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Though we do not know who the original recipients were, as en Ephesō was likely added into the letter from a marginal notation, it was most likely written for a church in the vicinity of Ephesus. This opening section discusses the Christ in a way that Jesus himself might not have identified with (1:3–14; see also 2:11–22). Here, references to being chosen by God, to inheritance as sons, and to redemption through Christ’s blood all resonate with aspects of Judaism’s belief system as much as with Greco-Roman religious traditions. It is also a passage resplendent with the language of predestination. The author declares that God “chose us” before the foundation of the world (1:4); in love he “destined us” to adoption (1:5); our inheritance is according to his purpose (1:11); and there are good works prepared for us to accomplish in Christ (2:10). There is great comfort for the recipients in such promises and assurances.

Throughout, this letter resonates with elements of what would become Gnosticism. Terminology such as “riches” and “spiritual blessings”; “heavenly places,” “mysteries,” and “the mystery of God’s will”; “fullness” and “fullness of time”; “spirit of wisdom”; “knowledge”; “enlightenment”; and “spiritual powers” are all later developed in Gnostic worldviews. It is somewhat striking to see such proto-Gnostic ideas in the canon, given both how different it is from the perspective of the genuine Pauline writings and that the Gnostic traditions would later come to be deemed heretical by church fathers. In another deuteropauline move, we see the idea of having already obtained the inheritance in Christ, what we now refer to as “realized eschatology.” The “sealing with the Holy Spirit” (1:13) perhaps draws on the way emperors, rulers, or other people of great importance would “mark” a letter with their seal. This idea resonates with royal importance, though Christ, not the Roman emperor, is the “lord” whose seal is placed on these recipients.

It was John Calvin who built on Augustine’s idea of predestination to salvation to include the implied other component: predestination to sin and damnation as well. This idea, double predestination, was rejected by other Reformers, however. Still drawing on this passage in Ephesians, Huldrych Zwingli and Martin Luther focused on the chosenness in Christ, and God’s goodness and righteousness. Within the Roman Catholic tradition, the discussion of predestination engendered two extremist positions, which were eventually both permitted by Pope Paul V. They are represented by Thomism and Molinism, beginning with grace and free will, respectively, with significant debate regarding the nature of grace, both as sufficient and as efficacious. Karl Barth (1957) interpreted this divinely predestined election as entirely focused on Christ, as we would expect from him: election to salvation is ascribed to humankind through Christ, and Christ took on himself the election to damnation. The “grace versus free will” discussion remains somewhat unresolved in many, perhaps all, Christian denominations.

Ephesians 1:4–11, and to a much lesser degree 3:8–10, has played heavily in the church’s discussion of predestination over the centuries. It was first made a significant focus in what is now referred to as the Pelagian controversy in the early fifth century. The basic beliefs promulgated by Pelagianism, all deemed heretical by the Council of Carthage (418), focus on the concept we have come to refer to as original sin and the early church’s reading of the story of Adam and Eve in Genesis 2–3. Pelagius denied that there was ever a pristine state that is so often read into Genesis 2; he denied that there was a moment in time when sin entered into human actions, and thus that there was ever a time when humans were perfect and would have had immortality. He also insisted that our bodies dying is a natural event, and not something caused or brought about by “Adam and Eve” in the garden. Finally, his claim that we are born not in our full development, “but with a capacity for good and evil; we are begotten without virtue as much as without fault, and before the activity of the individual will there is nothing in humans other than what God has placed in them,” suggests that he wanted to reject the idea of humans being born tainted. This is also backed up by his claim that newborn children need not be baptized, which is the second of his beliefs that was denounced at the Council of Carthage. Pelagius’s ideas significantly downplayed the need for the Christ event, and placed a great deal of agency with humans instead of salvation stemming only from God and God’s grace through Christ.

Church fathers, in particular Augustine, responded to Pelagius’s ideas with claims that put the efficacy of salvation squarely on God and God’s grace, though humans were thought to be called on to participate. For the early church fathers, giving humans any level of responsibility for salvation in this way was explained by the idea of divine foreknowledge of humans’ actions, here drawing on Eph. 1:4–11. It was Augustine who made the obvious conclusion clear, that if one was chosen or elected to be a child of God, then one was also chosen or elected to salvation. As one might imagine, taking this idea to its next logical step would cause problems for later theologians of the church.

The phrase “by nature, children of wrath” (2:3) also received attention over the centuries. In response to Pelagius’s denial of original sin, this passage helped early church fathers formulate the belief in the inherent corruption of human nature, an essential component of the belief in original sin.

Ephesians 2:11–3:21: Mystery, Power, and Oneness in Christ

In Eph. 1:7 we see the first reference to a realized redemption, as opposed to the idea espoused in the genuine Pauline Letters that it will be fulfilled at the Parousia. The metaphor for atonement used here, “redemption through his blood,” is based on ideas about sacrifice that call for reconsideration. The redemption-through-blood metaphor is also used in 5:2, which refers to the pleasant aroma of an offering and sacrifice. This is, no doubt, one of the main reasons ancient peoples thought such offerings would be pleasing for their god(s). But the insistence on the necessity of the blood that comes from death, and the violence implied by it, in order to restore life or to bring about reconciliation between two parties, has been problematized by numerous theologians, in particular in the last few decades (Terrell; Weaver).

The idea that apart from Christ, all people live “in the lusts of [their] flesh, indulging the desires of the flesh and senses, and were by nature children of wrath” (2:1–4; see also 1:3) is one that warrants our thoughtful consideration. Though it may be familiar to many people, it does draw on a dualistic worldview, wherein the spirit is good, but all things to do with the body are bad. Many contemporary scholars of religion or biblical studies have commented on the detrimental effects of such dualisms on the ways we relate to others (see Ruether). What we see, specifically here in Ephesians, also underscores a belief that only in Christ can people be moral, disciplined people. There is very little in the adult world of continuums and variety that can be so simply labeled. Dualisms are necessary for children in order to help them establish good judgment and healthy, respectful behaviors, but these dualisms are best left behind as one matures in mind, body, and faith.

On the topic of predestination, suggested by 1:4–8 and 2:8–10, I offer a few caveats for the thoughtful reader today. First, the concept of predestination was originally only about being saved, where our souls would go after dying, contrasted with ideas of who or what we are “destined” to be in this life. As such, predestination came to be intimately connected to the idea of original sin. But the basic idea of “original sin,” contrary to popular belief, is not an inherent component of Genesis 2–3; rather, it is a belief read into that passage that requires taking the narrative as a literal account instead of as it was intended: as a myth. There is much theological content of the early church that is based on a literal reading of this story, perhaps often to our detriment. The assertion of the reality of “original sin,” and thus the manifold ways that have subsequently been developed to describe God’s saving us from it, are among the most far-reaching ideas within Christian doctrine. The system of thought that has been built up around these texts, including the ideas of election to salvation, election to damnation, and total human depravity without Christ; that humans are by nature disobedient and that it is Adam and Eve’s fault that we need salvation; how salvation is conferred to humans, even simply the preoccupation with the relation of divine grace to human free will—are all dependent on the early (mis)readings of Genesis 2–3. The early intense focus on the belief in human inadequacy, depravity, and disobedience, not to mention the disparagement of our bodies and anything that is natural to them, has left its mark on the collective consciousness of the church and its doctrine. One does not have to agree with these early, eager, earnest church leaders. There are more beneficial and life-supporting ways to read those biblical passages that do not end up denigrating the value and beauty of our bodies or our humanness itself.

The second caveat is directly related to the first. If the God who created us also gave us our minds to use, it is not a transgression of God’s will or grace to suggest that the conversation regarding salvation, as debated and deliberated over the centuries, simply went painfully awry. Saying that God would create all humans, but would choose in advance some to be saved and others to receive eternal damnation, goes against all moral sensibility. Some people counter this claim by saying that God’s ways are higher than ours. This response asserts that what seems unjust to us is somehow reasonable, given God’s love for us and simultaneous need for justice in response to our sin.

It is the effort to make something unique of the Christ event that prepared the way for the early church writers to apply God’s foreknowledge and “choosing” to salvation, now only in Christ. Prior to the Christ event, election was a matter of God’s having chosen the Jews, through their ancestors the Israelites, which is represented in the covenant. Election and salvation are intertwined in the Jewish context, though the focus is on salvation in this life, not what happens after dying. “Salvation” has been understood in numerous ways within the church over the centuries, not to mention what it means to people of other faiths. Given how deeply rooted in dualistic thinking the traditional Christian ideas of salvation and predestination are, the reevaluation of it, to which a number of contemporary theologians call the church, will present a considerable, but perhaps beneficial, challenge.

The writer here makes it clear that he is writing as a member of Israel to people who, while formerly gentiles, are now considered a part of the covenant promises given to Israel. The reference to two groups of people, those of “the uncircumcision” in contrast to those of “the circumcision,” recalls the dilemma that Paul often addressed for the young communities: Do gentiles need to uphold the tenets of the law in order to be fully included in the covenant? Paul’s consistent response was no: The law was Israel’s means to the covenant; gentiles trying to uphold the law had missed the whole point. In Ephesians, however, we see Paul’s idea taken one step further. The writer claims in 2:14–15 that Christ broke “down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances.” Ephesians says that it is not simply that the law was only intended for Israel, as Paul suggested, but also that the law is what is causing the enmity between Jews and gentiles within the ekklēsia, and that because of Christ the law is abolished. One might imagine that this idea would not have sat well with some Jews in the first century.

Though it may seem reassuring to many today, in the author’s claim that Christ “established peace” we perhaps ought to hear something more along the lines of the imposition of the Pax Romana by the Roman emperors. It would have been heard as abruptly as this by those who were not convinced by the gospel or who did not embrace gentiles within Judaism. Similarly, the author draws on “strangers and aliens” terminology, which would resonate with Israel’s past, when the Israelites were strangers and aliens in Egypt. We see this label used in one other New Testament letter, 1 Peter. Both letters, written near the end of the first century, simultaneously draw on Israel’s past and speak of how it is no longer needed or valid. For instance, in 3:9–10, there is a suggestion that God’s wisdom had been kept hidden until the establishment of the church, even though this church is built on the “foundation” of Israel’s prophets and the apostles. It is important to note that these claims were being made within the early church, in particular in light of what they imply about the people of Israel and the validity of their belief system.

The building imagery in 2:20–22 is perhaps an intentional move away from the body metaphors Paul so often uses (e.g., Romans 12; 1 Corinthians 12) to something more tangible and durable, even permanent.

Whether one sees 2:11–22 as similar to encomiums attributed to emperors (Perkins), or finds in 1:20–2:22 the application of the general structure of ancient Near Eastern divine warfare mythology (Gombis), in either case it is clear that praise and exaltation of rulers or other gods is being adapted here in praise of Christ. For instance, the latter passage includes an exaltation of the God or divine king (1:20–2), naming a threat (2:1–3), describing the battle or victory (2:4–7), ascribing lordship to the victor (mostly prior to this section, in 1:3–11; 2:6), and the building of a house or temple to the god (2:19–22), ending with a celebration. Since this paradigm already existed, applying it to Christ would place him in competition with the deified emperor in addition to other gods.

In 3:3–21, we see more ideas that diverged from genuine Pauline ideas. The author writes, “the mystery was made know to me by revelation,” but here the previously undisclosed “mystery” is that “the Gentiles have become fellow heirs” with Jews (3:6). Paul himself regarded this as the clear message of scripture, however (e.g., Rom. 4:1–15), and used the language of “mystery” to refer to the paradoxical course that God’s purposes had taken in the temporary “hardening” of Israel (Rom. 11:25–26). Those nuances are absent from Ephesians. Further, references to fullness (plērōma), knowledge, wisdom, and riches, all employed in this section, are used in ways that are foreign to the Pauline Letters. Through and through, Ephesians affirms the need for the spiritual knowledge that can only be revealed through Christ.

Interestingly enough, 3:20–21 sounds like a benediction, as we would expect at the end of such a letter. Thus some scholars suggest that this letter was, as many others in the New Testament are, pieced together from more than one source.

Ephesians 2:11–22 has been important throughout the centuries in terms of Jewish-Christian relations. It was a helpful passage for Tertullian to reference in denouncing one of the men he considered heretics, Marcion. Since Marcion believed the God of Jewish Scripture was a different God from the one of Christian Scripture (which meant, for him, a few of the writings we consider the New Testament), Tertullian and others emphasized the continuity between the “Old” and “New” Testaments and the belief that the two groups of people being brought together, Jews and gentiles, would be brought together under the same God (Tertullian, Apology 37, 50). Much has been made of this passage over the centuries, with interpretations ranging from maintaining Israel’s place of prominence as God’s chosen people (Barth) to a dismissal of Israel’s relevance altogether for Christianity (Lindemann).

Luther used 2:20–22, the church as God’s building, to speak against papal primacy. He suggested that the papacy is one part of the church, of which only Christ is the head. Thus all parts of the church are equal to each other, and final authority rests with Christ, not the pope.

Ephesians 4:1–5:20: Unity in the Body of Christ and Living Wisely

A careful biblical theologian today will turn to Romans 9–11, in addition to Eph. 2:11–22, for textual support for the discussion of the relationship between the church and Israel. I wish to draw attention to supersessionism and the irrelevance of Israel or Judaism that several passages in Ephesians appear to endorse. Saying that Christ “abolished the enmity” between Jews and gentiles, the enmity that was the law of commandments (2:14–15), sets up the Scripture that is sacred to Jews as a problem that needs to be eradicated. The very belief espoused here, that God has extended the covenant to all people, is embraced by some Jews but certainly not all, both then and now. Thus any and all attempts to “make peace” between the church and Judaism today that do not take this point into account will ultimately be of no avail. But there can be no doubt that there is fodder in the texts of the New Testament to support both ideas: that the coming together of all Jews and gentiles in the covenant is God’s will, and that there is only one special sect of Judaism that “counts” as the correct one of the covenant, which is the one that became what we know as Christianity.

Two striking developments in this section of Ephesians are worth consideration. The first is the change from the very human Jesus of Nazareth, who is the central character in the Synoptic Gospels and is seen mingling with and relating to the masses, to the elevated and mighty Christ, who is above all earthly powers and is enthroned in the heavenly realm. As such, he might appear out of reach of the people who need him (2:20–22). The other is the contrast between the kind of ekklēsia Paul’s genuine letters describe and the communities as they are defined here. When Paul first employed the terminology to gatherings of followers of Jesus, an ekklēsia was an assembly or gathering of the polis, one that would address physical, daily concerns of the people allowed into the gatherings. In Ephesians, the realm in which their ekklēsia takes effect is the spiritual, cosmic realm. Perhaps both are needed, but a one-sided focus on the spiritual realm can lead to apathy in the face of the problems in the tangible world.

Another aspect of the spiritual or heavenly kingdom described in Ephesians is that while it may be seen to offer a counterempire or kingdom to the Roman Empire, all of the roles of dominance and subjectivity are maintained, but simply applied to a new ruler (Bird). For some, this idea of God as almighty ruler is comforting; certainly it has pervaded Christian thought, doctrine, and hymns for two thousand years. But that does not mean that understanding our world in those terms is the most beneficial way to conceive it. For instance, when we speak of the powers of this world being subject to Christ (1:20–22), we set up a system that turns the former oppressors into the oppressed, and vice versa. In other words, we imply a divine sanction of the cycle of domination of one power over another. Though Ephesians speaks of this in the “spiritual” realms, when a person is subject to this victorious Christ/ruler, one assumes either that only the next life or spiritual realm is important, or that claiming that Christ is above all justifies whatever action one undertakes in order to establish “peace” on his behalf. The former situation tends to lead to withdrawing from the world; the latter mind-set leads to tragedies such as the Crusades, but also to a sense that “might makes right.”

Similarly, when we see the claim in Ephesians that the peace of Christ is established among his followers, we should consider how such things happen. Within the Roman Empire, the rule and reign of the emperor were established by means of terror, intimidation, and military action. What happens when we view the empire of God and the heavenly rule of Christ through the same lens? This perspective highlights a tension between offering the peace of Christ and imposing it on others. Those who, as members of the cosmic ekklēsia, presume to be members of this new empire may be reassured by the dominance and rule of Christ. But what fearsome implications for those “outside”! The image constructed of those who continue to live in disobedience and ignorance (4:17–22; 5:5–8, 11–12) does not encourage including them, but of distancing oneself and one’s group from such others. The demonizing of the “other” continues in this new empire—as an act of intimidation, at the very least—and, as history has shown us again and again, can set the stage for violent military attacks once this ekklēsia is also embraced by worldly emperors. While many people today may enjoy the language in Eph. 3:18–19 about knowing the great extent of God’s love and the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, responsible handling of Scripture requires that we remember the context of such encouraging words.

Clearly, 4:1–16 is concerned with creating unity, an issue alluded to in other parts of the letter as well. Here the issue seems to be that people spoke of things such as baptism or “faith” with different purposes, or as being symbolically meaningful in different ways, and that there is consequently some confusion regarding spiritual gifts. Thus the author asserts that there is only one God, from whom all these things (faith, baptism, hope, gifts, etc.) come to them. Having a common understanding of such important matters would have been crucial to the sustainability of the movement.

The next section of the letter, 4:25–5:20, resonates with much of the basic content of Paul’s earlier letters, in particular charging people to do their own work, to help others in need, to speak only words of edification, to not be deceived by foolish or misguided beliefs, and to put away wrath and anger. There is also a significant presence of dualistic thought, making dark/light and foolish/wise distinctions, and referring to the recipients as “children of light.”

Speaking of Jesus as the Christ who gave himself up for them, “a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God” (5:2), draws on the common practice of animal sacrifice that would have been a part of Jewish and pagan worship alike in the first century. Here the metaphor serves to highlight the execution of Jesus, symbolized as a “sacrifice,” as the most important aspect of who he is and what he did for the church.

In seeking to create unity, as the beginning of this section does, the author endorses the idea that there is only one way, one hope, one faith, one baptism, and so on. While we may see the importance of such unity, it has also led to divisions over the centuries, for example, in understanding the intention, meaning, and symbolic efficacy of Christian baptism. Though the diversity belies the claim, different traditions have and will continue to understandably identify their own practice with the “one baptism” to which the text refers.

The primary references in church fathers’ writings to this part of the letter are to 4:7–16, which discusses specific roles and gifts, all given freely by Christ as a gift of grace (4:7). While early writers seemed content simply to note that various roles (apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers) are listed, and just as often referred to Acts 6:2 or 20:28 as to this passage for edification regarding how to be a Christian leader, for the sixteenth-century Reformers the distinction between different roles was of great importance. Their primary concern regarded where, within the hierarchy of the church, each role was intended. Most notably, the role of bishop is not mentioned in this list, yet the bishop held a position of primacy at that time; were some of the roles named in Ephesians to be identified with specifically episcopal duties? Also, if the then-current role and function of the papacy had been intended by Christ, why does this passage not even allude to it? Throughout the ages, there has been agreement on the idea that all spiritual gifts are intended to serve the Word, and to build up the congregation. In present-day ecumenical dialogues, Romans 12 and 1 Corinthians 12 feature more prominently than Ephesians in discussions of spiritual gifts and their relative importance.

Ephesians 5:21–6:9: Household Code

The generalized language in 4:17–24 serves to perpetuate the denigration or demonizing of people who are not in the fold. All descriptions suggesting that outside of Christ people are callous and constantly “give themselves over to sensuality,” practicing every kind of impurity and greed, is dangerous for us today. The reference to people’s being objects of God’s wrath prior to their becoming members of the church, and to their being ignorant and foolish apart from Christ can lead to judgmental views of “others” on the part of Christians. We see this clearly in 4:17–19, which says that the gentiles “live, in the futility of their minds. They are darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life of God because of their ignorance and hardness of heart.” Not only does this kind of talk belittle people outside of the church, but it also suggests that apart from Christ all people are incapable of being moral and loving. We should not be surprised, then, to hear that many Christians believe, for instance, that atheists are by definition immoral people. If Christians are teaching their children to see non-Christians in this way, there is very little space for understanding others and much precedent for judging.

While the concomitant charge to be renewed in the spirit of our minds (4:23) is lovely, it comes at a great cost. If we could frame the positive ideas about living well and being “children of light” without demonizing those who do not align with our worldview, we would make great strides toward productive dialogues within various segments of our world today. If, however, we continue to speak with language implying that “if you’re not with us you’re against us,” we will continue to see our leaders and politicians struggling to “be right” instead of struggling to be understood and to understand others. The dualistic mind-set that undergirds this letter is not helpful for navigating the diversity of belief systems and worldviews of our global community.

This section is one of the three clear examples in the New Testament (see also Col. 3:18–4:1; 1 Pet. 2:18–3:7) of the “household codes” that appear in ancient Greek and Latin writings; Martin Luther called these Haustafeln, “tables” of household duties. It is worth noting that all three cases appear near the end of the first century, and that the implications for women and slaves stand in stark contrast to the words of encouragement Paul himself gave several decades earlier (Gal. 3:28; as well as Rom. 16:1–16, or even the implications of equality between husband and wife in 1 Cor. 7:1–16). We should not be surprised to see this move, however, since the household codes endorse the patriarchal Roman family ideals. Since the rules of the household were understood to undergird economics and politics within a city, the household is the key to sociopolitical control (Schüssler Fiorenza 1997; D’Angelo). While many scholars have argued that the household ideals were adapted in a way that is kinder toward women, children, and slaves than the non-Christian archetype, others have described this relative “kindness” as “love-patriarchalism” (MacDonald). The worldview endorses what is culturally expected, namely patriarchy; but the commands are laced with love or kindness, which, presumably, softens the harshness of the domination and control.

The Haustafel section begins with a call to the entire community to “be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ” (5:21). Similarly, the wives are to submit to their husbands, in all things, as they do to the Lord (5:33), and the slaves are to obey their human masters with fear and trembling (6:5). Though the other typical members of the household are also addressed, their exhortations are not buttressed by obedience out of fear as is the case for wives and slaves (the NRSV translates phobētai with “respect” in 5:33, but the Greek literally says “that the husband may be feared”; the word is a cognate of phobos, “fear,” in 6:5). We do well to ask why such strong language is used for these two groups of people in particular. Not only were women and slaves central to the economic productivity of the household, and thus were essential in supporting the empire; but their sheer numbers also made their control by others important to maintaining the social order. To be sure, the freedom and empowerment that women and slaves had experienced in the early movement, which had been fully endorsed by Paul in his letters, might well have been perceived by outsiders as a threat to social and political order. The shrewd reader of New Testament writings can see political power plays at work in and behind them.

One striking comparison that is particular to the Ephesian Haustafel is that the Christian community is constructed in terms of two images: the body of Christ and the subject status of a wife (Osiek; Sampley). Thus the ekklēsia is seen as both Christ’s body and Christ’s bride, in contrast with Paul’s use of just the body metaphor (Romans 12; 1 Corinthians 12). Perhaps neither surprising—as the endorsement of the married-with-children state would earn favor with Roman officials—nor new—we see in Hosea and elsewhere in Hebrew Scriptures references to Israel as the bride of Yahweh—the effect of claiming that the church is the bride of Christ is nevertheless far-reaching.

In spite of the focus on the heavenly realms throughout this letter, the Haustafel section is grounded in everyday life with its attendant sociopolitical concerns. Just as in the Roman Empire the married-with-children state was encouraged by legislation, now the married state is encouraged in the ekklēsia by this letter.

Men from all ages of Christendom have found two components of this section of the letter important and useful. First is the striking comparison between a marriage between and man and a woman and the “union” of Christ and his bride, the church. Second is the related phrase “this is a great mystery” (5:32). Interpreters have questioned what, exactly, the author intended by the term mysterion; and because this term was translated into Latin as sacramentum, this became a key passage for the Scholastic and Reformation debates regarding the sacraments.

As to the first point, we must note that, with few exceptions, the church fathers read Gen. 2:24 as an indication that marriage itself was established by God, as a part of creation, and thus was something sacred and holy. Building on this assumption, then, there were various claims made regarding the unique importance of marriage, often implying that physical or sexual love within a marriage ought to be on par with a spiritual, holy love. Marriage between a man and a woman was declared a typos, or a visual example, of the union between Christ and the church. Given marriage’s divine endorsement, Augustine and others were able to defend the goodness of marriage against those who generally saw anything to do with the “flesh” as evil and corrupt. Augustine countered his contemporaries in his claim that the marriage alluded to in Genesis 2 was a sexually active marriage, and that had there been no sin (in Genesis 3), then sexual desires within marriage today would be without lust, since Augustine deemed lustfulness to be shameful (De nuptiis 54).

As to the matter of marriage constituting a sacrament, since the belief developed that sacraments bring about what they indicate (Hugh of St. Victor, de sacramentis 9.2; Peter Lombard, Sententiarum libri quatuor 4.1.4, 2.1), Aquinas concluded that the way marriage brought about participation in grace was that entering into marriage was symbolic of belonging to Christ. We see in writings beginning with the Reformation, and as recently as the Pastoral Constitution of the Second Vatican Council, an interest in speaking of Christian marriage as a special form of the worldly institution, simply because Christians are connected to Christ through salvation.

The final section of this passage, Eph. 6:5–9, along with the similar passages of Col. 3:22–4:1 and 1 Pet. 2:18–25, have played a significant role historically in justifying the inhumane treatment of enslaved African people in the United States. First Peter’s discussion of masters and slaves is lengthier and declared that suffering made a person Christlike. These elements made it more popular than Ephesians on this topic.

The theme of being subject to God or Christ out of fear (5:21) deserves some reconsideration. While there is much within the sacred writings of the Jews, and no small amount within the New Testament, that refers to devotion to God in terms of “fear,” which is typically defended as meaning “reverence,” we may still ask whether the terminology is positive or helpful. Fear and control go hand in hand. Fearing the power of the emperor is one thing; (re)importing such fear into the religious realm is simply ascribing the same dominant, and thus oppressive, relationship with the deity that the people have with the emperor. These may be structures and relations people can understand, and thus they may be effective, but that does not mean that they are beneficial for us today.

Describing the ekklēsia in terms of both Christ’s body and Christ’s bride is problematic for many scholars today (Merz), in part because the images are mutually exclusive and thus confusing. Beyond that, however, calling the church the bride of Christ feminizes the church (as “she”) in a way that cannot be undone. Based on the initial application of the label in a heteronormative, patriarchal setting, “she” must be led by a man, and “she” is fully subservient to her “husband,” the Christ. It only follows, of course, that the same dominant/submissive roles would then be applied between men and women within the ekklēsia. It is important to consider how starkly different this image is from what we see in the genuine Pauline writings, where Paul urges his readers not to behave according to the social, familial, and cultural gender roles of the wider culture (Gal. 3:28). Seeing the author of Ephesians intentionally adopting the androcentric, patriarchal political ideals for men and women ought to give the reader pause. This move not only encourages the married state for all people in the church, as the Augustan legislation of the first century BCE did for the people of the Roman Empire, but also places extraordinary focus on women’s married status. The patriarchal, heterosexual marriage becomes the ultimate, if not the only, representation of the church’s relation to Christ (Merz). Further, only heterosexual marriages would be considered “normal” or approved of by God.

The purity required or implied in 5:27 may make sense in context, but it also serves to perpetuate a double standard between men and women in terms of purity, and ultimately makes a detrimental connection between sex and purity. If it is the bride who needs to be pure, then it is the woman in the male/female couple who is expected to be “pure” today. The early church fathers had no difficulty identifying sexuality as impure, and hanging the responsibility for sexual “impurity” on women. We have inherited several components of their way of thinking that are detrimental to the way we view and value our bodies, sexuality, and women in general.

The metaphor of a “marriage” between Christ and the church has also been wielded in conversations regarding sex before marriage. These conversations might be reframed once we note that in Eph. 5:31, Gen. 2:24 has been pulled out of context, both in the Christian tradition and in current English translations, and interpreted as implying that Adam and Eve were married in the Garden of Eden. The NRSV, for example, represents the Greek gynē with “wife” rather than “woman” (compare the translation of anēr as “man” rather than “husband”). In the context of Genesis, however, we are only told why two people who are drawn to each other are to go out from their parents and start their own family. There is no mention of “marriage,” and the Hebrew terms used throughout this passage, ’îš and ’îššâ, can just as easily be translated “man” and “woman” as “husband” and “wife.” Though subtle, the distinction has far-reaching implications. It is in part on the basis of the translation “wife,” as well as the commands and suggestions made by Paul in 1 Corinthians 7 (especially 7:9), that some Christians today claim that sex before marriage is a sin. The special significance attributed to marriage here may inform the harsh judgment some Christians pass on divorce as a sin as well, and may help to underwrite a worldview that says marriage is to be only between a man and a woman. Remarkably, the analogy between marriage and the relationship between Christ and his church appears to break down when some churches assert that only men can be the leaders or representatives of the (feminized) church, which is (symbolically) married to Christ, a male.

This Ephesians passage is often read today and embraced without hesitation by men and women alike. Suggesting that a husband is to his wife as Christ is to the Church, however, puts an inordinate, entirely unfair pressure on men. For centuries, Christians have sought to embrace this “ideal,” but in doing so have only perpetuated the social and cultural confusion of healthy gender roles. If Christ’s self-sacrificial “love” for the church is the primary model for men in marriage, it would seem to follow that men must protect and provide for their wives to a potentially limitless extent. It should be no wonder, then, that so many people expect women to need to be cared for, or that men as “breadwinners” should receive higher salaries and earlier promotions than equally qualified women. Similarly, suggesting that women are to be as subordinate to their husbands as they are to Christ seems extraordinary, in that it is not balanced with a similar injunction to men; yet, again, because it is in Scripture, many people today seek to abide by it as a way of showing faithfulness to Christ, assuming that it is what God intended.

Moreover, there can be no question that the racial, economic, educational, emotional, and spiritual effects of four hundred years of slavery in the United States continue to this day. This reality permeates cultural and social realities in the United States to the point that people who are conscious of it do not know where to begin to address it, and people unaware of it can easily carry on with life as they know it, with clear consciences. Many people today also try to claim that slavery no longer happens in our world, a belief all the more stunning since so much of our global, political, and trade relations are dependent on child labor for the production of goods and on child and female bodies for support of the highly lucrative international sex slave trade. Some scholars even push us to reconsider the value we place on child-rearing and housework, since so much of it is done “for free,” yet disproportionately by women and often at great expense to them in terms of their careers or influence outside of the home (Engels; Hartsock; Schüssler Fiorenza, 1987).

Ephesians 6:10–24: Spiritual Battle and Benediction

In 6:10–17 (see also 4:8), we see a specific parallel between serving in the military and living the Christian life, though one cannot miss that the comparison is entirely spiritualized through the reference to the “rulers,” “cosmic powers of this present darkness … spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (6:12). The author suggests that as a follower of Christ, one can count on being prepared for the “battle” ahead, fully clothed in God’s spiritual protection. We may also see the author responding to early persecution, even the prospect of martyrdom, in referring to the “evil day” and “standing firm” in the face of it. The letter itself ends with a typical greeting and benediction.

Because of the spiritualized language of struggles and battles in this section of the letter, we ought not be surprised at the wide range of interpretive contexts in which the church fathers applied it. In addition to evoking the context of gruesome battlefields, which made this a prime passage in the construction of militia Christi (military service for Christ), it was also adapted to discuss—and at times encourage—martyrdom, monastic lifestyles, and mysticism.

The struggle against one’s own passions and “carnal desires” is perhaps the most common application of this spiritual battle into everyday life, intimately connecting an ascetic life with a moral one (Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 2.109–10; 7.20). The early fathers equated our passions and desires with the enemy, the ruler of the spiritual realm of evil that all Christians are to fight and conquer. Interestingly, several church fathers wrestled with the implications that there are many real battles that take place within the First (Old) Testament. Origen concluded that God commanded such physical battles, in books such as Joshua, in order to foreshadow the spiritual battles of Christians. Just as soldiers were expected to put their military service and performance in battle above their own lives and families, so too many church fathers (Tertullian, Clement, Origen) discussed the calling to be a disciple of Christ as something that deserved highest regard, even claiming that the Christian’s battle serves Christ’s message of peace. In this way, the militia Christi is well grounded. The connection between devotion to Christ and fighting a spiritual battle led to a view of martyrdom as the ultimate way to prove one’s worth to Christ: since victory “consists in achieving that for which one has fought,” that is, salvation, a Christian martyr is victorious (Tertullian). Erasmus of Rotterdam’s A Handbook for the Christian Soldier (1501) makes clear that the Christian’s daily battle is a spiritual one, which will best be fought with God’s armor, with knowledge and prayer being the two primary weapons.