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Introduction

The Acts of the Apostles is unique in the New Testament as the only sequel to a prior narrative (Luke’s Gospel). Although the precise relationship between the Gospel and Acts remains under debate, most scholars agree that the same author wrote both volumes. Despite traditional accounts attributing this work to Paul’s companion “Luke, the beloved physician” (Col. 4:14), in truth, the historical identity of this anonymous author remains unknown. He will be called “Luke” here simply for convenience.

Though the author was not a historian in any modern sense of the word, he clearly was concerned to give his addressee Theophilus a verifiable, orderly, historiographical account of Jesus’ life and the subsequent spread of the early Jesus movement (Luke 1:1–4; Acts 1:1–2; Sterling). He was conversant with Roman administrative practices, and also clearly educated, writing in sophisticated Greek prose and alluding to Greco-Roman literature, as well as Jewish Scripture and traditions.

Recently, scholars have reopened the question of when Acts was written, suggesting that a composition date during the mid-second century CE (c. 110–130) is more likely than the traditional consensus dating Acts between 80–100 CE (Tyson; Pervo). The authorship and date of composition obviously influence our consideration of the historicity of Acts. The traditional view that Luke was Paul’s companion lent credence to the sections of Acts that refer to Paul, a view further bolstered by the so-called we-passages, in which the narrator speaks in the first-person plural (16:10–17; 20:5–21:18; 27:1–28:16). In the second century CE, Irenaeus took the we-passages as proof that the author was an eyewitness of the events narrated (Adv. haer. 3.1–14). This view reigned until the eighteenth century, when historical-critical scholars (e.g., redaction, source, and form critics) mined the we-passages for evidence of Luke’s multiple sources. In the nineteenth century, Bruno Bauer suggested that “we” narration established reliability within a fictional narrative world.

Contemporary scholars tend not to see the we-passages as evidence of historicity, but rather as the conventional ancient style for narrating sea voyages (Robbins), or as a means of legitimating Paul (Campbell). The ambiguities surrounding the historical identity of the author have led most scholars today to reject the previously common practice of using Acts to establish the historicity or chronology of the Pauline Letters.

Like reconstructions of the Lukan author, conjectures about the location of composition and intended audience must be tentative. Commentators have offered intriguing proposals regarding the identity of the “most excellent” Theophilus (Luke 1:3). As Luke uses “most excellent” elsewhere to refer to Roman leaders (Acts 23:26; 24:3; 26:25), perhaps Theophilus is a Roman patron who commissioned these narratives; alternatively, “Theophilus,” which literally means “God-lover,” could refer symbolically to anyone who loves God. In any case, it seems clear that Luke wrote Acts to be read more broadly than by one person.

Specific scholarly suggestions tend to link Luke’s intended audience with a particular rhetorical purpose: Luke wrote to Jewish Christians in order to legitimate Paul, to Christians in Rome to commend the Roman Empire, or to Roman officials to defend Christianity. All we can say with certainty is that Acts can be situated within the first- or second-century-CE Mediterranean world, which means the implied audience would be familiar with basic sociocultural, political, geographical, and religious norms associated with life in the Roman Empire.

Scholars have consistently emphasized one dominant theme in Luke’s two-volume work: salvation to the ends of the earth. Typically, Acts 1:8 is viewed as the quintessential Lukan formulation of universal salvation, and as an outline for the book of Acts as a whole. Other themes commonly identified in Luke-Acts include Christians’ relationships with marginalized “others” (e.g., the poor, women, and Jews), proper uses of wealth, fulfillment of prophecy, the divine will and human response, the church (its growth, leadership, eschatological role, and ecclesiological practices), and the gift of the Holy Spirit. For more detail on these and other critical debates in Acts scholarship, see the preceding essay in this volume.

Given the extent of the narrative, it is helpful to keep a broad outline of the story in mind:

Acts 1:1–6:7: The Birth of the Church and Witness to Jerusalem

Acts 6:8–9:31: Spreading Beyond Jerusalem: Samaria and Judea

Acts 9:32–12:25: Bridge to the Gentiles: Expansion into Antioch

Acts 13:1–15:35: Expanding to the “Ends of the Earth”: Asia Minor

Acts 15:36–21:16: Expanding to the “Ends of the Earth”: Europe

Acts 21:17–28:31: At Long Last: The Movement Reaches Rome

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

The stereotypically formal Greco-Roman dedication to Theophilus mirrors that of the Gospel (Luke 1:1–4). Thus the foreword (1:1–5) and ascension story (1:6–11; cf. Luke 24:44–53) function as a bridge, establishing continuity with Luke’s Gospel and looking ahead to the story’s next phase. Many see Acts 1:8 as programmatic for the entire book: Acts recounts the worldwide spread of the gospel.

Jesus’ ascension in Acts (1:6–11) differs slightly from the Gospel account (Luke 24:50–53). This version shifts the focus from Jesus to the apostles and postpones the Parousia (which supports Conzelmann’s controversial contention that Luke wrote to explain the Parousia’s delay). Acts 1:3 is the only mention in the New Testament of forty days between Jesus’ resurrection and ascension (though this may be idiomatic for “a long time”).

Continuities exist as well; the account reinforces several key Lukan themes. First, the passive form of the Greek verb epērthē (“he was lifted up”) establishes that God governs the narrative’s events. God’s sovereignty is so strong in Luke-Acts that the acts of Luke’s characters have been called “the twitching of human puppets” (Haenchen, 361). Second, Jesus promises the Holy Spirit (1:8), whom many consider the main character in Acts. Third, Acts 1:9 recalls Jesus’ prediction of the son of man’s return (Luke 21:27), and is consistent with other New Testament texts (Matt. 26:64; Mark 14:62; Rev. 1:7; 14:14).

The account resonates with other ancient ascension narratives. For example, Gen. 5:24 implies that Enoch ascends into heaven, and in the Jewish mystical texts 1 and 3 Enoch, he transforms into an angel. In 2 Kgs. 2:11, the prophet Elijah ascends into heaven on a chariot of fire, and in Joseph and Aseneth 17.7–8, an angel rides a chariot to heaven. Acts 1:9–11 especially resembles Josephus’s depiction of Moses’ ascension in Antiquities 4.326.

Following Jesus’ ascension, Peter makes the first of twenty-four public speeches in Acts (1:16–22). Speeches in Acts establish Luke’s literary artistry, interpret theological themes for readers, and propel the plot. In this, Luke resembles ancient historians, who used speeches to emphasize themes and move the narrative forward.

Peter cites Pss. 69:25 and 109:8, effectively casting Judas as God’s enemy and making his replacement a divine necessity. Luke’s readers already know that Judas betrayed Jesus (Luke 22:47–53), but here, they learn of Judas’s bloody death (cf. Matt. 27:3–10). After praying and casting lots, the disciples choose Matthias (1:21–26), who is otherwise unimportant, as he is unmentioned elsewhere in the New Testament. What matters is the unbroken apostolic witness of Jesus’ ministry; the number twelve maintains symbolic continuity with Israel’s twelve patriarchs, whom the twelve apostles will eventually judge (Luke 22:30).

THE TEXT IN CONTEMPORARY DISCUSSION

The symbolic geographic movement of the Gospel from Jerusalem to Rome presents a hermeneutical challenge for modern interreligious dialogue, since it easily lends itself to a supersessionist theology: Jerusalem (representing Judaism) is superseded by the power of Rome (representing Christianity). Furthermore, twentieth-century evangelist Billy Graham referred to Acts 1:8 when calling Christians to “win the whole world for Christ.” Does “winning the whole world for Christ” facilitate Western triumphalism?

Some consider the call to spread the gospel “to the ends of the earth” as an indication that the Christian message is superior to and ought to supplant all other religious traditions. Such religious triumphalism, which was inextricably wedded to Western colonial expansion, often assumes that to do missionary work Christians must be foreigners in a strange land; however, the early Christian movement “begins in Jerusalem,” suggesting that empowered by the Spirit, Christians can and should also witness at home (Kanyoro).

Jesus’ promise that God’s reign transcends expectations can also challenge marginalized people groups today. For example, Justo González warns that if US Hispanics overemphasize God’s coming reign, they will neglect their global witness. Does Acts teach that the church should prepare for an imminent Judgment Day, or maintain tradition in the face of an indefinitely delayed eschatology?

Some take Acts 1:12–26 as a fixed prescription for church leadership. According to the Catholic Church, apostolic succession originates here, guaranteeing doctrinal teachings through the bishops’ unbroken lineage. In contrast, Ernst Kasëmann famously disparaged Acts’ “early catholicism” (Frühkatholizismus), by which he meant a departure from the “true” gospel’s egalitarianism. Most scholars today emphasize that Acts describes leaders adapting to changing circumstances.

Recently, Luke’s contradictory gender constructions have provoked a spate of scholarly studies. On the one hand, Acts 9:36 is the only time a woman is explicitly labeled a “disciple” in the New Testament (Tabitha; cf. Rom. 16:7), and other women play important roles in the Christian community (1:14; 2:17–18; 12:2; 16:13–15; 18:18, 26; see Josephus, Ant. 4:219 on rejecting a woman’s legal witness). Thus many believe Acts supports women’s church leadership (Pierce, Groothuis, and Fee). However, Acts also silences women: they are rarely quoted, men remain in command, and Peter stipulates that Judas’s replacement be male (1:21). Therefore, others find it futile to try and reclaim Acts for feminist causes (Schaberg).

A more basic question underlies these discussions: Should an ancient narrative be a contemporary imperative? If so, how should interpreters discern which narrative elements are relevant and/or normative for their situation(s)?

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

The miraculous outpouring of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost (2:1–13) fulfills Jesus’ prophecies (Luke 24:49; Acts 1:4–5) and formally inaugurates the messianic community. Luke is beholden to Jewish tradition: Hellenistic Jews gave the name “Pentecost” (“fiftieth”) to the Jewish “Festival of Weeks” (Shevuot), which occurred fifty days after Passover. Originally a harvest festival, Pentecost eventually celebrated the giving of the Mosaic law. The onlookers’ comprehension of the multiple languages likely echoes the rabbinic legend that God gave the Sinaitic law in seventy languages for the world’s seventy nations (compare glōssolalia, which requires interpretation; 1 Cor. 14:1–25; see Philo, De decalogo 9–11). The sound of rushing wind and the tongues “as of fire” evoke Hebrew Bible theophanies (Gen. 2:7; Exod. 3:2; 13:21; 19:18; Ps. 33:6; cf. Isa. 5:24).

The onlookers are devout Diaspora Jews living in Jerusalem (2:5). This is the first instance in Acts of Ioudaios, a difficult word to translate since it has multiple overlapping referents: geographic, religious, and ethnic. The subsequent list of nations (2:9–11) resembles lists found in ancient astrological and historical writings. Scholars have proposed several direct sources (e.g., Genesis 10 and Philo’s Embassy to Gaius 281–82). Aside from questions of translation and derivation, juxtaposing Ioudaios and the list of nations at the start of Acts substantiates the Lukan message that the gospel came first to the Jews, then spread throughout the world.

As is common in Luke-Acts, bystanders misinterpret the events (2:13). In the Gospel, those who misunderstand are typically closest to Jesus (2:43, 50; 9:10–17, 28–36, 37–42, 44–45, 49–50, 54–55, 57–62). In Acts, outsiders misunderstand, often about a character’s identity (3:17; 7:25; 8:18–24; 13:27; 14:11–13; 19:14–16; 22:9; cf. 21:17–26). Characters’ ignorance frequently introduces dramatic irony (when characters know less than the readers), thus privileging readers and solidifying insider-outsider boundaries. Lukan characters often unwittingly voice the narrator’s—and ultimately God’s—perspective (cf. 5:39).

Peter instructs the witnesses to “listen carefully” (2:14). Using a complex of seeing- and hearing-related words, Luke consistently commends listening well. Peter interprets Pentecost as a fulfillment of prophecy (2:16; a slightly modified citation from Joel 2:28–32 LXX), thereby connecting the indwelling of the Spirit with the prophetic task established in the Hebrew Bible. As a result of these events, three thousand join the nascent Jesus movement (first labeled “Christian” in Antioch; see 11:26).

THE TEXT IN THE INTERPRETIVE TRADITION

Patristic preachers like Cyprian and John Chrysostom used an idealized Acts 2 community to castigate their congregations’ divisiveness. Fourth-century monastics like Basil the Great appropriated Acts 2:44–45 for the apostolic life (vita apostolica), including a vow of poverty. This passage also inspired Thomas More’s Utopia (sixteenth century) and Marx and Engels’s Communist Manifesto (nineteenth century). As a result, it was common in the twentieth-century view to assert that early Christians were “communists.” Despite the fact that communist thinkers appealed to early Christian practice to develop and support their ideological system, labeling early Christians “communist” is anachronistic.

By the fifth century CE, the Feast of Pentecost had become a liturgical tradition distinct from Easter; Eastern churches held that the church was born at Jesus’ resurrection, while Western churches considered Pentecost the church’s birth.

Pentecost has sparked many debates over pneumatology: Post-Reformation theologians (sixteenth century) and Princeton theologians like B. B. Warfield (nineteenth century) advanced a cessationist view (charismata have ceased), whereas others insist that demonic deliverance, divine healing, and ecstatic prophecy continue. According to Charles Parham (1873–1929), missionaries who speak in tongues need not study foreign languages. Pentecostals and members of the Holiness movement (early twentieth century) took glossolalia as evidence of true faith and, often, the dissolution of racial barriers. The Pentecostal movement initially was interracial (e.g., the Azusa Street Revival of 1906–1909).

THE TEXT IN CONTEMPORARY DISCUSSION

A nostalgic, romanticized image of early Christian unity continues. Commentators often write that Pentecost overturns the Tower of Babel story (Gen. 11:1–9) and that the Holy Spirit brings concord (Acts 2:44–45). Many Christians today assume that while contemporary Christians are divided, the early church enjoyed uncomplicated koinōnia (“fellowship”: a praised virtue in Hellenistic literature). For instance, the Barna Research Group reports that the “house church movement” is growing worldwide. The movement rejects ecclesiastical structures and ordained clergy in favor of meeting in private homes; this is supposedly modeled on the early Christians (Acts 2:42; 5:42; 12:12; 16:40; 20:20), though advocates of the movement often overlook how Roman households were bustling hubs of activity, with business conducted in the tablinum (“office”), and daily offerings left in the lararium (“shrine”). The earliest house churches did not meet in solely private spaces. The Holy Spirit’s coming also led to believers sharing their resources (Acts 2:44–45); since the 1960s, liberation theologians have referenced Acts 2 to advocate for sharing material wealth with poor people.

For others, Pentecost is not an overturning, but simply a new iteration of Babel, since the disciples speak local dialects (not one common language), and they again scatter throughout the earth. How one interprets Pentecost influences missions and diversity in the church today. For instance, some Christian missionaries seek to assimilate, or “speak the language” of other cultures, while others believe a truly “globalized” Christianity will transcend cultural differences. Does the Holy Spirit erase ethnic/racial differences and subvert human-made hierarchies? Does Pentecost add a welcoming, multiethnic element to Christianity that churches today should celebrate and emulate?

Relatedly, if Pentecost overcomes humanity’s fragmentation, as Rome also purported to do, does this imply that early Christians appropriated Roman imperialistic propaganda (Gilbert)? Does Luke reinscribe hierarchical values? If so, do Christians today perpetuate similarly problematic ideologies?

Luke utilizes the prevailing discourses of his time in his own form of what Denise Buell calls “ethnic reasoning.” Recognizing that race and ethnicity are socially shaped, discursive constructions, rather than fixed, stable categories complexifies Luke’s universalism. How have Christians used the fluid categories of race/ethnicity apologetically, as evidence of Christianity’s multicultural appeal?

In the United States, racial-ethnic minorities are becoming the majority. How does, or should, this influence American churches, which remain predominantly segregated? Are ethnically homogenous congregations blind to their own racialized assumptions and systemic sin, or are they rightly respecting differences between people groups?

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

Peter’s healing of the lame man (3:1–11) provides the first instance of the “wonders and signs” mentioned earlier (2:43). The miracle recalls Jesus’ healings (Luke 7:22) and the prophetic tradition that at Israel’s redemption the lame will “leap like a deer” (Isa. 35:6). In ancient society, those with disabilities often were ridiculed and associated with sin; Peter communicates that all people, regardless of appearance or ability, are welcome in God’s kingdom.

Four times, Luke says the witnesses are astonished (3:10–12). This further develops an established Lukan theme: in Luke’s Gospel, God amazes people (1:63; 2:18, 33), then Jesus does (4:22, 32, 36; 5:24–26); and now in Acts, the disciples engender amazement, implicitly linking them to God and Jesus, and heightening their authority in the narrative.

Peter’s prophetic speech (3:12–26) echoes the one he gave at Pentecost: again, he addresses a misunderstanding, clarifies the miracle’s divine origin, and demonstrates that Jesus fulfills messianic prophecies. Contrary to a common Jewish conviction, welcoming gentiles fulfills the Abrahamic covenant (3:25).

While the “people” respond gladly, the Jewish authorities become angry. In Luke’s Gospel, the Pharisees and Sadducees oppose Jesus, but in Acts, the main opponents are the Sadducees. The descriptions of the Sadducees in Acts (4:1; 5:17; 23:6–8) cohere with Josephus’s account that they are the aristocratic temple priesthood, the majority party of the Sanhedrin (Ant. 13:297–98). Testifying before the Jerusalem Council (4:1–22), Peter fulfills Jesus’ promise (Luke 12:11–12).

Luke then adds to the picture of Christian communal life (cf. 2:43–47). The disciples’ prayers are immediately answered (4:23–31), in a clear echo of Pentecost (cf. 2:1–4); unified in “heart and soul” (4:32), they voluntarily share possessions (4:33–37), thereby implementing Jesus’ commands (Luke 12:33; 18:22), in contrast to typical Mediterranean patron-client relations (Moxnes). Correct use of possessions is a common Lukan theme (Seccombe). The phrase “heart and soul” may draw on Deuteronomy (4:29; 6:5; 10:12; 11:13; 26:16), and/or echo traditional Greek proverbs (Nic. Eth. 9.8.2).

And yet, this idyllic communal portrait does not last. Unlike Barnabas (4:36–37), Ananias and Sapphira refuse to surrender their possessions and lie about their hoarding (5:1–11). Similar to Achan, whose deceit results in his divinely sanctioned death (Josh. 7:16–26), God strikes Ananias and Sapphira dead. Ironically, after refusing to place all their money “at the apostles’ feet” (5:2; cf. 4:35–37), this is precisely where Sapphira dies (5:10). The divine retribution legitimates the apostles’ authority (5:11).

Acts 5:17–26 is the first of three miraculous prison escapes in Acts (cf. 12:6–11; 16:25–27). Again, the Jerusalem Council attempts to thwart the spread of the gospel. Again, the apostles refuse to be silenced, citing a well-known Greek proverb and common Jewish admonition that they obey God, not humans (5:29; cf. Plato, Apology 29D; Deut. 4:30; 8:20; 9:23; 30:2). The Pharisee Gamaliel’s intervention pacifies the Jewish authorities (5:39) and immediately proves prophetic, as the apostles continue preaching (5:42).

In line with Jewish practice (Deut. 14:28–29; 24:17–21; 26:12–13; Isa. 1:17–23), the early church cared for widows (6:1–7), who were particularly vulnerable in such a patriarchal culture (Moxnes). Luke’s Gospel repeatedly refers to widows (7:11–17; 9:39; 18:1–8; 20:47). Historically, the presence of Greek-speaking Hellenistic Christians and Aramaic-speaking Hebrew Christians is likely, given Jerusalem’s diversity and hellenization’s long-standing influence throughout the empire (cf. 1 Macc. 1:11–15). When choosing overseers for daily food distribution, the apostles pray (cf. 1:12–26) and lay hands on the seven (6:6), evoking Joshua’s commissioning (Num. 27:18–23). They repeat the practice later (8:15–19; 9:12–17; 13:2–3).

Six summary statements like 6:7 punctuate the Acts narrative (cf. 9:31; 12:24; 16:5; 19:20; 28:31), reiterating and deepening the inseparable link between God’s unstoppable word and the growth of the church. Each of the six resulting panels shows the movement of the gospel into a different geographical region.

THE TEXT IN THE INTERPRETIVE TRADITION

Proponents of the traditional view that Luke was a physician long believed Acts 3:1–11 demonstrated unique medical knowledge (e.g., W. K. Hobart [The Medical Language of St. Luke, 1882]). However, in 1920, Henry Cadbury convincingly demonstrated that such vocabulary was common in ancient literature.

As with Acts 2:42–47, patristic sermons (e.g., Cyprian, Chrysostom) take the common life described in 4:32–37 as a normative historical reality and a paradigmatic example of Christian generosity and unanimity. In contrast to this ideal, church fathers condemned Ananias and Sapphira as greed personified (e.g., Maximus of Turin).

Patristic interpreters produced panegyrics of Peter based on this section of Acts: Peter is the divinely appointed miracle-worker and defender of the faith nonpareil. Cyprian cites Peter’s lack of money (3:6) to denounce greed. The Venerable Bede taught that the church, who “walks upright” (Peter), must raise Israel, who “limps” without the gospel (the lame man). The Catholic Church sees Peter as Rome’s first bishop, from whom infallible papal authority descends. Ironically, throughout the sixteenth through the eighteenth centuries, English Dissenters used Acts 4:19 to justify leaving the Church of England (which was originally established to oppose papal authority).

Supporters of the church’s rigid hierarchical structure in the Middle Ages used Acts 6:1–7 (and 20:17, 28) to defend formal ecclesiastical offices. For medieval theologians, institutionalization was necessary to stave off false teachings and to manage the church’s increasingly differentiated ministries.

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

In the previous section (6:1–7), the disciples in Jerusalem chose seven leaders to resolve an internal conflict. Here, the conflict begins to move outward, as diasporic Jews from Asia Minor (Cilicia and Asia) and Africa (freed slaves from Cyrene and Alexandria) arrest one of the chosen seven (Stephen). The Lukan narrator underscores the injustice of their accusations by emphasizing Stephen’s grace and power (6:8), wisdom through the Spirit (6:10), and angelic innocence (6:15)—attributes associated with God’s chosen leaders enacting the divine plan (7:22, 25).

Several significant parallels exist between these scenes and Jesus’ passion in the Gospel: like Jesus, Stephen is falsely accused of speaking against Moses, opposing Jewish customs, and blaspheming. Both Jesus and Stephen refer to the son of man at God’s right hand (7:55; cf. Luke 22:69), both ask God to forgive their tormentors (7:60; cf. Luke 23:34), and Stephen commends his spirit to Jesus (7:59), just as Jesus commended his spirit to God (Luke 23:46). Rhetorically, these recurrences link the sufferings of Christians back to the sufferings of Jesus’ passion.

There is a crucial distinction, however. Whereas Jesus himself remains silent before Herod (Luke 23:9), Stephen eloquently refutes the charges against him (Acts 6:9–12); presumably, as Stephen speaks, Jesus is fulfilling his promise to provide the words (Luke 21:14–15). Stephen recounts the establishment of God’s covenant, summarizes Israel’s history, and draws extensively on the patriarchal stories (with some divergences from Genesis). The attentive reader knows that with Stephen as his mouthpiece, Luke is adding a new layer of meaning to these familiar accounts. For example, Stephen’s citation of Deut. 18:15 contains a pun: God fulfilled the promise to “raise up” a prophet like Moses—literally and figuratively—in Jesus (cf. 3:22). Stephen’s speech also advances a crucial Lukan theme: the state of one’s heart determines whether one will receive the divine word (cf. Luke 8:4–21; 10:24). The Lukan narrator’s ideological conviction is placed in Stephen’s mouth: the Jews reject Moses, the law, and the prophets due to their “uncircumcised” hearts and ears (7:51). Without Gamaliel to appease the authorities (see 5:34–40), the confrontation escalates and Stephen becomes the first Christian martyr. Ironically, by executing him, the people prove Stephen’s point that the Jews reject God’s prophets; the narrative rhetoric thereby authorizes Stephen and his message.

Acts 7:58 records the most famous witness of Stephen’s killing: Saul of Tarsus in Cilicia, later called Paul (a Roman name). Saul, a member of the Jewish Diaspora and committed Pharisee, most likely was named for Israel’s great king. As Acts repeatedly attests, Saul zealously sought to exterminate the early Jesus movement (7:58; 8:1; 9:1–2, 5, 13–14, 21; 22:4–5, 7, 19; 26:9–11, 14). According to the Lukan narrative, Stephen’s death inaugurated a “severe persecution,” scattering the Jerusalem church throughout Judea and Samaria (8:1).

THE TEXT IN CONTEMPORARY DISCUSSION

Acts is particularly virulent in its anti-Jewish polemic. Stephen blames Jesus’ crucifixion and early Christian persecution entirely on the Jews (7:51–60). Since passages like this have fueled antisemitic atrocities like the Holocaust, many question whether this is the “word of God,” and whether such passages should be read in church. Are the Lutheran Lectionary for Mass and The Revised Common Lectionary right to include them in the liturgy, or should clergy avoid them?

Recently, scholars have debated the historical origins of the Christian martyrdom tradition. Some, following William Frend, argue that Christian martyrdom accounts have literary precedents in the Jewish Maccabean genre (1965); Glen Bowersock, however, contends that Christian martyrdom was an entirely new phenomenon that arose from early Christian interactions with Romans, who venerated suicide (1995). Still others, such as Daniel Boyarin, argue that the Christian martyrological narratives reveal the contested nature of Jews’ and Christians’ close interconnectedness at the time, and their efforts to construct separate categories of identity (1999). Relatedly, scholars like Judith Perkins and Candida Moss fundamentally challenge the traditional notion that early Christians faced pervasive, consistent persecution, since most extant accounts come from the church historian Eusebius, who wrote during Constantine’s pro-Christian reign and consistently disparaged earlier emperors as anti-Christian (fourth century CE). Other historical records indicate that individual governors held localized freedom regarding Christian persecution, and mass apostasy was far more common than actual martyrdoms. Scholars like Elizabeth Castelli bracket historiographical considerations, focusing on the dynamic role of power negotiations and hagiographical memories in early Christian identity formation (2004).

Nevertheless, the narrative of unjust Christian martyrdom at the hands of outside persecutors remains powerful; Christian self-sacrifice today is often cast in the same mold as the ancient accounts. The Voice of the Martyrs, an American nonprofit organization, seeks to encourage those who are “persecuted for their faith in Christ” and distributes Bibles in “hostile nations”; innocent deaths, as in the Columbine massacre (April 20, 1999) and the World Trade Center attacks (September 11, 2001), are deemed martyrdoms and used as rallying cries against America’s “enemies.” There is a danger when such views legitimate unethical violence and racial profiling, or perpetuate stereotypes of entire populations as “anti-Christian.”

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

The “severe persecution” begun at Stephen’s martyrdom ultimately enables the fulfillment of Jesus’ promise in Acts 1:8, since it leads Philip (one of the seven chosen in 6:1–7) to preach in Samaria (8:4). As part of a pervasive motif advocating for the outcasts of society, Luke’s Gospel gives special attention to Samaritans, whom Jews despised for insisting that they were the true preservers of the Mosaic law (Luke 10:30–37; 17:11–19). Entrance into Samaria thus establishes connective tissue with the Gospel and represents a significant moment in the expansion of the church.

Simon, Philip’s literary foil, has duped the Samaritans with magic, which for Luke represents the cosmic drama between God’s forces and the forces of evil (8:4–25). Despite his baptism (8:13), Simon is not transformed; failing to distinguish between miracles and magic, he tries to buy the Spirit’s power (8:18–24). The narrative rhetoric here emphasizes two common Lukan themes: the danger of magic and the danger of wealth.

Though the gentile mission does not formally begin until chapter 10, Acts 8:26–40 depicts the first gentile conversion. Philip overhears an Ethiopian eunuch reading aloud (following the ancient custom) from the Isaianic scroll (most likely the Septuagint version). The Ethiopian eunuch is an outsider on multiple counts: In the Greco-Roman geographical imagination, Ethiopia was the end of the world (whereas Rome was its navel, or omphalos). The eunuch’s conversion fulfills Acts 1:8 and demonstrates that the Spirit reaches all who are “far away” (makran, 2:39; in Greek literature, makran often refers to Ethiopians). Ancient writers like Herodotus, Strabo, and Homer describe Ethiopians as the original race, handsome and dark. Several ancient physiognomic handbooks, which outline how physical features reflect moral character, depict Ethiopians as cowardly (Parsons, 119).

The term eunuch could simply indicate his official title (cf. Gen. 39:1 LXX) as finance minister for the Candace (the title for queens of Ethiopian Meroë). If eunuch indicates that he was castrated, then he was “other” physically, as well. First-century society demonized eunuchs, associating honor with masculinity and shame with femininity. Further, if he was castrated, he could not be a Jew, despite his interest in Israel’s religion (8:27–28; Lev. 21:20; Deut. 23:1; Josephus, Ant. 4.290–91). Overall, the eunuch’s conversion epitomizes the Lukan themes of universalism and social justice: the gospel reaches the marginalized.

As elsewhere in Luke-Acts, the Holy Spirit directs events on the Gaza road (8:26, 29, 39). This detail characterizes Philip as a prophet like Elijah, whom the Spirit leads similarly (1 Kgs. 18:46). The passage cited (Isa. 53:7–8) refers to the sacrificial lamb, who (like Jesus before Herod; Luke 23:9) “does not open his mouth” (8:32); in contrast, Philip “opens his mouth” (8:35) and explains the Scriptures, just as the risen Jesus did on the Emmaus road (Luke 24:27). Philip baptizes the eunuch, ritually reversing his debased status. The katabasis-anabasis language here (8:38–39) is common in Greco-Roman mythology (e.g., Theseus, Heracles, and Orpheus travel “down” to Hades and “come up” again), and may have contributed to the Christian concept of baptism as a death and rebirth. The eunuch rejoices (8:39), a common response to the gospel in Acts. The Spirit “snatches up” Philip, depositing him in Azotus, a city over twenty miles north (8:38–39). Few instances of miraculous disappearances occur in Luke-Acts (cf. Luke 9:28–36; 24:31; Acts 1:9), though they are common elsewhere in ancient literature (e.g., Mars takes Romulus up into heaven in Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. Rom. 2.56.2; Aphrodite “snatches” Paris in Homer, Il. 3.380–83). The Hebrew Bible similarly depicts God’s Spirit transferring prophets to new locations (1 Kgs. 18:12; 2 Kgs. 2:11–12, 16; Ezek. 3:14; 8:3; 11:1, 24; 43:5). Philip settles in Caesarea, which is where we find him thirteen chapters later (Acts 21:8).

THE TEXT IN THE INTERPRETIVE TRADITION

The church fathers were troubled by Simon’s “wickedness” following baptism (8:22). The Venerable Bede posited that Simon feigned receiving the Spirit (CS 117:79), while Augustine concluded that baptizing someone evil results in evil, even if the baptizer is holy (FC 79:19). Simon appears elsewhere in Christian literature as Simon Magus (a Greek title meaning magician), who, traveling with a woman named Helena, was the ultimate heretic (e.g., Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.23.1–4).

Ferdinand Christian Baur, leader of the so-called Tübingen School of theology (nineteenth century), drew attention to references to Simon Magus in the Clementine literature and Apocryphal Acts, suggesting that Simon Magus was an alternative name for Paul. Building on the Hegelian dialectic, Baur held that the hierarchical “Catholic Christianity” of the second century CE represented the synthesis of Jewish Petrine Christianity (thesis) and gentile Pauline Christianity (antithesis).

Many patristic commentators held that the eunuch exemplifies the ideal response to the Christian message: he studies Scripture and, despite his high political station, humbly asks for help. Later Christian tradition taught that he was the first missionary to Africa. The eunuch’s conversion also posed hermeneutical problems, however. Early Christian apologists like Justin recognized that ideal non-Christian readers should ask questions like the eunuch’s (8:34), but they also believed that only Christian readers can ask them.

Acts 8:37 also presents a text-critical issue: though clearly not original, several manuscripts add a liturgical gloss with a baptismal formula: “He said to him, ‘If you believe with your whole heart, you may.’ He replied, ‘I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God.’ ” Modern translations omit the verse number or put it in parentheses.

THE TEXT IN CONTEMPORARY DISCUSSION

Conservative Christians in the West have revived the ancient Christian polemic against magic, believing that popular narratives about magic (e.g., J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series) expose children to evil. African Christians offer a unique perspective on Simon’s magical worldview because many Africans generate revenue by practicing magic today; although Simon’s attempt to buy the Holy Spirit’s power makes good financial sense in such a context, African Christian leaders condemn magic and superstition.

Many African churches uphold the tradition that the Ethiopian eunuch was the first African missionary; we do know the gospel reached the African continent early, and some of the earliest complete Bible translations were produced there.

Often, Christians take the Ethiopian eunuch’s conversion as evidence of Christianity’s countercultural inclusivity. Though the eunuch customarily stands outside acceptable society, the reference to Isa. 53:7–8 (LXX) affirms that foreigners will be restored to the people of God (cf. Isa. 56:3–5). From this perspective, Acts 8:33 commends the pursuit of justice in all contexts of humiliation, including ours today. Some consider this text redemptive for LGBTQ Christians, calling Christian communities to accept those who cannot/do not have children or engage in heterosexual intercourse (Wilson).

Liberation and womanist theologians commend a hermeneutic of suspicion instead. For them, ethnic difference is used as a polemical device marking outsiders, which is especially evident when comparing the Ethiopian eunuch’s conversion to that of the Roman Cornelius (Acts 10:1–48). Ethno-political language and heterosexist ideologies suggest that early Christians simply adopted Rome’s discursive strategies, marginalizing those outside of Rome.

The same dialectic remains operative today: On the one hand, the eunuch is an example of a marginalized minority who converts to Christianity; the example itself implicitly invites minorities today to imagine themselves as followers of Jesus as well. On the other hand, despite his conversion, the eunuch’s marginal status does not change, in the story or in subsequent Christian history.

The overwhelming majority of Christian artwork depicts Jesus and his closest followers as white Europeans, which (despite many beloved iconic images) is historically inaccurate and perpetuates Eurocentric notions of racial superiority. We can see the continued power of this racialized image of Jesus and his followers in the fact that when Barack Obama was elected president of the United States in 2009, Afrocentric depictions of a black Christ that circulated on the Internet provoked the ire of many Americans.

Larger questions thus remain: can Acts 8:26–40 empower contemporary faith communities to challenge all forms of oppression? Or is the text inherently racist and/or sexist? Is Christianity a “white man’s religion,” as members of the Nation of Islam and others contend? How do biblical tropes that marginalize the “other” function today?

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

In this highly dramatic episode, Saul, vigorous persecutor of Jesus’ disciples, experiences a divine epiphany on the road to Damascus, in Syria. We are not told how the gospel has reached Damascus, only that Saul is on his way there to persecute followers of Jesus, and that his reputation precedes him. Ananias’s parallel vision directs him to lay hands on Saul to restore his sight (cf. 4:30; 5:12; 8:17). Ananias’s obedience and familial greeting (9:17–19), along with Barnabas’s testimony (9:27), corroborate God’s acceptance of Saul and validate Saul’s claim to apostleship.

Luke’s third-person account of Saul’s transformation here differs slightly from the first-person versions recounted later in Acts (22:1–16; 26:9–18), and in Paul’s letters (1 Cor. 15:3–8; Gal. 1:11–16). The Christophany contains typical features of Jewish theophany-type scenes, including a fall (cf. Ezek. 1:28; Dan. 8:17, 10:9), a bright light (cf. 4 Macc. 4:10, Joseph and Aseneth 14.1–2), and a vision only the recipient sees (cf. Dan. 10:7; Ezek. 1:28). There are also verbal echoes of the legend in 2 Maccabees 3, where a persecutor, Heliodorus, falls to the ground in darkness, “converts,” and testifies to God’s power.

Ironically in light of his previous witness of Stephen’s martyrdom (7:58), Saul steps into the gap left by Stephen’s death, taking a central leadership role in the Christian community. As such, this represents a major turning point in the narrative. For Luke, Saul’s shifting role is inevitable: he is God’s “chosen vessel” (9:15), instantiating the Lukan theme of divine necessity (what Cosgrove calls “the divine dei”).

THE TEXT IN THE INTERPRETIVE TRADITION

For some early Christians, Acts 9:1–31 was literally prescriptive: Saul’s fast prepared him for baptism, which is necessary for salvation (e.g., Justin, 1 Apol. 61; Tertullian, Bapt. 20). Later commentators often read Saul’s conversion story more symbolically. For instance, to the Venerable Bede (seventh century CE), Saul’s blindness represents the darkness of sin, which is then overcome by the light of faith. The three days of blindness teach Saul that he was wrong to doubt Jesus’ resurrection on the third day.

Many influential Christian theologians have read Saul’s Damascus vision as an archetype for Christian conversion. For example, Augustine’s own famous garden conversion in 386 CE led him to read Saul’s conversion as God’s “violent capture of a rebel will.” Medieval illustrations portray a wolf changing into a lamb, or a toppled horseman, both of which represent the rebellious human will being forcefully transformed. In the sixteenth century, Luther preached that Saul’s conversion is a paradigm of Christian faith: failure to keep God’s law leads to deep shame. Conversion, which frees one from the devil’s grasp, is the result of God’s prevenient grace alone. Luther contrasted Saul’s transformation with the so-called papists who, like Saul before his conversion, persecuted the Reformers (the “true” Christians).

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

In 9:32, Luke reintroduces Peter, who takes the gospel westward to Lydda (on the Plain of Sharon) and Joppa (9:32, 36). Peter’s healing of Tabitha (Dorcas in Greek) fits the form of ancient miracle-type scenes (Bultmann’s Wundergeschichten): a description of the circumstances (9:37), the miracle (9:40), a corroborating sign (9:40), and/or the witnesses’ response (9:42). Raising the dead establishes continuity between prophets in the Hebrew Bible (1 Kgs. 17:17–24; 2 Kgs. 4:32–37), Jesus in the Gospel (Luke 7:11–17; 8:41–42, 49–56), and the apostles in Acts. The story has intertextual resonances with Luke 8:49–56, where Jesus raises Jairus’s daughter; Jesus’ instruction in the Markan parallel (5:35–43), Talitha, koum (“Little girl, I say to you, get up”) also sounds similar to Peter’s instruction, Tabitha, anastēthi (“Tabitha, get up,” Acts 9:40).

Acts 9:36 is the only instance of the feminine noun for “disciple” (mathētria) in the New Testament (a hapax legomenon). Scholars often assume, based on 9:39, 41, that Tabitha was a widow, though the text never explicitly states this. Tabitha cares for the poor (9:36), a description Luke also uses to describe Cornelius in the next section (10:2, 4).

Like Tabitha, Cornelius is a sympathetic character with financial means. As a centurion, he commands one hundred men in the Roman army’s Italian cohort (likely an anachronistic reference, since it is not attested elsewhere until 69 CE). Cornelius lives in Caesarea Maritima, the Roman capital of Judea, where Herod the Great had several pet building projects (see Josephus, Ant. 15.9.6 [15.331–41]). As an influential paterfamilias, Cornelius commands a large household (10:7).

Described as a devout gentile who “fears God” and prays continuously (10:2), Cornelius may be a “God-fearer,” a category of gentiles who worshiped God and followed Jewish customs, without being proselytes. Some question the existence of God-fearers as a distinct historical category, though inscriptional evidence seems to indicate that “God-fearers” were active in synagogues, often as benefactors. In Acts, such gentiles resemble devout Jews (13:16, 26; 16:14; 18:7). Like Mary (Luke 1:26–38) and Ananias (Acts 9:10–17), Cornelius receives an angelic visitation at the ninth hour (three o’clock), the hour of prayer (10:3; cf. 3:1).

When the spotlight shifts to Peter, Luke highlights a main obstacle to gentile inclusion in the messianic assembly: their ritual uncleanness. Although no purity laws forbade Jewish table fellowship with gentiles, social taboos clearly discouraged such associations. Within the narrative, interactions between Jews and gentiles are vigorously contested. Peter’s vision leads to the first of four household conversions in Acts (see also 16:11–15, 25–34; 18:1–11), and to Peter’s own “conversion” to a new point of view regarding Jew-gentile relations (Parsons, 141); after some reticence, Peter finally grasps God’s impartiality (10:34).

The significant amount of repetition throughout chapters 10–11 accentuates the importance of this narrative moment, when gentiles are officially welcomed into the people of God. In a recapitulation of the Pentecost event, the Holy Spirit descends on the gentiles (10:44–48). Upon Peter’s return to Jerusalem, he recounts his vision (11:1–18; cf. 10:9–16). Similar to Luke’s own storytelling (Luke 1:3), Peter describes events “step by step” (11:4), adding his own interpretive emphasis on God’s role in establishing the gentile mission. Just as Jesus’ opponents are silenced in Luke’s Gospel (Luke 14:1–6), Peter’s criticizers are silenced; unlike Jesus’ antagonists, however, Peter’s interlocutors eventually praise God (11:18).

THE TEXT IN THE INTERPRETIVE TRADITION

Chrysostom and Basil the Great enjoined their congregants to emulate Tabitha’s virtuous behavior. During the Protestant Reformation, Calvin taught that faith preceded Tabitha’s good works.

Cornelius’s baptism (10:44–48) appeared in third-century doctrinal debates over the (re)baptism of “heretics,” apostates who left the church in the face of Roman persecution. Cyprian (“pope” of Carthage) wrote a letter to Stephen (“pope” of Rome) in which he argued that Cornelius’s baptism after receiving the Spirit commends (re)baptism (Epist. 72). Christian thinkers also referred to the household conversions in Acts to support infant baptism (which was widespread by the third century CE), assuming that children were present whenever entire households are mentioned.

Origen’s and Augustine’s different readings of Cornelius’s angelic visitation were important in theological disputes over free will and divine grace (e.g., the semi-Pelagian controversy). For Origen, Cornelius merits an angelic visitation because he is charitable (10:2), but for Augustine, God’s prevenient grace led to Cornelius’s good works.

Fierce debates arose in late antiquity between the Antiochene “school” of intellectuals like Chrysostom, Diodore of Tarsus, and Theodore of Mopsuestia, who read Scripture literally, and those of the Alexandrian “school” like Origen and Clement of Alexandria, who read allegorically. Surprisingly, Antiochene interpreters read Peter’s vision (10:9–16) allegorically (the animals represent incorporating gentiles into God’s people), while Origen took it literally (the animals represent overturned Jewish dietary restrictions).

In the fourth- and fifth-century trinitarian and christological controversies, Western adoptionists took Peter’s reference to God’s “anointing” Jesus (10:38) as evidence that Jesus is subordinate to the Father; the now-orthodox interpretation is that Jesus’ unction concerns only his humanity.

Nineteenth-century African American preachers appropriated Peter’s assertions (10:34–36) to denounce prejudice. This text thus undergirded Christian objections to white supremacists, who preferred New Testament texts like Philemon.

THE TEXT IN CONTEMPORARY DISCUSSION

Feminist reception history oscillates between celebrating female difference and insisting females are no different from males. Some feminist scholars celebrate Tabitha’s status as a “disciple” (mathētria), lamenting “malestream” scholarship’s dismissal of this title. Further, Lukan scholars often consider the successive healings of Aeneas and Tabitha (9:32–43) as an instance of the “gender pairs” that are a signature feature of Luke’s work (e.g., Luke 1:11–20/26–38, 46–55/67–79; 2:25–35/36–38; 8:40–56; 11:31–32; 13:16/19:9; 13:18–21; 15:3–7/8–10). They reference this so-called dual-witness motif as evidence of Luke’s emphasis on gender equality. Acts contains fewer gender pairs, but frequently notes that “both men and women” belong to the Christian community (5:14; 8:3, 12; 9:2, 36; 22:4; cf. 9:2; 17:12). On the other hand, praising Tabitha “has a dark side” when her service-oriented good deeds are contrasted with the depictions in Acts of preaching and teaching as male activities (Anderson, 33).

The baptisms in Cornelius’s household continue to factor into disputes over infant baptism versus believers’ baptism. Although most churches today (Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox) baptize infants, certain denominations (e.g., Baptists, Pentecostals) only baptize adults. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints holds that infants are sinless; they do not baptize until the age of eight (Doctrine and Covenants 68:27).

House-church advocates consider the conversions of Cornelius’s household a missiological model for decentralized, autonomous church planting today. One operative question is whether patriarchy should characterize the church. Some hold that the apostolic home-fellowship model marks the climax of progressive revelation, overturning the patriarchy of the old covenant and erasing all sociocultural and ethnic differences; women lead house churches around the world (e.g., in China, women lead an estimated two-thirds of Christian churches). Others, however, point out that Cornelius remains the paterfamilias, the Roman patriarch in charge of the household; some Christians take this normal historical reality as normative, believing that Christians ought to embrace God-ordained, male-led hierarchy.

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

The summary in 11:19–21 serves several narrative purposes: first, the mention of Stephen’s martyrdom subtly reminds readers of Saul (9:1–31). Second, Luke introduces Antioch, Saul’s home base during his missionary journeys. As the Roman government’s seat in Syria and a cosmopolitan intellectual center, Antioch is an appropriate place for the gospel to reach the “Hellenists”/“Greeks” (manuscripts vary at 11:20). The appellation “Christian” was a label given by outsiders (11:26; cf. 26:28); Luke prefers “the Way” (see 9:2; 19:9, 23; 22:4; 24:14, 22).

Luke seeks to integrate the Christian narrative into Greco-Roman historiographical accounts: in 11:28, he mentions Claudius’s reign (41–54 CE) and a famine in Judea (Josephus records one c. 45–48 CE in Ant. 20.51–53) that threatens the “whole inhabited world” (11:28); this may be hyperbolic, or it may refer to the Roman Empire, purportedly the “whole world” to its inhabitants (cf. 17:6; 24:5).

The famine-relief mission frames the following unit (11:30–12:25), where God protects Peter from King Herod Agrippa I, son of Herod Antipas and grandson of Herod the Great (both mentioned in the Gospel; Luke 1:5; 3:1, 19–20; 9:7–9; 13:31; 23:8–15). As Rome’s vassal king, Agrippa’s relationship with the Jews was contentious; he hopes arresting Peter will placate them. The note that this occurred during the Feast of Unleavened Bread alludes to Jesus’ arrest (cf. Luke 22:1–7) and explains why Peter’s execution is delayed.

The second of three miraculous prison escapes in Acts (12:5–11; cf. 5:17–21; 16:23–40) utilizes exodus language and stock images from prison escapes elsewhere (e.g., chains falling off, angelic intervention, gates opening automatically, walking past sleeping guards). Form critics posit dependence on Euripides’ Bacchae, Dan. 3:1–30, Artapanus’s depiction of Moses, and/or Homer’s Iliad (MacDonald, 121–45). The scene also recalls Jesus’ resurrection (Luke 24). Acts emphasizes God’s sovereignty over attempts to arrest (!) the spread of the gospel.

In a uniquely humorous moment, a slave named Rhoda recognizes Peter’s voice at Mary’s door, but rather than opening the door, she runs to tell the disciples. As happens repeatedly in Luke-Acts, the recipients of good news misconstrue it as nonsense (12:15; cf. Luke 24:11; Acts 2:13–15; 26:24); their response reflects an ancient belief that a guardian angel appears when one dies (12:15). Of course, Peter’s miraculous escape story vindicates Rhoda.

The guards’ panic at Peter’s absence is warranted (12:18; cf. 5:21–24), given Agrippa’s tyrannical reaction: he cross-examines and executes them (12:19); following Roman law, guards typically received the punishment intended for escaped prisoners (Code of Justinian 9.4.4).

The final scene starring Agrippa (12:20–25) highlights his unexplained anger with the people of Tyre and Sidon on the Phoenician coast, who seek reconciliation (likely bribing the king’s assistant) for economic reasons (12:20). In Josephus’s account of this event, Agrippa’s speech (12:21) occurs at a festival honoring Caesar in Caesarea. As was common in the ruler cult, the crowd declares Agrippa’s voice divine (12:22); according to Josephus, they do so because of his silver robes (Ant. 19.346). Whereas the apostles redirect praise toward God (see 3:12–13; 10:25–26; 14:13–15), Agrippa accepts the flattery and (ironically, since the crowd considers him immortal) dies by worms (cf. Jth. 16:17; 2 Macc. 9:9). Agrippa’s demise reflects the ancient trope of a tyrant’s downfall, and fulfills Mary’s prophecy (Luke 1:52).

God’s word (here, a metonymy for believers) remains unstoppable (12:24). When Barnabas and Saul return (12:25), the episode comes full circle and the main protagonist shifts from Peter (often called “apostle to the Jews”) to Saul (usually dubbed “apostle to the Gentiles”). Peter is only mentioned again in 15:7.

THE TEXT IN THE INTERPRETIVE TRADITION

Antioch has been called Christianity’s birthplace, since believers were first called “Christians” there (11:26) and the Antiochene church sponsored Saul’s initial missionary journey (13:1–3). This gave Chrysostom great pride, since Antioch was his hometown. Antiochene Christians also sent many bishops to the Councils of Nicaea and Chalcedon, and generated “canon” lists similar to our contemporary New Testament.

Church fathers emphasized moral formation in this section of Acts. For instance, Chrysostom pointed to the Antiochene church when chastising his congregants for neglecting the poor. This moralizing also led ante-Nicene Christians to wrestle with Agrippa’s execution of the innocent prison guards (12:18–19), often concluding that God would overturn such injustices upon Jesus’ return. Agrippa’s portrayal in Acts contrasts with Jewish tradition, where he is fair and generous (Ant. 19.330).

This subunit of Acts gave rise to several important Christian traditions. Postapostolic Christians identified John Mark (12:12) as the author of Mark’s Gospel and founder of the Alexandrian church. James (12:17), later called “James the Just,” brother of Christ and leader of the Jerusalem church, became legendary for his piety. In the second century, Hegesippus famously reported that James’s knees were like a camel’s from constant praying. According to Catholic tradition, James is patron saint of Spain, where he was sent to evangelize. Catholics also believe the vague reference to “another place” in Acts 12:17 refers to Rome, where Peter was the first pope. (Later texts explicitly connect Peter with Rome; see 1 Pet. 5:13; 1 Clement 5.4; Acts of Peter 7.)

Despite Baur’s distinction between Peter and Paul, Christian tradition venerates them together: iconography depicts them as pillars of the church, often with Jesus giving Peter the keys to the kingdom (the donatio clavium) and Paul the law in a scroll (the traditio legis).

THE TEXT IN CONTEMPORARY DISCUSSION

The summary in 11:19–21 signals a new challenge for the church: community integration. Despite the reference to peaceful growth in 9:31, the bulk of Acts points to barriers to full integration among early Christian converts. Recently, minority biblical criticism has identified similar concerns among minorities today, as their membership in American society hinges on loyalty to ideologies like capitalism or individualism (Liew). What do contemporary Christian groups establish as qualifications for inclusion? How should the Lukan narrative’s treatments of cultural integration influence church membership (broadly conceived) today? How can scriptural discourses around insider/outsider boundaries inform ecclesial traditions and practices in today’s communities?

An important corollary is whether Luke wrote to bolster insiders’ faith, or to defend Christianity’s political innocuousness to Roman outsiders (the apologia pro ecclesia hypothesis). Here, distinguishing among multiple potential audiences is helpful. Even as stories are embedded within particular communities, they are never fixed in only one sociohistorical situation. Readers’ presuppositions and experiences predispose them to understand texts in unique ways. While Luke’s earliest readers probably all understood Roman imperial practices, “outsiders” likely interpreted the narrative differently from “insiders.”

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

Acts 13:1–3 is a pivotal dividing point: chapters 1–12 focus on Peter and Jerusalem, while chapters 13–28 describe Paul’s mission to the “ends of the earth,” beginning with Asia Minor. Following the biblical topos of name changes consonant with role changes, Saul is called Paul from 13:9; once the Spirit appoints Paul and Barnabas, they are commissioned in what appears to be a formal ceremony (13:3). Inaugurating the first of three Pauline missionary journeys, Paul and Barnabas travel with John Mark to the island of Cyprus, where they establish a pattern repeated throughout the journeys: they begin in the synagogues, gentiles convert, and Jews drive them out with (threats of) violence.

They arrive in Paphos on the southwestern Cyprian coast—seat of the Roman proconsul Sergius Paulus—indicating they have traversed the entire island. Paul’s encounter with the magician Bar-Jesus (whose name, ironically, means “son of Jesus”) resembles Stephen’s confrontation with Simon (8:4–25). Paul’s condemnation echoes the denunciations of magic in the Hebrew Bible. Bar-Jesus’ blindness subtly recalls Paul’s own temporary blindness (9:1–30) and reinforces the Lukan theme of divine fulfillment. Consider the ironies: Paul, called to open the eyes of the gentiles, casts one into further darkness. Whereas Paul was sent to “Straight Street” (9:6–11), Bar-Jesus makes the Lord’s straight paths crooked (13:10). Bar-Jesus’ attempts to lead the proconsul astray spiritually result in his own need to be led physically (13:11).

Paul (sans John Mark; 13:13) reaches Antioch of Pisidia (distinct from Antioch of Syria), in the Roman province of Galatia. He begins the first of his three major sermons by surveying Israelite history, and ends with the gospel (13:14–52). The parallels between this and other apostles’ sermons unify the narrative, establishing and interpreting theological themes for readers (Soards). This episode also recalls Jesus’ Nazareth sermon (Luke 4:16–30) in both content and result (13:50–52; cf. Luke 4:28–29). The apostles leave (13:51–52), shaking dust off their feet in protest (cf. Luke 9:5; 12:10–11).

Events in Iconium (14:1–7) repeat what is by now a familiar progression: the “apostles” (the designation extends here beyond the Twelve; 14:4, 14; cf. 1:2; 2:37; 4:33; 5:29; 9:27; 15:2; 16:4) begin in the synagogue, gentiles convert, and some Jews become violent. Paul avoids being stoned in Iconium, but he is not so fortunate in the next vignette, set in the Roman colony of Lystra (14:8–20). Following Jesus’ and Peter’s examples, Paul heals a lame man (cf. Luke 5:17–26; Acts 3:1–10). These intratextual echoes bolster Paul’s legitimacy as God’s agent. The witnesses’ conclusion that Paul and Barnabas are Hermes and Zeus incarnate (the messenger god and sky god, respectively) is unsurprising in light of the widespread ancient notion—reflected in the Homeric epics and Ovid’s Metamorphosis 8.611–724—that the gods disguised themselves as strangers.

Paul and Barnabas, rending their clothes in grief, redirect the exaltations to the “living God” (cf. 2 Kgs. 19:4, 16; Dan. 6:20, 26). The Lycaonians and Jews from Antioch and Iconium stone Paul and leave him for dead; ironically, given that Paul rejects attributions of immortality, he inexplicably “gets up” and leaves (14:19–20). This is particularly striking when compared with Agrippa’s death (12:20–23).

Paul’s first journey ends with many converts and no persecution in Derbe, on the outskirts of imperial territory (14:21–28). Returning to their Antiochene sponsors, Paul and Barnabas bravely revisit Lystra and Iconium, where they had been violently opposed. In a brief (anachronistic?) note, Luke reports that they elect presbyters in every church.

THE TEXT IN CONTEMPORARY DISCUSSION

Postcolonial scholars recognize that modern missionaries’ Eurocentric interpretations of Paul’s journeys served their own colonizing interests; they used Acts to construct totalizing binaries—“center versus margins,” “civilized versus uncivilized,” and “enlightened versus superstitious”—that are too reductionistic to represent the ambivalences inherent in every time and culture. Dehumanizing stereotypes are not limited to earlier generations; some biblical scholars today adopt racialized rhetoric and supersessionist ideologies. For example, stereotypes of the Lycaonians as Mediterranean “hicks” betray scholars’ “Orientalizing” tendencies (Wordelman, 205).

Some call Christians to repent and reject racist, anti-Jewish rhetoric in Acts (e.g., 13:44–52), while others point to Paul’s blinding of Bar-Jesus (13:11) as another Lukan instance of justified Christian violence against outsiders. These views provoke hermeneutical questions: if we aim to read Acts within its cultural, sociohistorical contexts, but Acts uses fixed categories and essentializing language, should we accept these as evidence of how the implied author or audiences conceptualized their world? Or should we assume that this rhetoric masks Luke’s internalization of the imperialist agenda? Should we counter authoritarian claims to hegemony by uncovering the text’s unspoken ambiguities? Do these approaches simply represent different readers’ goals (i.e., discovering Luke’s intentions versus exposing inconsistencies in Acts)? Are these goals at odds with one another, does one presuppose the other, or do or can they complement each other?

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

The Jerusalem Council (15:1–35) publicly legitimates the gentile mission, which started privately with the Ethiopian eunuch’s conversion in Acts 8, and began to spread with Cornelius’s conversion and Peter’s defense in Acts 10–11. This is the first formal council convened to address the complexities that arose as gentiles increasingly joined the inchoate Christian community; early Christian identity-construction involved significant disputes about covenant-related issues such as food sacrificed to idols, the Mosaic law, and circumcision. The precipitating event is that Pharisaic Judaizers in Antioch want to circumcise gentiles. Paul and Barnabas, unable to resolve this dispute alone, seek the advice of the Jerusalem “apostles and elders” (mentioned five times in the chapter; 15:2, 4, 6, 22, 23).

The account paints a picture of both dissension and decorum. On the one hand, “much debate” occurs (15:7); on the other hand, the apostles listen attentively (15:12), and James waits patiently to speak (15:13). Contrast this insider assembly’s dignified tone with outsiders’ unruly mayhem and intentional interruptions elsewhere (18:12–17; 19:23–41). Although Luke attests to tensions among early Christians, their mode of resolving disputes adheres to Greco-Roman standards of masculine comportment, including self-restraint and propriety; in this way, Luke’s storytelling reflects and reinforces the gendered sociocultural ideologies of the Greco-Roman environment, as he constructs early Christian insider-outsider boundary markers.

Acts 15:6–21 follows a trifold legitimating sequence. First, Peter (absent from the story since Acts 12) reappears with a judicial speech that further develops themes established in Cornelius’s conversion story, especially that of divine choice. Salvation comes through grace, as a gift for both Jewish and gentile believers, not through the “yoke” of the law (15:11). Peter’s speech, recounted in direct discourse for emphasis, appeals to recent events of which the church leaders are well aware. Second, Paul and Barnabas attest to the visible “signs and wonders” (cf. 14:3) that God has performed among the gentiles. In the Gospel and Acts, miraculous “signs” follow and verify God’s communication (Luke 2:12, 34; 11:16, 29, 30; 21:7, 11, 25; 23:8; Acts 2:19, 22, 43; 4:30; 5:12; 6:8; 7:36; 8:6, 13; 14:3). Finally, James’s speech provides scriptural warrant for the gentile mission, referencing Amos 9:11–12 (LXX), and Lev. 17:8–18:26 concerning “aliens” among the Jews. Rhetorically, each phase in this progression provides a different basis for the gentile mission—experience, miracles, and Scripture. All three point to the gentile mission as God’s original plan, and to God’s initiative in bringing it about.

The group drafts a letter (15:22–29) stipulating two major decisions: gentile Christians need not be circumcised, but they ought to abstain from fornication, blood, and things strangled or polluted by idols (Exod. 34:15–16; Lev. 3:17; 17:3–14; 18:6–30; Deut. 12:16–27). Though the issue arose in Antioch, the letter is addressed to Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia (15:23), subtly underscoring the Jerusalem church’s widespread influence. Paul and Barnabas return to the Antiochene Christians (15:35), who rejoice at the verdict, providing closure for this watershed event in the early church.

THE TEXT IN THE INTERPRETIVE TRADITION

The legacy of James and the Jerusalem Council extended in narrative form into noncanonical accounts like the Ascents of James (probably preserved in Ps.-Clem. Rec. 1.43–44). The council (15:1–35) also figured prominently in later theological discussions: while some emphasized the council’s format as a normative process for handling church conflict, others developed the implications of its resolutions.

Early Christian apologists marshaled Acts 15:1–35 as evidence against so-called heretics. Responding to Celsus’s charge that Christianity was disunified, Origen pointed to Acts 15 as proof that the Holy Spirit resolves Christian disputes (C. Cels. 3.10–11). Chrysostom considered the account an ecclesiological model for theological decision making: ecumenical councils should be orderly, with all participants submitting to the bishop (Hom. Act. 33).

Interpreters’ views of the Jews determined their assessment of the Jerusalem Council’s decisions. For the Venerable Bede, the council attested to early Christian respect for Judaism. Others took it as a rejection of Judaism. During the Reformation, Luther cited Acts 15 to denounce the Jews’ “works-based theology.” Relatedly, opponents of infant baptism argued that, since salvation is through grace, unbaptized infants go to heaven (15:11). Catholics point to Acts 15 as evidence of the development of doctrine: contrary to the Protestant principle of sola scriptura, in this view, the Holy Spirit reveals truth progressively, which church leaders safeguard through tradition.

During the modern period, the difficulties with reconciling Acts 15 and Gal. 2:1–10 based on modern historiographical standards raised larger issues of the historicity and relationship between Acts and Paul’s letters. Some harmonized the two accounts and ignored discrepancies, while others considered them two separate events; still others took the differences as evidence of the story’s historical unreliability.

THE TEXT IN CONTEMPORARY DISCUSSION

Missiologists frequently cite Acts 15 when considering how to communicate the gospel across cultural boundaries. Is the Christian message universal, or does every unique culture require its own contextualized form of the gospel message?

Some look to Acts 15 as a hermeneutical model, asking: What is the Holy Spirit’s relationship to the Word of God? How do/should Christians appropriate Scripture for new situations like those raised by modern birth control, Internet use, stem cell research, or weapons of mass destruction? Some apply the text directly to contemporary situations, like Jehovah’s Witnesses, who refuse blood transfusions based on Acts 15:29: Others believe each new age requires fresh Spirit-led discernment. Interpreters also disagree about whether Acts 15 condones or vilifies interpretive plurality. On the one hand, characters express multiple viewpoints in a respectful dialogue with a peaceful resolution. On the other hand, the leadership’s final decision effectively suppresses the other faction’s views. Certain scholars believe Acts 15 is a distinctly formative event in the life of the early church, and thus not paradigmatic for today.

Acts 15 has important implications for contemporary Jewish-Christian relations. Many scholars have labeled Acts antisemitic, since repeatedly, Jews oppose the gospel, while gentiles accept it (cf. 13:44–46; 18:6; 28:25–28). The Jerusalem Council also rejects a fundamental distinguishing feature of the nation of Israel (circumcision), and affirms salvation for Jews and gentiles alike (15:11). On the other hand, the council maintains certain purity laws and, although gentiles convert, Luke never shows them as leaders. A few scholars describe Luke as Jewish and pro-Israel.

While twentieth-century scholars found inconsistencies between Acts 15 and Galatians 2 to be problematic, interpreters today recognize that rhetorical exigencies engender different kinds of narratives; thus it can be more productive to ask how each writing functions rhetorically. This, of course, raises larger questions about doing “history” using the New Testament texts. What does it mean to reconstruct historical circumstances with limited sources, especially when ancient concepts of “history” differ from ours?

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

Paul’s second journey moves through Philippi (16:11–40), Thessalonica and Beroea (17:1–15), Athens (17:16–34), and Corinth (18:1–18). Thus the expansion in the narrative to “the ends of the earth” now extends into Europe. The trip begins inauspiciously: in the so-called Antioch incident, Paul and Barnabas part ways (15:36–40), and Acts does not record them together again. Instead, Paul invites Timothy, who—with a Jewish-Christian mother and a Greek father—embodies Lukan universalism. Paul’s unnecessary circumcision of Timothy (16:3; cf. 15:1–35) illustrates how he adapts evangelistic strategies for different audiences (16:1–5). Multiple references to divine guidance (16:6–10) establish that God chooses Paul’s destinations.

At 16:10, the narration inexplicably shifts from an anonymous third-person external point of view to a first-person plural internal perspective. Though the Gospel and Acts both begin with first-person direct address (Luke 1:1–4; Acts 1:1), the “we-passages” (see 20:5–21:18; 27:1–28:16) are famously enigmatic. In Acts, they coincide with sea voyages (Robbins).

Luke calls Paul’s first destination—Philippi—the “foremost city” of Macedonia (16:11–12), which is odd, since Thessalonica was Macedonia’s capital. The Philippian mission is framed by references to Lydia of Thyatira (which had a famous purple dyeing industry; 16:14–15, 40): Lydia deals in purple cloth, a luxury item. She and her household become the first converts in Europe; the reference to her household likely indicates that she is unmarried and wealthy. Her conversion thus illustrates the spread of the gospel to prominent elites. Repeated narrative articulations of the gospel’s spread to a variety of people create coherence across Luke’s episodic narrative.

Sandwiched between mentions of Lydia is a pericope about someone on the opposite end of the social scale: a slave girl with a “pythonic spirit” whose prophetic abilities generate revenue for her masters (16:16). The pythonic spirit alludes to the oracle of Apollo at Delphi, a staple of popular Roman religion that was inextricably linked to the city’s economy. Following Paul and Silas’s exorcism of the slave girl against her masters’ wishes, the magistrates (the Roman colony’s chief officials) imprison the two apostles, who miraculously escape. Unlike the other prison escapes in Acts (see 5:19–21; 12:6–11), this one results in the conversions of the jailor and his household (16:25–34).

In both Thessalonica and Beroea, Christianity draws converts (17:4, 12). However, in Thessalonica, Christians are accused of “turning the world upside down”—an ironic charge, given that the mob disturbs the peace (17:5–6). In contrast, Jews in Beroea respond positively, verifying Paul’s claims with the Scriptures (17:11).

Athens was a major urban center marked by religious fervor and intellectual curiosity. Luke describes Athens as “full of idols” (17:16) because Athenian public spaces were crowded with statuary, temples, iconography, and altars to the emperor and pagan gods. Unlike other public speeches in Acts, which are addressed to Jews, Paul addresses the Areopagus, Athens’s elite administrative body (17:16–31). Tailoring his apologetic strategies accordingly, Paul speaks in classical Greek oratorical style and addresses Epicurean and Stoic philosophies. His language resembles the Athenians’ charge against Socrates in Plato’s Apology (17:18), and he cites the third-century-BCE Greek poet Aratus (17:24–29). The conversions of members of the Areopagus demonstrate Paul’s rhetorical effectiveness (17:34).

Corinth, the Roman capital of Achaia, was a thriving commercial center; strategically located on the Isthmus of Corinth, the city controlled major trade routes between Asia and Rome. Paul’s meeting before Gallio (the Roman proconsul governing Achaia c. 51–53 CE) suggests Corinth’s administrative importance as well. In a rare temporal marker, Luke reports that Paul stays in Corinth for a year and six months (18:11), where he meets Prisca (Priscilla is the diminutive) and Aquila (18:2–26). Ancient literature rarely lists the woman’s name first (18:18, 26); doing so may indicate that Priscilla was of higher social status than Aquila. Paul cuts his hair in Cenchraea (eastern Corinth; 18:18) due to an unknown vow (cf. 21:23–24); it may be the Nazirite vow (Num. 6:1–21).

THE TEXT IN THE INTERPRETIVE TRADITION

Paul’s split with Barnabas (15:39) posed a challenge for those who emphasized early Christian harmony; for Calvin, Paul’s refusal to compromise marked his zeal for the gospel.

Proponents of infant baptism supported their case by appealing to the household conversions in 16:11–15 and 16:25–34.

In line with his stereotypically anti-Jewish polemic, Chrysostom insisted that Paul only circumcised Timothy to gain a hearing with the Jews, not because he respected Jewish laws.

Later texts mimicked Paul’s Areopagus address, as in the apocryphal Acts of Philip 2, where Philip similarly appears before the Athenian philosophers. Others have hailed it as a missiological manifesto, emphasizing that the speech is addressed to non-Jews. Nineteenth-century abolitionists used it (esp. 17:26) as a prophetic call for racial justice. However, early twentieth-century scholars like Martin Dibelius denigrated the Areopagus speech as an un-Pauline capitulation to educated pagan elites.

THE TEXT IN CONTEMPORARY DISCUSSION

Jewish orthodoxy is not the primary issue at stake in Timothy’s circumcision (16:1–3; cf. 15:1–35; 16:4–5); texts like Philo’s writings and Joseph and Aseneth attest that circumcision was already debated in Paul’s day. Rather, this passage reminds us that religious identities are always negotiated and configured on the body. How are physical bodies variously employed in Christian discourses today? How do assumptions about the body inform contemporary Christian theology, and how does embodiment influence contemporary Christian practice?

Lydia and the slave girl have been read as “border women” in “land possession type scenes” (a traveling hero and a “native” woman) that simultaneously highlight Paul’s foreignness and legitimate his ideological conquest (Staley). Laura Nasrallah suggests another intriguing parallel: Paul’s travels create a Christian form of the Panhellenion—a mid-second-century league of Greek cities Hadrian established to promote unity. Expansionist discourses like this helped to shape American concepts like “Manifest Destiny” and divinely mandated territorial expansion, which continue to inform US imperialism and post-9/11 political rhetoric.

For some scholars, Luke subordinates both Lydia (16:13–15) and the slave girl (16:16–18) to Paul, demonstrating that Christian communities do not threaten the patriarchal values of the Roman social order. Merely a pawn in the power contest between her masters and Paul, the slave girl herself is inconsequential. Many African American scholars have pointed out that this reinscribes oppressive slave ideologies.

Some hail Paul’s Areopagus speech (17:16–31) as a model for interreligious dialogue. The Native American Lifeway Adult Bible Study argues that unlike early European settlers in America, Paul never forced his beliefs on others; observing them, he developed his approach accordingly (17:22–23). Larger questions arise: How does Paul portray the essence of Christian identity when speaking with the Athenians (17:28–29), and (how) does this differ from the way Christian identity is portrayed elsewhere in Acts? How does/should Christianity influence minority acculturation today? How should Christians from different ethnic and cultural backgrounds relate to one another? Is Christianity a homogenizing force in our world? Should it be?

Paul’s upbringing in Tarsus (a university city) and his Roman citizenship presumably increased his stature before the Athenian intellectuals. By adopting their discourse, is Paul practicing effective evangelism, or compromising the gospel? Should Christians regard Paul here as a model to be emulated, or a cause for caution? More broadly, when leaders in education, politics, news and entertainment media, and other forums adapt their message to the medium, are they communicating responsibly, or perpetuating patterns of power and privilege?

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

Paul’s third missionary journey begins in Ephesus, the capital of Asia and probably the third-largest city in the empire behind Rome and Alexandria. Situated on multiple land routes and a major seaport, Ephesus was a center of international trade. Filled with notable buildings and multiple agoras, inscriptions describe Ephesus’s great wealth and importance. Paul spends the most time in Ephesus (two years and three months; 19:8, 10), and even if 19:10 is hyperbolic from the perspective of historical reconstruction, the narrative portrays this as the culmination of his evangelistic efforts.

Creating narrative continuity with the foregoing section, where Priscilla and Aquila are mentioned (18:18–21), Luke sets the stage in Ephesus with a story about the couple’s ministry to Apollos (18:24–28). Right away, the narrative associates Apollos with the apostles, as he speaks boldly in the synagogue (18:26). Bold speech—parrēsia—characterizes true discipleship in Acts (9:27–28; 13:46; 14:3; 19:8; 26:26). Rightly receiving Priscilla and Aquila’s instruction, Apollos preaches in Achaia (19:27–28). This progression of the right disposition, correct reception of God’s word, and faithful proclamation is a central Lukan paradigm for discipleship.

Acts 19:10–20, framed by references to the “word of the Lord” (19:10, 20), contrasts God’s power (e.g., Paul’s miracles in 19:11–12) with magic, which was particularly pervasive in Ephesus. Jewish exorcists, attempting to use Jesus’ name as an incantation, are overtaken; the event, like Bar-Jesus’ defeat (13:6–11), causes amazement and widespread conversion. Those who practiced magic burn their books (instruction manuals in the art of magic), publicly renouncing that way of life in favor of the Christian Way (19:19–20). As is familiar by this point in Acts, success begets opposition. Employing a common figure of speech called litotes (an understatement using a double negative to make an affirmative statement), Luke describes “no little” public disturbance (19:23; cf. 12:18–19; 15:2; 19:23–24; 20:12; 27:20).

Having established that the Christian God is more powerful than generic magic, Luke turns to the locale-specific goddess Artemis, whose Ephesian cult was well known in antiquity. It would be difficult to overstate the importance of the cult of Artemis to the Ephesian worldview. Numerous inscriptions, coinage, literary artifacts, and the enormous temple of Artemis itself (one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World) attest to the Ephesians’ conviction that they enjoyed a unique covenant relationship with their patron goddess. Worship of Artemis was considered necessary for the city’s economic stability, as she sent the harvest and guarded the city’s welfare. The temple was not only a spiritual sanctuary but also a bank, lending money, charging interest, and housing Artemis’s own large financial estate (on the temple as a bank, see Strabo, Geog. 14.1.21–29).

For economic and spiritual reasons, Demetrius incites a riot (19:24–28). In what becomes a major public spectacle, the believers face a confused (19:29, 32), angry mob in the Ephesian theater (which held nearly twenty-five thousand people and still stands today). The mob exemplifies the opposite of classical Greco-Roman decorum and orderliness (cf. the Christian assembly in 15:1–35). Paul’s third great missionary journey ends when the town clerk indirectly vindicates Paul and dispels the crowd.

Paul’s journey to Rome parallels the Lukan passion narrative: the reference to the days of unleavened bread (20:6) mirrors references to Passover in Luke 22:1, 7; the mention of breaking bread in an upper room (20:7, 8) recalls Jesus’ Last Supper (Luke 22:7–14); Eutychus’s sleepiness (20:9) may allude to the disciples’ sleeping in Gethsemane (Luke 22:45–46). The believers’ failures to dissuade Paul from his inexorable march toward Rome (21:4, 12) parallel Jesus’ Spirit-led journey to Jerusalem. Paul is further likened to Jesus (and Peter) when he raises Eutychus from the dead (20:10; cf. Luke 7:15; 8:52–55; Acts 9:36–42).

THE TEXT IN THE INTERPRETIVE TRADITION

Following the Reformation, early Baptists pointed to John’s baptism of repentance (19:3–4) and the baptism of Ephesian believers (19:5) to argue for believers’ baptism. They stressed the importance of personal repentance and individual accountability.

Priscilla’s apparently prominent role in teaching Apollos (18:24–28) gave rise to several legendary accounts, including the belief that a fourth-century church (Saint Priscae) was built on the site of her house church in Rome (cf. 1 Cor. 16:19). In 1900, Adolf von Harnack even posited that Priscilla wrote the book of Hebrews.

Although Christians officially excluded women from leadership roles for centuries, examples like Lydia and Priscilla demonstrate that there were women leaders even in the early church. Widespread evidence such as tombstone inscriptions attest to women priests from the third through the ninth centuries, and women prophets were active in early church life. Tertullian (e.g., De anima 9.4), Cyprian (e.g., Epistle 74.10), and the Nag Hammadi poem Thunder, Perfect Mind all mention unnamed women prophets. In the second century, Montanus’s female colleagues Prisca and Quintilla influenced the rise of the New Prophecy, or Montanism.

According to the church historian Eusebius in the fourth century (Hist. eccl. 3.31.3–4), a tradition dating to the second century held that Philip’s daughters of Acts 21:8–9 moved to Hierapolis in Phrygia. Several later traditions claim that the women eventually married.

Twentieth-century advocates of women’s ordination proclaimed a theology of liberation based partly on the view that Philip’s prophesying daughters fulfilled the prophecy in Joel 2:28 (cf. Acts 2:17) and served as “leaders for the church in Caesarea” (Torjesen, 27–28). Readers in Papua New Guinea were distracted by the description of Philip’s daughters as unmarried (21:9), since in that culture, everyone marries (Clark, 208); this illustrates Hans-Georg Gadamer’s well-known claim that all interpretations reflect the interpreter’s sociocultural situatedness.

THE TEXT IN CONTEMPORARY DISCUSSION

Women’s roles in the Christian community continue to garner scholarly and popular attention. Some believe Lydia and Priscilla point to a Lukan emphasis on women’s leadership. Others counter that when women are rhetorical tools with which men think, even positive portrayals of women legitimate patriarchal control. Though Luke mentions Philip’s prophesying daughters, he quotes only Agabus’s prophecy (21:9–11). Note, too, that Philip’s daughters remain anonymous, while the male prophet is named (21:10; cf. 11:28). This is unsurprising: although low-status characters played integral roles in society, they generally remain unnamed in ancient literature. The point is to acknowledge that gender-based ideological implications underlie Luke’s narrative; Acts both recognizes and represses women’s ministries (Seim).

Philip’s daughters also raise the issue of virginity, which was much lauded in early Christian contexts (the Greek word parthenos can be translated “unmarried” or “virgin,” 21:9). Some contemporary scholars argue that praise for female virginity points to negative presuppositions regarding femininity, while affirmations of celibate female leaders in the church subtly reinscribe patriarchal biases.

Many conservatives and liberals accept a unilinear paradigm of “decline,” in which early Christians were egalitarians, while later Christians marginalized women as institutionalism increased. Recently, scholars have critiqued three common dichotomies imposed on historical reconstructions of early Christianity: patriarchy versus the discipleship of equals; public versus private; ascetic versus domestic lifestyles. Each category is more complex historically than typically assumed.

These discussions provoke crucial questions: How might understanding early Christian history as ambiguous and polyphonic affect women’s roles in churches today? How do biblical translations communicate specific ideologies? For instance, the NRSV, NIV, ESV, NASB, and ASV translate gynai (21:5) as “wives” instead of “women.” Both are linguistically possible, but “wives” subordinates women to their husbands and limits women’s involvement in the early church.

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

Estimates of the number of Jews in Jerusalem at Paul’s time range from twenty thousand to fifty thousand. According to Luke, many thousands of these Jews have become believers, but they remain “zealous for the law” (this description recalls the passionate commitment to Yahweh and Israel that typifies many heroic Jewish figures: Num. 25:6–13; Judg. 9:2–4; 1 Kgs. 18:40; 1 Macc. 2:23–27, 49–68; cf. Paul’s self-description in 22:3). For them, Paul’s teachings threaten Israel’s distinctive boundaries, but this does not fit the narrator’s characterization of Paul; by Acts 21, he has circumcised Timothy (16:3), shaved his hair (18:18), and observed Jewish holidays (20:16). Still, he agrees to demonstrate his respect for the Mosaic law publicly, so that the Jewish believers might observe him for themselves (21:23–26).

Though Paul appears to appease the Jewish Christians, events repeat themselves when a mob of outsiders (Jews from Asia) challenges him. The description is remarkably similar to the riot in Ephesus: the crowds are in an “uproar,” shouting confusedly as they seize Paul and drag him outside the temple (21:30–32; cf. 19:29–32). The two scenes also differ: unlike the proconsul Gallio, who dismissed a similar dispute as an inter-Jewish quarrel and allowed a man to be beaten (18:12–17), officers in Jerusalem control the situation, protect Paul (21:31–35; 23:10), and allow him to defend himself (21:40). Paul chooses his content and his language wisely (first, Greek to the tribune, 21:37, then Aramaic to the crowd, 21:40; 22:2), identifying himself in terms appropriate for each audience. Paul’s exchange with the tribune picks up the Lukan motif of misunderstood identity.

Paul’s defense in Jerusalem (22:1–21) retrospectively recounts his Damascus experience for the second time (cf. 9:1–31), now from his first-person perspective, and with several changes that appeal to a Jewish audience. Effectively concluding his earlier defense, Paul takes advantage of the well-known dispute between Pharisees and Sadducees over resurrection to provoke violent controversy between them (23:6–10). Even as the Jews accuse Paul of rejecting their teachings (21:28), his intimate knowledge of Jewish teachings protects him. A divine pronouncement that Paul will testify in Rome (23:11) sets the stage for the journey to Rome, which occupies the rest of the narrative.

The Jews then hatch the most elaborate plot yet to kill Paul; whereas Luke briefly describes earlier attempts on Paul’s life (9:23–25, 29–30; 14:19; 20:3, 19; 21:31), this premeditated conspiracy—and Paul’s escape—are related in much greater detail. The dramatic tension mounts as a large group vows to achieve their goal (23:12–15). Paul’s nephew (otherwise unknown in early Christian literature) warns Paul and informs the tribune about the plot (23:16–22). The tribune (whose name, Claudius Lysias, the reader finally learns in 23:26) goes to great lengths to protect Paul: nearly five hundred men—probably Lukan hyperbole to increase suspense—escort Paul through the night to Caesarea, where he appears before Felix (23:23–35).

THE TEXT IN THE INTERPRETIVE TRADITION

Second- and third-century martyrdom accounts demonstrate that the right response to suffering was a point of contention for Jesus-followers. Though Christian apologists like Tertullian argued that martyrdom is a Christian duty, Paul’s detailed escape plan (23:12–35) supported Christian exhortations not to volunteer for martyrdom (e.g., Mart. Pol. 4.1).

For Augustine, Paul’s claim to Roman citizenship (22:22–29) exemplifies Jesus’ injunction to turn the other cheek (Luke 6:29). Augustine viewed the scene as juxtaposing heavenly and worldly values: the tribune disregards the heavenly honor that Paul values most (salvation), but respects the earthly honor that Paul values least (citizenship).

In the nineteenth century, debates raged over whether to translate the Greek word baptizein in verses like 22:16 as “wash” or “immerse,” with obvious doctrinal implications accompanying each choice. Bible Societies that sought to translate biblical texts “directly” without promoting specific doctrines found this problematic.

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

Although ancient accounts describe Felix as corrupt, Acts at first characterizes him positively: “well-informed about the Way” (24:22), he gives Paul a fair hearing and liberty while in custody (24:10–24). Still, for two years (24:27), he stalls (24:22), hoping for a bribe (24:26). Luke mentions Felix’s wife Drusilla (24:24), whom many readers would have known he pursued while she was married to Azizus of Emesa. And Felix keeps Paul in captivity when Festus succeeds him, hoping to ingratiate himself with the Jews (24:27). Perhaps this explains why Felix becomes “frightened” when Paul describes divine judgment (24:25).

Festus also wants to appease the Jews (25:9), a detail that attests to their power in the region. Nevertheless, in keeping with Luke’s positive portrayals of Roman authorities (Luke 23:4, 14, 15, 20, 22, 41, 47; Acts 18:14–16; 19:37–41; 23:29), Festus listens to Paul’s defense and agrees to his request to go to Rome (25:8–12). This long-anticipated journey is delayed by the arrival of King Herod Agrippa II (son of Herod Agrippa, cf. 12:1–4) and his sister Bernice (with whom Agrippa reportedly had an incestuous relationship).

Their arrival prompts the fourth cycle of Jewish accusations and Paul’s sophisticated rhetorical maneuvering in his own defense (22:1–21; 24:10–21; 25:8–11; 26:2–29). In each case, Paul’s forensic rhetoric serves two chief purposes: he depicts Jesus as the Jewish Messiah and legitimates his own apostolic ministry. The accusations levied against Paul instantiate the Lukan theme of Jesus’—and his disciples’—innocence.

Paul’s trials before the authorities recall Jesus’ trials, albeit with an important distinction: whereas Jesus remains silent before Herod (Luke 23:6–12), Paul, like Stephen in Acts 6:8–8:3, vehemently defends himself; perhaps he receives the words from Jesus himself (Luke 21:12–15).

The recapitulated episodes in Acts 25–26 are not simply the scene repetitions that are common in episodic narratives; rather, a sense of suspense and intrigue accrues as the stature and power of those who hear Paul’s defense increases. More is at stake with each successive trial. The elaborate public ceremony (25:23) before King Agrippa and Bernice is the climactic moment on Paul’s inexorable journey to Rome, ending with Agrippa’s consternation over why Paul appealed to Caesar (26:32).

THE TEXT IN ITS ANCIENT CONTEXT

The last two chapters of Acts are recounted almost entirely in the first-person plural (27:1–28:16). Paul’s journey to Rome has all the makings of an epic adventure tale—a sea voyage, storms, shipwreck, an exotic location with island “natives,” miraculous healings, and heroism in the face of danger. As the voyage begins, the narrator notes that “the Fast” (the Day of Atonement) has passed, indicating the season is autumn. This detail and Paul’s prophetic warning (27:10) create a foreboding sense of impending calamity. Indeed, the situation goes from bad to worse when the ship runs aground on Malta, an island south of Sicily (28:1). Luke’s harrowing account of the struggle to reach shore is vivid and detailed (27:39–44). The shipwreck and the soldiers’ plan to kill all the prisoners (27:42) make it even more astounding that everyone survives (27:44). In the narrative fulfillment of Paul’s vision (27:22–26), Luke again demonstrates that God’s plan inevitably comes to fruition.

The voyage is rich with intertextual traces of Homeric epic, Greco-Roman literature, the Hebrew Bible (including Isaiah), and Virgil’s Aeneid (Bonz). In Chariton’s ancient Greek novel Chareas and Callirhoe, which is roughly contemporaneous to Acts, a travel narrative provides the impetus for plot development. Legal trials fulfill similar functions in the Greek novels and Acts; courtroom scenes are particularly conducive for communicating ideologies because they establish a rhetorical winner and loser. Whereas ancient Greek novels record crimes of passion, Acts records “crimes” against Christianity; Luke uses this juridical trope to emphasize that when the apostles stand trial, the view they espouse is true. Other parallels exist, as well; Petronius’s early Latin novel Satyricon explicitly references the early Christian rite of the Lord’s Supper, while Paul’s breaking of bread in Acts 27:35 clearly has eucharistic undertones (cf. Luke 22:19).

On Malta, the “natives” warmly welcome the newcomers (28:2, 7, 10); foreign hospitality extended to shipwrecked protagonists is a trope from the ancient novels that Luke appropriates to illustrate Christian benevolence. Despite the Maltans’ misunderstandings (28:4–6), Paul heals their sick (28:8–9). The group departs on an Alexandrian ship probably carrying grain, as Rome imported grain from Egypt (cf. 27:38). Zeus’s sons Castor and Pollux (“the Twin Brothers” on the ship’s figurehead, 28:11) were thought to provide protection at sea; the irony that an ideal Lukan reader will discern is that only the Christian God provides true protection.

Typical narrative plots follow the climax with a denouement—a falling action that provides closure. Acts ends with Paul under what we today call “house arrest”: with only one guard, he enjoys remarkable freedom (28:16). Though tradition tells of Paul’s beheading in Rome around 64–65 CE (and Luke alludes to it in 19:21; 20:22–25; 23:11; 26:32; 27:24), this is not how Luke ends his story. Rather, Acts concludes on a triumphant note. The disciples have fulfilled Christ’s programmatic commissioning (1:8): the message has finally reached Rome, the capital of the empire and (according to Roman ideology) the center of the oikoumenē (the inhabited world).

THE TEXT IN THE INTERPRETIVE TRADITION

As the first generation of Christians passed away, tradition became the crucial ideological battleground. In response to Marcion and others, proto-orthodox Christians of the second through fourth centuries generated many pseudepigraphical works to build on existing details and fill the lacunae in Acts. For instance, most accounts utilize the depiction in Acts of Paul as a Roman citizen (21:39; 22:25–29; 23:27); however, whereas the canonical Acts implies (but does not state) that Paul is martyred in Rome, in the apocryphal Acts of Paul, the beheaded Paul appears to Nero, promising divine vengeance.

Martin Luther’s Heidelberg Disputation (1518) coined the terms “theology of glory” and “theology of the cross” to contrast salvation based on human effort (theologia gloriae) with salvation based on Christ’s sacrifice on the cross (theologia crucis). Luke has long been read as a theology of glory, partly because it ends with Paul preaching “without hindrance” in Rome (28:31). Still, persecutions punctuate Paul’s journeys; he arrives in Rome because he refuses to avoid suffering, which the Holy Spirit has predicted repeatedly (cf. 20:22–24; 21:11–13).

THE TEXT IN CONTEMPORARY DISCUSSION

Acts 28:27–28 reiterates that God’s salvation is for the gentiles. Is the mission to the Jews permanently over, thereby replacing one form of particularism (Jewish salvation) with another (gentile salvation)? Or does this simply reinforce that God has ordained the gentile mission and the gospel must spread to all people?

Our final picture of Paul epitomizes several Lukan motifs—the gentile mission, the unstoppable divine will, rightly receiving God’s Word, and boldly proclaiming the gospel as a constitutive component of discipleship. In a sense, then, the final installment provides closure, reinforcing ideological commitments that are discernible throughout the entire narrative.

And yet, Acts also remains famously open-ended. Though ancient historians extolled the virtues of completing one’s narrative (e.g., Dionysius, Thuc. 16.847), Luke’s ending generates openness in several ways. Paul’s visitors in Rome have mixed reactions to the gospel (28:24–25), Jesus does not reappear as promised (1:11), and the reader never hears of Paul’s fate after his two years in captivity (28:30). Neither does Luke relate the ending of other main characters’ stories, like Barnabas or Peter. And although the book begins with a personal address (1:1), there is no concluding second-person farewell, as in the epistles (cf. Rom. 16:21–7; 1 Cor. 16:19–24; Eph. 6:23–24; Phil. 4:20–23; Col. 4:7–18). Does the final word of Acts—a Greek adverb meaning “without hindrance”—hint that the church’s work is over, or just beginning?

Discussing this inconclusive ending, some scholars have suggested that Luke intended to write a third volume, that he ran out of space on his scroll, or that he was ignorant of Paul’s fate. More generally, if the ending of Acts implies that the gospel will continue to spread, what are the implications for Christian disciples today? What forms of interference limit the spread of the gospel, and how are Christians called to overcome them?

Ancient rhetors like Cicero (De or. 2:41:177) and Plutarch (Mor. 1.45E) believed open-endedness engaged readers by allowing them to linger longer over the story. In modern psychological terms, this is an instance of the Zeigarnik Effect: what remains unfinished is better remembered. The open-endedness of Acts implicitly situates the reader in Theophilus’s position: the reader must decide how to respond to this dynamic, challenging, and beautifully complex early Christian narrative.