Feb. 23, 1922
My task today is to provide you with an outline of the contents of the last five chapters of Ephesians. This will take the form of a series of brief sketches. Obviously, this format does not permit me to provide the exegetical and systematic basis for my interpretation.
2:1–10. This section is clearly the counterpart of 1:20–23. There, Paul’s concern is to supply his readers with the widest and most extensive survey of the blessings of God that they received in the gospel. There, the themes of the resurrection and the ascension of Christ effectively remind them that as believers they are engaged not with mere human matters but with God, not with time but with eternity. Here, it becomes clear that speaking about the mystery of Christ means speaking the mystery of human life. Like Christ, we too were dead. Our lives were a περιπατεῖν, following the course of this world and under the influence of the spirit of the world. Our φύσις was essentially disobedience and therefore the object of God’s wrath (vv. 1–4). However, God has also made us alive with Christ, together with him. Ὄντας νεκροὺς συνεζωοποίησεν, συνήγειρεν, συνεκάθισεν (vv. 5 and 6). That is the paradox of our existence. This fundamental shift remains absolutely hidden from us. Its effects (v. 7) are in the future, temporally speaking; its origin and grounding (vv. 8–10) are in God. However, the relation of our life to this hidden renewal really does exist. In Christ, almighty God, the giver of life and source of all blessings, becomes the basis of our existence in the past as well as the future. In the power of his resurrection, Jesus is the midpoint,180 which separates time, making the past truly the past and the future truly the future. The power of the resurrection is neither a contingent historical truth nor an eternal rational truth, to use Lessing’s terminology.181 Rather, it is God’s truth in action and the expression of his will. It is not contingent. It is not a fact. It is not an idea. It is most emphatically revelation.
2:11–22 introduces and develops an idea that is particularly close to the heart of the author of the epistle. In Christ, our existence here-and-now is so radically related to God’s beyond,182 and our entire known existence is brought so fully into the light of his eternal future, that the distinctions and antitheses that define our current existence are revealed to be conditional and provisional. What is the significance of the finite antithesis between the gentiles and Israel, between those who are far off and those who are near in light of the sublation183 of the infinite antithesis between God and humanity, which is revealed in Christ as the hidden will of God? The great antithesis is the fundamental sublation of all smaller antitheses. The meaning and significance of this sublation is clear: there are people in the world without promise, without hope, and without God (vv. 11–12); but how could their plight be anything other than a parable, when the plight of such individuals is shared by all people and when the plight of all people is seen in Christ, in the light of the promise? The universal antitheses between the dead and the living, past and future, law and grace blunt the force of the antitheses between “them and us,” gentile and Jew, Pharisees and worldlings, unbelievers and believers, outsiders and insiders. “For he is our peace, who has made us both one, and has broken down the dividing wall of hostility” (v. 14). Out of the two [gentile and Jew], he has created one new man in himself (v. 15). He has formed into one flesh those who were separated, reconciling them with God through the cross. He himself put to death the enmity (v. 16). He gives to those who were alienated from God access to the Father through one Spirit (v. 18). In him, aliens and strangers are fellow citizens and members of the household of God (v. 19). Christ constitutes the living relation of humanity to God, the cornerstone, the crisis as well as the ground of our existence. Consequently, the apparently absolute antitheses that divide us are revealed to be relative. Indeed, the distinctions become building blocks of a single house. Peace on earth is both a possibility and a mandate (vv. 20–21).
3:1–13. Here Paul explains that the idea, or rather his discovery, that gentiles and Jews are one in Christ is the distinctive feature of his own apostolic calling. He is emphatic that he has not been sent to preach to a general audience but is δέσμιος τοῦ Χριστοῦ “for you gentiles” (v. 1). As such, he is under obligation to deliver this specific message to the gentiles: “You, who were hopeless, now have hope; you, the godforsaken, belong to God; you, who were once far off, are now near.” Paul’s gospel, which he received by commission through revelation (vv. 2–3), is essentially the sublation of all relative, human antitheses in light of the absolute sublation, the οἰκονομία τῆς χάριτος τοῦ θεοῦ τῆς δοθείσης μοι. Paul regards this discovery as the defining feature of his age, the dawn of the Christian era, dividing the time before and after the historic appearance of Christ—not that the living relation between God and man is created or made possible for the first time (2:11–22 shows quite clearly that Paul took into account the saving presence of Christ even in the Old Testament). Rather, it is the dawn of a new age in the sense that gentiles are included as coheirs of this living relation, copartners of the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel (v. 6). They have been drawn into that living relation that has always been granted to Israel. That is the mystery, which previous generations did not recognize but is now revealed (v. 5), the mystery of redemption, hidden from eternity in God, the creator of all things (v. 9). It has been vouchsafed to him, Paul himself, the least and the guiltiest among the saints,184 to declare this mystery to the gentiles, his fellow trespassers. Consequently, his message and his life situation are inextricably bound (v. 8). This message must now be preached through the existence of the combined gentile and Jewish congregations of Christ on earth to the powers and authorities of the heavenly world, to all allegedly absolute authorities, which are in fact called into question by the reconciliation of all people and the consequent peace among all people (vv. 10–11). Christianity means the end of all “–isms,” the complete reorganization and reorientation of our powers of perception, so that all mediated forms of God’s presence are overshadowed by his unmediated presence, that is, the reality of God as he draws near to every person in Christ. This direct, unmediated divine access to every individual in Christ, this universalizing of the promise, this qualification of all historically given antitheses, is what is new and essential in the historic appearance of Jesus. The advent of his history signals the end of the history of religions. From now on, we can speak of “gentile” and “godforsaken” only in a qualified sense—in quotation marks, as it were—only in hope and love, without the tragic, harsh, and exclusive dimension that these appellations carry in the Old Testament. The wisdom of God in Christ and in his church is πολυποίκιλος. Because God’s wisdom is manifold, polyvalent, and perdurable (v. 10), we can regard gentiles as future Christians and the godforsaken as anonymous children of God. Our righteousness cannot unite us to God, nor can our unrighteousness separate us from him. No, the righteousness of God both separates us from God and unites us to him, to use the conceptual framework of Romans. This is what Paul, messenger of salvation to the gentiles, reminds his readers.
3:14–21 both concludes the preceding section and introduces what follows. It is the resumption of the apostle’s prayer for his readers that commenced in 1:15–19. Paul bows before the Father, who epitomizes the fatherhood in all relationships in heaven and on earth and who is the reality of God’s “beyond” in every contingent relation of cause and effect, of creator and created in this world. These relations can exist because of him. They are merely parables and images of him. He must give what his readers need to strengthen the inner person and so that Christ may dwell in their hearts through faith; so that they may be so grounded in love; so that nothing may disturb the community’s life in Christ; so that any claims about what is “mine” and what is “yours” may disappear (vv. 15–17); so that they realize that the truth is always multifaceted and that the love of Christ surpasses all human knowledge, be it individual, direct, discursive, animate, or inanimate (vv. 18–19); so that we may know that God delights to give more than we can desire or imagine. The ἐκκλησία, Christ Jesus himself, enfleshed in their midst and called together by him (vv. 20–21), is the domain where God gives this insight and where it is understood—where God appears, saying “I am!” and where we take the risk of understanding the sinful, lost world exclusively through its connection with God. Here, at the conclusion of chapter 3, we reach the summit of the entire letter.
In 4:1–16 the prayer becomes an admonition to preserve the peace that is given to humanity in Christ, to regard the relative human antitheses and unvarnished human existence in the reconciling light of the absolute antithesis between God and humanity. “Be diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (v. 3). We must hear this admonition in context. Paul urges peace not for the sake of peace but for the sake of God’s honor and as the consequence of their calling as Christians. Their calling is a call to one hope. That is the bond of peace. The εἷς, μία, ἕν, and so on in verses 4–6 should not be emphasized at the expense of the nouns they modify; they are equally important. We are one body and one Spirit. We are called to one hope, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father. In Christ, we encounter the incomparable new reality of God—that is the foundation of Paul’s admonition. The reality of God, which humbles and exalts us, which abases us so profoundly and restores us so powerfully, is the peace, is the one undeniable reality, despite our relative human antitheses. If we did not believe in one God, it would be pointless for us to believe in one God. Indifference is a poor foundation for tolerance. But unity in God constitutes the freedom of the individual, just as he is. Unity is the consequence of belonging to God. Life in Christ is the journey from life enclosed by death to life; it comprehends all existence, from the most vexing distinctions imaginable to the smaller antitheses that divide us (vv. 7–10). (You will find the same basis for freedom and unity in Rom. 14:7–11.) The distinctive personality and situation of each individual is merely preparation for the service and upbuilding of the body of Christ (v. 12). The distinctiveness of each person must be “given” by Christ (v. 11). The service itself must be done within the limits of our individuality. This limit is bracketed [sublated] by the perfect humanity of Christ, revealing the eternal dimension of the divinely given uniqueness (v. 13). But there is a difference between the now and the not yet. From our present status “here and now” we can only anticipate the “not yet.” We do so by avoiding all sectarianism (v. 14), honoring the truth in love (v. 15), and maturing in Christ until we come to the unity of the faith in the knowledge of the Son of God (v. 13)—which is not simply the goal of growth in Christ but the fulfillment of that goal that surpasses all human growth. This goal, which lies beyond life as we know it, determines and characterizes our earthly journey. Thus our hope becomes our peace. Peace is upon the mountain.185 We have not yet reached the mountain. But we can lift our eyes to the hills, from whence cometh our help.186
4:17–24 applies the admonition to the overall realm of ethics. Paul does not preach morals; he witnesses (v. 17) to the consequence of the great antithesis that illuminates the Christian life, the crisis between this world and the next that is revealed in Christ and has overtaken believers. God’s revelation is an attack upon the human creature. Real Christianity is dangerous. But Christians have already succumbed to this danger. They have developed a God-given sense of hearing for Christ’s voice; they know how things stand in relation to Jesus (v. 21). According to Paul, here as in Romans 6:1–14, overcoming evil is not a matter of obligation but a matter of course. Retreat is not an option. The decisive step has already been taken. The new light already envelops them. They have God’s promise. How could anyone who has God’s promise want to live in the past? To have God’s promise is to lay aside the old and to put on the new (vv. 22–23). So the admonition is analytic, not synthetic. It means: become what you are! and not what you are not! But to become what we already are is a continual task for anyone, something we must call to mind again and again as long as we live. Therefore admonition is necessary: be renewed by the Spirit in your thinking (v. 23). Repent! so that God’s reality may become the life-transforming reality of your life. We must continually receive the knowledge of God so that we understand that as sinners we are no different from other people, and we must continuously receive to understand that we cannot remain sinners and live as others live. The vita christiana187 is and will always be a dynamic movement forward, never arrival.
4:25–5:20 explores the positive and negative consequences of the great shadow that God casts upon our lives, the difficult attack and the ongoing battle in which we find ourselves from all quarters. It is impossible to give even a schematic account of the passage. I can only offer a paraphrase of its basic direction. A relationship with God makes a person attentive and vigilant. He knows that he has been given a sacred and indestructible trust. He regards the kingdom of God as the one thing needful. Step by step he receives new clarity and new freedoms that allow him to renounce the old ways, even though he knows that his own efforts will always be mere piecework, merely provisional, rudimentary, and accompanied by constant struggle. The fact that life has become difficult is a sign or indication for him of the mercy of God vouchsafed to him. The weight of the divine imperative oppresses only those who stand in grace. The knowledge of God comes with fear and trembling [Job 4:14; Ps. 55:5; Phil. 2:12]—we cannot avoid it. But we are ready for it. Under the influence of Spirit, we are open to correction. We can be directed. The Spirit of freedom gives us freedom to change. This is the new element in the Christian ethos. In such an ethos, the prevailing question is: Do we have ears to hear [cf. Matt. 11:15; Mark 4:9, etc.], and do we believe in the light so that we may become children of light [John 12:36; cf. Eph. 5:9]? If this question is not constantly before us, Christian zeal in any form or fashion will be of little avail. However, if this question weighs on us and disquiets us, if it is the basis of our Christian ethos, then Paul’s admonitions will be written in our hearts and relevant in every situation.
5:21–6:9. This passage stands out in the overall scheme of the admonition. It concerns relationships between husbands and wives, parents and children, masters and slaves. Luther considered it “a rule for the Christian household.” But it should be noted that neither Paul nor the rest of the New Testament attaches any particular importance to human forms of community per se; therefore, the passage should not be read as a rudimentary form of social ethics. What matters to Paul is not the establishment, maintenance, and welfare of the family as such but that every aspect of a person’s life be seen in the light of the great antithesis, including this most significant and concrete reality of life. Even in their natural state, these relationships of ordered interdependence reflect our fundamental dependence on God in Christ; they are honored as Christian relationships to the extent that they reflect the divine-human relation. The obedience enjoined here is appropriate for that purpose and that purpose alone. The fear of Christ (5:21) both justifies these relationships and guarantees that they are not absolute relationships. Marriage is a mystery (5:32): it is by nature finite, yet it points to the promise of a future eternal transformation. Likewise, the relationships of parents to children exist for the purpose of training and admonition unto the Lord (6:4). The social orders witness to one Lord who orders all things, namely, God. This passage is not as conservative or implausible as it sounds when read out of context. It is more revolutionary than it may first appear, but the revolution to which it witnesses is from above. The very fact that it is radical explains its conservative tenor. The restoration of the human orders of creation occurs through an indirect attack upon these relationships in their current state—not externally but internally and from the roots. It attacks them by allowing them to remain!
The conclusion of the letter, 6:10–24, makes us acutely aware that, humanly speaking, Christians are called to prepare, to contend, and to struggle each new moment as earnestly as if it were the first, the beginning of the journey. True theology is and will always be theologia viatorum.188 But if all we can be is pilgrims, then pilgrims we should be. We are to be clothed with the πανοπλία, the armor of Christ, as we learn from the familiar illustration here (6:10–17). As God’s combatants, Christians are to take their stand like Jacob, in the dark of night until the dawn of the new day, saying: “I will not let you go unless you bless me!” [Gen. 32:26]. “Watch and pray!” [cf. 6:18] is Paul’s motto—for his readers and for himself.189 Paul commends himself to their prayers; and his own extremity is what enables him to comfort others. The ambiguity of our existence corresponds to the liveliness of our hope; and hope in turn enables us to live to the glory of God, neither blind to life’s difficulties nor resigned to them. The essence of grace is to love the Lord Jesus Christ ἐν ἀφθαρσίᾳ (v. 24), confident that he who conducts God’s affairs in heaven will also tend to ours. That, in conclusion, is what Paul hopes for himself and for his readers.