A church which is almost exclusively adult in its make-up and style may well be seen to be lacking in catholicity, and failing in its proclamation of the Kingdom of God. Perhaps a church may be bereft of children through no fault of its members, but more likely it will have been made clear to children and teenagers, perhaps in unspoken ways, that children are an inconvenience, a disturbance, destructive of concentration and peace of mind, their unseemly noises being not unlike the shouts of those infants in the Jerusalem Temple, whose praise to God the Pharisees sought to silence. Children, by their openness, by their spontaneity, by their freshness of thought, and by their emotions being near to the surface, can, if allowed to express themselves in church, be both a sign of hope and a threat to the ‘status quo’, a challenge to tram-like thinking and spiritual rigidity. ‘Let the children come to me, do not hinder them; for to such belongs the Kingdom of God’ (Mark 10.14).

By widespread agreement the Didache is a riddle and an enigma, as to its chronological and geographical setting, its primitive character in matters of church order and theology, or its artificiality as a romantic contrivance or forgery. It is unlikely that the problem will be solved merely by reviewing the arguments yet again. But it may be possible to shed new light by concentrating on the tradition to which the Didache itself suggests that it belongs. An investigation of this tradition may also indicate a relationship between the Didache and St. Matthew's Gospel which is of mutual advantage in exegesis.

The problem with which we have to deal now, is whether or whether not in the initial part of Paul's epistle to the Romans (1.18–3.20) a gospel of everybody's unrighteousness explicitly precedes, prepares and finally supports that gospel of righteousness by faith which is announced in 1.16 f and which is developed in 3.21 ff. Many commentaries on Romans agree in the analysis that Paul speaks of the work of God's left hand (the opus alienwn) in 1.18–3.20 and that he describes the work of God's right hand (the opus proprium) only in 3.21 ff.

As introduction to the topic may serve two remarks, one about the meaning and importance of the expression ‘Deuteropauline Letters’, and one about the historical and theological background of the question of the relationship between church and Israel.

One of the most influential Christologies in the recent past was that based on the kenosis or divine self-emptying in Christ. Starting with Gottfried Thomasius in 1845 through P. T. Forsyth and H. R. Mackintosh in this century, men sought a key in the idea of kenosis for interpreting to the modern mind the traditional Christian affirmation that Christ is both human and divine. There are two questions about the kenotic Christologies and their place in the history of Christian thought that can provide a key to a fresh understanding of the kenotic theme and its function in modern christological thinking.

Scotland's philosophers of the medieval period, priests almost to a man, were deeply interested in the concept of sin. The concept resonates with philosophical overtones, and our early philosophers found something philosophical to say about it. The greatest of those philosophers, John Duns Scotus, wrote extensively on sin in the course of his Commentary on the Sentences of Peter Lombard. Lombard quotes Jerome's dictum that there is sin in thought, word and deed, and in his Commentary on the Sentences Duns Scotus probes this dictum, since it is not only central to moral theology but also problematic to philosophy. I shall attend to an aspect of Scotus's investigation, that concerning the relation between will and sinful thinking. I shall argue against one of his theses and shall seek to replace it with one which is in a variety of ways more defensible.

The Church and science have often enough been or at least appeared to be in conflict with each other, though it might be truer to say that it is Churchmen and scientists who have found themselves in opposition. Who has been to blame? In such strife it is rare that the fault can be attributed to only one side, and it may be that a more accurate delineation of the nature and purpose of the Church on the one hand and of the scope and function of science on the other might resolve the causes of the conflict.

Is there a sense in which ‘myth’ is an appropriate category of understanding of material within the Old Testament? In attempting to clear the way towards answering this question it may be useful to present some representative expressions of views about the propriety, or impropriety, of the use of the term ‘myth’ with regard to the Old Testament. There are some interpreters who hold that myth, properly so called, does not, even cannot, appear within the Old Testament; others, however, consider that there are significant features preserved and sufficient functions operative for the term ‘myth’ to be applied.

One of the most stirring moments of the World Conference on Church and Society held in Geneva in 1966 was during the third plenary session on 14th July. For that evening the subject was ‘The Challenge and Relevance of Theology to the Social Revolutions of our Time’. It had been chosen with some hesitation by the preparatory Committee; for although the relevance of the subjects on the first and second evenings—the technological and social revolutions of our time—was clear to all the delegates, the importance of a ‘theological revolution’ seemed simply incommensurable in comparison with the others. However, this evening proved to be a real challenge to the Conference (and also in its repercussions on the social-theological thinking in the ecumenical movement) and its influence on the discussions afterwards was lasting and varied. The ‘theology of revolution’ presented itself as an extremely burning issue for ecumenism.

The story of the healing of the blind man at Bethsaida forms a pair with that of the deaf man recorded slightly earlier in the Markan narrative (Mark 7.31–37). In both cases the healings appear to have been accomplished only with difficulty and again in both cases physical means were used in the cure. Further, both stories were closely linked to miracles of feeding. This paper, however, does not address itself, in the first place, to the theological interpretation of the story, but sets out to consider the meaning of the odd response of the blind man to his first glimmerings of sight in the context of the healing as a whole.

Gazing about himself at the theological landscape in 1967, Gordon Kaufman observed,

… the historical situation has changed and with it the theological task. The great critical questions posed by liberalism and humanism …—questions which could be more or less ignored or overlooked during the crises of recent decades — have come into view once again and are demanding attention. Most notable of all in this respect is the central conception on which the whole theological program rests, the problem of ‘God’, What do we mean by ‘God’? Is this notion intelligible at all to ‘modern man’ or does it depend on outgrown mythological patterns of thought?

Kaufman was not alone in the 1960's in sensing a change in the theological situation. Schubert Ogden saw it as symptomatic of an overall, cultural change. Langdon Gilkey pointed to the rise of the radical ‘God is dead’ theologies as indicative of the truly new element in the present situation: ‘This upheaval, this radical questioning of the foundations of religious affirmation and so of the theological language reflective of it, is now taking place within and not outside of the Church.’ In other words, the meaningfulness of religious language, so long taken for granted while neo-orthodoxy held sway, was now problematic, not just outside the Church, but within as well.

Bonhoeffer's Ethics demonstrates the depth of his christolJcentric theology. Every theme has at its very heart the action of God in the incarnation, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. His work of substitutionary atonement and reconciliation becomes the basis for man's ethical responsibility. From this basic observation, we can see that Bonhoeffer will have nothing to do with a theology or ethics in which man is seeking the answer to the nature of his own being or the foundation of his own action within himself. ‘It is necessary to free oneself from the way of thinking which sets out from human problems and which asks for solutions on this basis. Such thinking is unbiblical. The way of Jesus Christ, and therefore the way of all Christian thinking leads not from the world to God but from God to the world’ (E 356).1 It is the seriousness with which he takes revelation and the inversion of the priorities of ‘liberal’ and ‘existential’ theology which is rigorously applied throughout his Ethics. Even in his Christology the question of ‘who’ Christ is is given priority over ‘what’ Christ did, though the person and work can never be separated.

William Robertson Smith and the heresy trial that secured his place in history apparently have lost none of their many-sided interest or dramatic appeal. It might even be argued that Smith today is as famous — or infamous — as he ever was. The most recent fulllength survey of the Church in nineteenth-century Scotland, for instance, devotes nearly forty pages to a blow by blow account and evaluation of the Smith case, and Professor A. C. Cheyne, in his excellent study of Victorian Scotland's religious revolution, contends that Smith is ‘a man with very strong claims to be regarded as his country's most influential modern churchman — claims only contestable, it may be supposed, by Thomas Chalmers or David Livingstone’.

The theme of this article is the reconstruction of the doctrine of God offered by the German theologian and historian of doctrine Isaak August Dorner (1809–84), in his treatise ‘On the Proper Conception of the Doctrine of God's Immutability, with Special Reference to the Reciprocal Relation between God's Suprahistorical and Historical Life.’ Although the theme of God's immutability has received wide attention in the last years, Dorner's essay has gone largely unnoticed, and its contribution to the current debate still awaits appreciation. The following argument shall provide some building-blocks for this goal. It presupposes that Dorner's theology was shaped in dialogue with the thought of Schelling, Hegel, and Schleiermacher, but it will extend this perspective and ask for the particular systematic-theological link between Schleiermacher and Karl Barth that Dorner's essay represents.

Of the many difficult formulations in Karl Barth's ‘Special Ethics’, none seems less amenable to acceptable interpretation than his conception of the relation of male and female. I do not refer to Barth's insistence that Man, created as male and female, maintain both the unity and distinction required for true co-humanity. I refer, rather, to his puzzling (even if textually supported) assertion that this co-humanity is ordered by God in such a way that the woman is ‘sub-ordinate’ to the man without inferiority or disadvantage. Putting aside the exegetical issues involved, I will try to show that Barth's redefinition of the concept of sub-ordination gains coherence when understood as an ‘ordering’ of human life by a revealed order of creation, which in turn is an expression of the divine life itself. I will argue that the analogy Barth draws between the order of the Trinity and sexual relationship is authorized by his doctrine of creation, by his view of Christ as the analogia relationis, and by what I believe to be his application of the doctrine of perichoresis to anthropology. And finally, I want to suggest that, while some of Barth's language may have to be set aside, the arguments described here inform the presuppositions and method of an ethic more relevant for moral discrimination than has commonly been supposed.