Jubilee is the “release” of land back to its original owners, and every seven years all debts are “released.” Jesus quotes Isaiah 61:1 in reference to himself and uses aphesis to mean the “release” of both the captive and the oppressed.

What Jesus brought for us with his blood was aphesis (Eph. 1:7). According to Hebrews 9:22, without the shedding of blood, there is no aphesis. God shows mercy for sin even without blood, as Psalm 51:18-19 and Ezekiel 18:20-30 tell us. The release from the captivity to sin, however, can only be bought with blood; specifically, with the blood of the unblemished Lamb of God, Jesus. Thus, when he held up the cup and said, “This is my blood,” he also said it was shed for the aphesis of sins (Matt. 26:28).

Jesus paid the price for us. He did not pay the penalty of sin. This is why he can still punish sin, as he threatens to do throughout the letters to the churches in Revelation, chapters 2 and 3. All our previous sins are washed away in baptism (Acts 2:38; 22:16), and we are born again, saved, put in right standing with God, and delivered from the power of son (Rom. 6:14). We are no longer sinners (Rom. 5:19). In fact, we have escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust (2 Pet. 1:3) and are warned not to become entangled in that corruption again (2 Pet. 2:19-21).

You can see how important and central these things are, Jesus paid the price for “a people for his own possessions, zealous for good deeds” (Tit. 2:14). Paul told Titus to “speak and exhort and reprove with all authority” about these things (Tit. 2:15). (Paul Pavao, Rome's Audacious Claim: Should Every Christian Be Subject to the Pope? [Selmer, Tenn.: Greatest Stories Ever Told, 2019], 264-67)