Paul’s speech to the Areopagus in Acts 17 places the apostle in philosophical dialogue with Stoics and Epicureans. This article identifies important points of contact between Paul’s speech and Middle Platonic exegesis of a famous Platonic phrase from Timaeus 28c. There, the philosopher declares that the maker and father of the world is hard to find, and even more difficult to talk about. Many later interpreters of Plato commented on the dictum. Middle Platonists such as Plutarch mused about the theological implications of naming god both “maker” and “father.” Jewish and Christian interpreters like Philo and Justin employed Plato’s phrase to describe their access to divine revelation. The first portion of this article argues that the Areopagus speech contains evidence of similar exegesis, both in its references to god’s roles as maker and father and in Paul’s claim to declare the unknown god. These resonances do more than clarify the author’s philosophical background; they also have previously unexplored implications for our understanding of Paul’s characterization in Acts 17. The second half of the article argues that in aligning Paul with the Platonic tradition, the author participates in an established Greco-Roman practice of depicting the Platonists, Stoics, and Epicureans in theological dialogue.

While scholars have explored the profound influence of Iphigenia among the Taurians (IT) on Greco-Roman fiction, including Christian apocryphal Acts, the play has yet to be considered seriously as a potential inspiration on the canonical Acts of the Apostles. A close comparison of IT with the story of the Ephesian riot (Acts 19:21–20:1) reveals a compelling relationship in matters of plot, setting, characterization, purpose, and themes. The Ephesus saga in Acts achieves a creatively miniaturized and satirized recasting of this famous Euripidean play.

Isaiah 16:3–4, part of an obscure prophecy about ancient Moab, appeared frequently in nineteenth-century writings about slavery in the United States, particularly in the context of opposition to fugitive slave laws. The verses were linked with other biblical passages to create a network of proof texts to justify assisting persons who escaped slavery. Eventually, the line “hide the outcast” from verse 3 took on a life of its own as an abolitionist slogan, largely independently of its biblical context. Rebuttals of these uses of the texts by anti-abolitionist writers, which began to appear in the 1850s, criticized the decontextualization of the verses, and one novel response attempted to link the text to interracial intimacy. Despite these rebuttals, the use of the text continued apace throughout the 1850s–1860s in response to the 1850 Fugitive Slave Act and the execution of John Brown.

In Ukraine, as was the case across occupied Europe, while most residents of any given locality divided into bystanders, collaborators, and accomplices during the Holocaust, a minority turned to rescue work. Faith-motivated rescue work by large institutions or individuals representing prominent branches of Christianity is well documented; its prevalence exemplifies the critical role that the altruism of individual members of the clergy, laity, and religious orders played in the survival of many Jews. However, rescuers from less prominent denominations of Christianity, amongst them Baptists, Evangelicals, Seventh-day Adventists, and Sabbatarians, are less spoken about, although these rescuers were often equally as motivated to rescue and more poorly resourced to do so due to disadvantageous political circumstances. Some scholars suggest that it was their “underdog” identity that made such groups empathize with persecuted Jews, but primary testimony offers an even more intriguing perspective: it was the philo-Semitic underpinnings of some members of the minority Protestant denominations in question that provided a broad theological basis for rescuing Jews, transcending the sociopolitical phenomenon of the common underdog mentality and even more widespread ecumenical obligations for being a good Christian.

The French priest Paul Gauthier (1914–2002) was a former theology professor who, after a short period as a prêtre-ouvrier (worker-priest) in Marseille, decided in 1956 to settle in Nazareth and practice his working apostolate there. For the next eleven years, and until his abrupt departure shortly after the Six-Day War in 1967, Israel became Gauthier’s home. Some years after his arrival, Gauthier was invited to the Second Vatican Council by the archbishop of Galilee. There, Gauthier led the group the “Church of the Poor,” which aimed to bring the issue of poverty and pastoral service to the forefront of Council discussions. Gauthier spent his years in Israel between two physically close but culturally and politically distant worlds. On the one hand, he lived and worked with the vulnerable Arab population of Nazareth. On the other, he was in close contact with Israel’s new Jewish society, which greatly aroused his curiosity. In addition to his friendly contact with the Israeli civilian and military authorities, who would help him foster his cooperative for Arab housing, he was attracted by the kibbutz lifestyle and was especially moved by the philosophy of the Zionist thinker and pioneer Aaron David Gordon. Gauthier believed that his experience in Nazareth and Israel, where he saw an interchange of many worlds, could shed light on the worker-priest apostolate and provide a model for priestly spirituality in a working-class environment, in its various aspects. This article analyzes the influence of the “Israel experience” on Paul Gauthier’s thought.

This article focuses on the meeting of faith traditions—interfaith dialogue—from the perspective of mystical consciousness. In doing so, it aims to understand the dynamics and potentialities of interfaith mysticism. The contribution of this article to religious studies, in combination with theological inquiry, is threefold: first, it illuminates how the Trinity is directly experienced in interfaith contexts; second, it provides an interfaith framework that accounts for the possibilities, complexity, and challenges of interfaith encounters; third, it shows how Gavin Flood’s three orders of discourse—traditions’ experience and texts, interpretation within traditions, and academic inquiry—can be applied to the study of interfaith mysticism, employing a phenomenological emphasis on hermeneutics. The inquiry is located within the context of representatives of Hindu mystical consciousness (Sri Ramana Maharshi, Sri Aurobindo) and the Christian interfaith tradition (Henri Le Saux, Bede Griffiths, David Steindl-Rast), in conversation with Raimon Panikkar’s and Francis X. Clooney’s approaches to interreligious studies.