[The text discussed is Luke 15–16.]
Having met Antonius in the street earlier in the week, I was invited by him to return to the gathering of Christians who use his house as a base for their weekly meetings. Joining them for the third time, I was again struck by their lack of concern for social codes of honor and shame. Antonius was recognized by all as the patron of the meeting, but he was not treated with the respect ordinarily reserved for one in that position. Or perhaps it is better to say that all the people gathered there were treated with the respect ordinarily reserved for noblemen such as Antonius, a man adorned with every virtue. There was no effort to organize the positions at the meal according to a social hierarchy, and no differences were evident in the kind of food served to those in the atrium and those in the triclinium. (The Jews who prefer a certain level of purity observance ate special food, but this did not disrupt the corporate dynamics significantly.) Some first served food, then they themselves were served. At one point, I even noticed Antonius and Mania delivering platters of fruit and fish to a group composed of both local artisans and their own household servants. I gather that such is not their regular practice throughout the week, for the servants do function as servants normally. But when they gather as Christians, patterns of behavior are intentionally changed to reflect the fact that members of this group belong to a new order of society, or as they call it, the empire of god. Since I was treated not as a guest this week but as a regular attendee, I felt the expectation to take my turn at serving others, something I have never done before. This was not as humiliating as I would have imagined, most likely because all the others were doing it as well, even Antonius.
After the meal, I again read from your monograph about Jesus, but let me explain what happened at the end of the evening, since I have not previously attended the whole of the meeting. Toward the end of the evening, a young songstress named Kyrilla sang a song of praise to Jesus, accompanied by her small seven-stringed kithara, which she held in her lap. When she had finished, the gatherers created an inventory of needs. Members were encouraged to state any needs they felt unable to meet. This, as I understand it, is something they do regularly in an attempt to extend gestures of goodwill to members of the group and to others throughout the week, as an extension of the “empire” to which they belong. Some spoke of wanting to supply food to some of the expendables on the street; a few were even in need of food themselves. One artisan was concerned about a fellow artisan who had recently become seriously ill, probably because of malnutrition. Then there was the case of Nouna, a young girl of about seven years with brilliant eyes who earlier in the week had simply wandered into the city alone. Until her parents can be found or a suitable arrangement can be made for her, a group of Christians committed themselves to her cause.
These are the sorts of things that were mentioned. Almost all the regular gatherers took responsibility to work with others to meet a need in one way or another. Just as I found myself serving wine to the gatherers earlier in the evening, so I also found myself agreeing to play a role in their inventory. And so it falls to me to ensure that food will be delivered to the ill artisan three times during the coming week. I will have my servant Kyrilos carry out my commitment to that duty.
When gatherers were asked to report on their activities of the previous week, those who were helped by others in the group publicly thanked their helpers, but the helpers did not seem intent on promoting their own reputations. Usually they simply expressed their pleasure in being able to lend assistance, and then they praised their god for his goodness and his caring spirit bestowed on them. No bonds of patronage were established or implied. Assisting others seems to be a normal habit, and those who do so do not expect to receive personal gain in return.
This group of Christians is not simply, as most associations are, an assembly of individuals who share a common interest; instead, its members interact as if they were part of a close-knit family. Not only do they act toward one another in ways that are usually associated with kinship groups, but they also frequently use familial language, calling one another “brother” or “sister” as if their strongest ties of relatedness are to one another, despite their obvious differences. They seem to envisage themselves as members of an empire consisting wholly of family members who care for and support one another.
I also took it upon myself to return to Antonius’s house the next day to meet Simon, the Galilean who previously worked for me. He became very ill recently and consequently has been unable to attend the gathering of Christians. Mania mentioned to me during the evening that he would regret having to miss the reading of your monograph about Jesus, and it occurred to me on the following morning that he might appreciate hearing the section that had been read at the gathering. Undeterred by our differences in social rank, I took it upon myself to do this. (Since the act of reading your monograph to the members of the association seems to fall within my orb of responsibility, I therefore felt this private reading to be an honorable task.) Antonius and Mania had gone to attend to their civic duties in the upper marketplace, but I was permitted entry by their household manager. Simon was glad of the company and to hear the text.
The occasion also afforded me another chance to read and discuss an important section of your monograph. The behavior of the Christians at Antonius’s house seems to be the natural outworking of some of the things mentioned in this week’s reading. The story of Jesus eating with tax collectors and sinners provides the raw ingredients for a community in which normal social codes of honor and shame are considered insignificant. The same is stated explicitly by Jesus, who pronounced the following verdict: “No one can serve two masters. . . . You cannot serve both God and money” [16:13]. This divorcing of divine favor and material wealth is standard fare for those disenfranchised within the empire, but it runs contrary to all I have ever believed, that the favor of the gods translates into a status of honor, power, and prestige. The Christians gathered at Antonius’s house attribute their efforts of service to the spirit of their god, who is active in their lives. It has nothing to do with a concern to enhance their social reputation. Clearly, they, like Jesus, do not associate divinity with the standards of honor that pervade the empire. That point was made by one of the traders, Karpos of Ancyra, in relation to Jesus’s words, “What people value highly is detestable in God’s sight” [16:15]. It was also obvious in the intriguing story of the rich man and Lazarus [16:19–31]. The rich man was not blessed by the Jewish god in the afterlife but was said to have transgressed the ways of god by not providing for the needs of others, even those who fell far beyond his world of honor. Of course, this is merely a story, and its validity needs to be tested, for it assumes, again, that some form of radical judgment awaits us after this life. At least Jesus was consistent in defining honor and shame within these parameters rather than those normally associated with the ways of the empire.
As I read to Simon the story of the man with two sons, I realized that he was crying. Images of sons eating the slop of pigs and of daughters forced into prostitution by economic hardship [15:16, 30] cut too close to the bone for him. He worries about the family that he was driven to abandon in the hope of carving out an existence here in Pergamum. Those are feelings and fears that I can barely understand, since my own son thrives in prestigious houses with gem-covered couches, luxurious decor, ornate fashions, and the finest of food and drink. But although I found it difficult to relate to Simon’s fears, I felt strangely moved with empathy for him, this peasant and former employee, a man with no education or claim to honor. If Jesus was right to think that status, power, and money are not, in themselves, indicators of divine favor, then perhaps Simon and I have more in common than our social differences would otherwise suggest. It causes me to wonder whether, like the rich man in Jesus’s story who was blind to the need that lay at his own gate, I myself have seen the world only in terms of the codes of honor that have been instilled in me since I was a young boy.
I am not convinced that Jesus was right, of course, but I grant you the power of your story and congratulate you on a well-constructed narrative that has enabled me to catch a glimpse of how others might see the world. These things have captured my attention and given me plenty to ponder—precisely what I had hoped for in coming to the learned city of Pergamum. I will continue my study of your narrative and am pleased for the opportunity to relate my musings to the author of such a fine piece of work.1
1. Antipas’s digest 3 was probably written on 23 April, digest 4 on 30 April (following Stachys’s return on 26 April), and digest 5 on 7 May, presumably the same day that the cover letter was composed. These letters were likely sent with Stachys on the morning of 8 May. He would have arrived in Ephesus on the afternoon of 11 May, leaving the following morning to return to Pergamum on 15 May. He returned with Luke’s brief letter (above). Luke’s responses to digests 3 and 4 were written later, probably between 12 May and 25 May.