g. Other Eschatological Imagery

Luke includes other imagery, the fuller interpretation of which is possible through surveying the language of the biblical prophets as a whole. The Spirit’s being “poured,” cosmic signs, the “day of the Lord,” and salvation all evoke Israel’s future hope, understood by this period in eschatological terms.

The language of “pouring out” God’s Spirit (Acts 2:17) probably originated as a Hebrew idiom comparing one’s spirit or heart with fluid (1 Sam 1:15; Isa 29:10; Lam 2:11); the same idiom applies to wisdom’s (Prov 1:23) or God’s (Isa 32:15; 44:3; Ezek 39:29; Zech 12:10) Spirit in a number of passages. (Luke follows the LXX in literally rendering the MT’s “my Spirit” as “from my Spirit”; some scholars take this to imply “a material concept of Spirit,” but it may simply emphasize a finite measure that does not exhaust the supply.)

This image fits nicely with the water metaphor of “baptism in the Holy Spirit” (on which see Acts 1:5). The other references to pouring out the Spirit in Acts (2:33; 10:45) naturally refer back to the Joel quotation, and the Pauline references (Rom 5:5; Titus 3:5–6) may do the same.

In Acts 2:19, Luke adds “signs” to Joel’s “wonders.” The likeliest reason is to prepare the reader for the description of Jesus’s ministry in terms of “miracles, wonders and signs” in 2:22 and hence to show that the eschatological era of the Spirit and salvation has arrived, revealed also by the continuing signs in Acts (2:43; 4:16, 22, 30; 5:12; 6:8; 8:6, 13; 14:3; 15:12). This offers an explicit literary connection in the immediate context (in fact, at the outset of Peter’s explanation of the text from Joel).

The heavenly darkness at Jesus’s death probably also constitutes a partial fulfillment here (Luke 23:44–45) and prefigures the eschatological cosmic signs (21:11, 25–26) some indefinite time after Jerusalem’s fall (21:20–23). Turner also suggests that the Pentecost event itself constitutes a “wonder from heaven” (cf. Acts 2:33–34); this would certainly make sense of the signs on the day of Pentecost as well (2:2–4). In particular, the “fire” of 2:19 could readily point to the fire of Pentecost in 2:3.

Undoubtedly, Joel anticipated more graphic cosmic phenomena than Luke’s realized eschatological application suggests (and presumably, Luke himself would reserve the full impact of Joel’s promise for the completed day of the Lord, which he also expects here). Eschatological signs in the heavens are common in early Jewish texts.

Nevertheless, readers could grasp present as well as eschatological fulfillments of such language. Because Joel refers to judgment, his “smoky clouds” may be war language (cf. Joel 2:2, 10; 3:15; for Luke, wars continue in the time preceding the end, Luke 21:9, 20–24). One could speak of a dust cloud rising from a marching army or its hasty retreat, clouds of dust rising to heaven from a battle, or a “cloud” of arrows overshadowing the sky. Even a cloud of dark birds obscuring the sky before battle was a negative omen. Fierce battle could stir dust clouds that shrouded the sky and sun, the latter expressing “sympathy.” Given the context in Joel, he may have also envisioned locusts; Romans viewed clouds like locusts as an omen as well. Joel has just depicted the day of YHWH (Joel 2:1) as a day of darkness and clouds (2:2), with the sky darkened by the locust invasion (2:10) in the terrible day of YHWH (2:11).

Many ancients understood that the moon passing in front of the sun caused a solar eclipse. Some viewed eclipses simply as purely natural phenomena and complained about the superstition of those terrified by them. Nevertheless, even some who, like Pliny the Elder, treated eclipses as natural phenomena noted their apparent function as portents. Darkness during the day, as happened to those near the erupting Mount Vesuvius, terrified bystanders (Pliny Ep. 6.20.13–14); in that case many prayed (6.20.14–15), but many thought that the whole world (6.20.17), including their gods (6.20.15), was perishing.

Eclipses were generally thought to represent frightening omens, both in Jewish and other Greek and Roman sources. For some rabbis, the sun turning red signified impending war; its blackness signaled famine and pestilence (t. Sukkah 2:6). An eclipse could predict trouble for the emperor (Philost. Vit. Apoll. 4.43) or a coming revolution (8.23). In a case of war, of course, combatants had to determine for which side the eclipse portended disaster. An imminent assassination was symbolized by the moon’s being stained with blood (Suet. Dom. 16.1). Dreams (cf. Acts 2:17) of such phenomena portend harm except for those attempting to escape something (Artem. Oneir. 2.36). But for Jewish people, the darkened sun and moon could signal the terrifying eschatological judgment (Sib. Or. 5.346–49).

The “day of the Lord” appears often in the prophets, including Isaiah (Isa 13:6, 9; 58:13), Ezekiel (Ezek 13:5; 30:2–3), the briefer prophets (Amos 5:18, 20; Obad 15; Zeph 1:7, 14; Mal 4:5), and most notably in Joel (Joel 1:15; 2:1, 11, 31; 3:14). Postbiblical early Jewish references seem rarer. References to “that day” in which God will judge (e.g., Isa 2:11, 17, 20) would increase the list.

Early Christians also spoke of “the day of the Lord” (1 Thess 5:2; 2 Thess 2:2; 2 Pet 3:10; cf. Barn. 15.4); the “day of God” (2 Pet 3:12; Rev 16:14); “the day of the Lord Jesus” (1 Cor 5:5; 2 Cor 1:14); “the day of the Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Cor 1:8); “the day of Christ Jesus” (Phil 1:6); or “the day of Christ” (Phil 1:10; 2:16). The christological applications (especially “the day of the Lord Jesus”) are most significant here, in view of the identification of the “Lord” of this context (Acts 2:21) with Jesus in 2:38. Luke himself reports Jesus’s predicting “the days of the Son of Man” (Luke 17:22, 26), probably equivalent to the less ambiguous Jewish phrase “the days of the Messiah” (see comment on Acts 3:24).

“Salvation” for Luke (Acts 2:21, 40, 47; 4:12) includes both the eschatological kingdom for Israel (e.g., Luke 1:69, 71; 2:11; Acts 13:23, 26) and individual spiritual deliverance (e.g., Luke 8:12; 9:24; 13:23; Acts 11:14; 15:11; 16:30–31), presumably including participation in that kingdom (cf. Luke 19:9–10; Acts 5:31; 13:47; 15:1; on Luke’s use of soteriological language, see more fully comment on Acts 27:20). The horn of salvation in David’s house (Luke 1:69) includes salvation from enemies (1:71, 74); John, called to announce this salvation (1:76–77), proclaimed this message of salvation (3:6) and hence warned of either eschatological fiery destruction or the Spirit (3:16). For Luke, the former fate remains future (cf. Acts 2:35), but the latter is realized proleptically through the gift of the Spirit (1:6–8). This “salvation” is based on the forgiveness of sins (Luke 1:77; 3:3), which is also true of Israel’s ultimate salvation (Acts 3:19). Thus salvation is available in the present (2:40, 47; 4:9, 12; 5:31; 7:25; 13:23; 15:11; 28:28) though consummated in the future; individuals can participate in it in the present era, even while awaiting the corporate experience when Israel turns to the Messiah and God confirms his kingdom of peace and justice on earth.

In Joel’s quotation, “all” who call on the Lord will be saved (Acts 2:21). Although one would not expect such a frequent term as πᾶς in 2:21 to carry heavy semantic weight (161 Times in Acts alone), it is noteworthy that the term is central to Paul’s midrash on the same text (see Rom 10:11–13). It fits Luke’s implications in “all [πᾶσαν] flesh” (Acts 2:17, part of the same quotation), in “all [πᾶσιν] who are far away” (2:39), and perhaps “every [παντός] nation under heaven” (2:5). Whether or not Peter recognizes it at this point (cf. 10:28), his own Spirit-inspired preaching already foreshadows for Luke (in the context of the whole story of Acts) the ultimate inclusion of the Gentiles (2:21, 39; perhaps also “first” in 3:26).

The expression “call on the Lord’s name” was familiar in Jewish texts, where it concerned especially praying to him, as in the later Targum on this verse (Tg. Joel 3:5), or praise (Jdt 16:1). Luke’s term for “call upon” (ἐίικαλέω) could also apply to a formal appeal to Caesar (as in Acts 25:11–12, 21; 26:32; 28:19), but it is the Lord who could grant true deliverance.

Peter’s sermon expounds at length on this final line from Joel, arguing that the Lord’s name on which his hearers must call in this salvific era is Jesus (2:21, 34, 38). Thus Peter concludes by exhorting them to call on the Lord’s name by baptism in Jesus’s name (2:38). After this Peter completes his Joel quotation, picking up later in Joel’s sentence after the point where he broke off to begin expounding the last line he had quoted (2:39; see also comment there). Cultic invocation of Jesus’s name appears elsewhere in Acts (22:16) and early Christianity (e.g., Rom 10:9, 13; cf. 1 Cor 1:2; 12:3; Phil 2:11); in this context, Jesus’s name is necessary for salvation (Acts 4:12), and in the immediate context, he is “Lord” (2:36).

Peter can link one κύριος with another (Acts 2:34; Ps 110:1) in part because the LXX does not distinguish them but also perhaps because most Jews refused to pronounce the divine name. This tradition of not pronouncing God’s name already existed in the NT era, as is clear, for example, from Josephus (Ant. 2.276) and the Qumran scrolls; uttering the Name could lead to permanent exclusion from the community, regardless of the reason (1QS VI, 27–VII, 1). An earlier sage warned against both “swearing by” (ὀμνύων) and naming (ὀνομάζων) God (Sir 23:9–10). A Semitic text from third-century C.E. Palmyra in Syria changes the divine name YHWH (יהוה) to Adonai (אדוני) in the Shema, according to its public pronunciation (CIJ 2:69–70, §821). A Diaspora Jewish text, probably pre-Christian, compares the difficulty of truly hearing God’s name to the impossibility of seeing him.

Later rabbis insisted that the name should be spelled out fully for use in the sanctuary and Aaron’s benediction; in the provinces, however, a euphemism should be used. The divine name was powerful, and strictly pious hearers might rend their garments when hearing it blasphemed. Later variations in the forms of the divine name may reflect ignorance of the original pronunciation. As well as safeguarding the name’s sanctity against false oaths, it also guarded against exploitation for magic (the permutations of YHWH’s name in magical texts indicate the extent to which magicians desired to discover the name; see fuller discussion on Acts 19:13).

God’s name could be associated with his presence. The title “the name” in fact became a surrogate for repeating the divine name; early Christians transferred this use of the “name” from the Father to Jesus, and some scholars think that the frequent early Jewish Christian “name of Jesus” formula reflects this usage. If we ask how it is possible for Luke to portray Peter as already exhibiting such a christological understanding so early in the second volume, we must remember how Luke has prepared for Peter’s understanding within his narrative. Starting from John’s proclamation of the coming baptizer in the Spirit (Luke 3:16//Matt 3:11), Luke has provided clues about Jesus’s role. Luke probably also expects his audience to infer Peter’s further learning during the forty days of resurrection appearances in Acts 1:3.

“Lord” was a frequent title for pagan deities, but for the earliest Jewish followers of Jesus, it was especially a divine title in the LXX. (See further comment in the introduction, .) For Luke, God the Father is “Lord” (Acts 2:20, 39; 3:19–20, 22; 4:25–26, 29), but Christ also receives this title by exaltation (1:21; 2:36; 4:33; 5:14; 9:1; Rom 10:9–13; 2 Cor 4:5; Phil 2:9–11); Jesus receives faith (Acts 3:16) and prayer (7:59) and is the world’s judge (10:42; 17:31). Contrary to what some scholars would expect, most of the uses of “Lord” for Jesus in Acts appear in the first half of the book and hence are attributed to the Jerusalem church (despite Luke’s frequent portrayal there of that earliest community’s probably more distinctive features, such as “servant”). For the title, the earliest Christians probably depended on Jesus’s use of Ps 110:1 (Luke 20:42); it is not clear that the passage was in widespread messianic use earlier, but it is fairly clear, given the potential non-Davidic reading of Jesus’s ancestry in the passage, that the later church did not invent the account for Jesus.

Some scholars have suggested that the Hellenistic church deified Jesus, thereby allowing LXX statements about the “Lord” to be applied to him. But apart from hypotheses about christological evolution, the direction of influence was almost certainly the opposite; Gentile Christians would embrace Judaism’s monotheism before or simultaneous with, not after, Judaism’s Scriptures. More concretely, the most Jewish NT sources (e.g., John and Revelation) are the most emphatic about Christ’s deity in the NT corpus; the idea of their borrowing from Greek Christianity is unlikely.

Though recognizing the connection in Peter’s exegesis in the context, Dunn thinks Luke presents Jesus only as “a plenipotentiary representative of God.” But Luke’s interpretation of Scripture elsewhere (see Luke 3:4; cf. 3:16–17) suggests that Luke himself affirms the divine Christology held by much of the early church, certainly by his generation (see Rom 9:5; Titus 2:13). Certainly, from an early period, Aramaic-speaking Christians invoked Jesus as “Lord” (1 Cor 16:22). Divine language from the OT appears in the parousia imagery of 1 Thessalonians, probably the earliest extant Christian document. Moreover, the application of Septuagintal language for God to Jesus must have happened within two decades of the resurrection at the latest (Rom 10:9–13; 1 Cor 8:6; Phil 2:10). Contrary to frequent traditional scholarly opinion, Jesus’s deity is affirmed in a variety of first-century Christian sources. Although variations may have existed within early Jewish monotheism, the consistent theme was the worship of only one God; by worshiping Jesus, early Christians innovated. (Second-century Christians used explicitly divine language more often, and pagans also recognized that this was the Christians’ view.)

The repetition of an invitation to “hear” (though not using the same terms; Acts 2:14, 22) frames the introductory citation of biblical authority, which functions as the basis for the exhortation proper starting here. An invitation to continue listening was not unusual; Cicero, for example, points out that his audience has listened to him carefully in earlier speeches, and he encourages them to keep listening in this manner (Verr. 2.3.5.10). Perhaps Peter also uses this invitation to underline the importance of what he is about to say, or is preparing the audience for the shocking statement to follow.

That Peter opens his exposition with mention of Jesus sets the tone for what will follow. If this verse provides such a transition (expounding Acts 2:19), this would explain its absence from the chiastic structure that some scholars have suggested for 2:23–36 (see comment above, in the section on ). Some doubt that Luke’s generation would usually describe Jesus as “a man attested by God,” suggesting that this is a primitive trait. But while it may not have been the common language of Nicene Christianity two and a half centuries later, Luke does not appear to have been involved in serious christological controversy, and he felt free to use such language alongside his divine Christology probably implied in 2:38 (see 10:38). “Man” (ἄνδρα) may link Jesus with Peter’s hearers in the same verse (ἄνδρες). Nazareth was an insignificant village (John 1:45) but, for this reason, provides a suitable geographic epithet distinguishing this Jesus from his many contemporaries bearing the same name.

If Acts 2:22 is transitional, we should note that the signs it mentions are central to the Gospel’s narrative before the passion (taken up in 2:23) and provide a sort of “proof” for Peter’s argument. That signs and wonders provide a primary attestation to Jesus is a major emphasis in Luke-Acts (cf. the summaries in Luke 7:22; Acts 10:38; suggested in Luke 4:18). This is also true for the apostles (Acts 2:43). The primary theological background for early Christian usage is the story of Moses, who prefigures the apostolic ministry (2 Cor 3:7–18). Because Luke is here expounding the Joel quotation, he views these signs as proofs that the eschatological, messianic era has arrived in part (Acts 2:19; see more fully comment there).

The pairing of signs and wonders (2:19, 22, 43; 4:30; 5:12; 6:8; 14:3; 15:12) appears elsewhere in early Christian texts (Rom 15:19; 2 Cor 12:12; Heb 2:4) but in all of them would probably still evoke for informed readers the OT story of Moses. The pairing is common in the OT, yet the textual evidence is overwhelming that this pairing was rooted especially in the exodus story and Moses’s prophetic leadership role. Jesus’s and the apostles’ works indicated that a new era of salvation had dawned.

One would not expect Diaspora Jewish visitors or even Jerusalemites to be as familiar with Jesus’s signs as Galileans were, but Luke elsewhere assumes that word spread widely about Jesus’s passion (Luke 24:18; Acts 26:23, 26) and his miracles (Luke 9:6–9; 23:8). For more on Luke’s use of signs, see our introduction, . Peter appeals to the audience’s own knowledge of the veracity of his statement, a common rhetorical technique (cf. Acts 10:37; 20:18, 34; 26:26).

In contrast to many speeches in Acts (some of which are “interrupted” after the narratio), this speech follows the advice of some rhetoricians to keep the narration (here 2:22–24) as concise as possible while sneaking “conviction unnoticed past the listener’s senses” (Dion. Hal. Lysias 18 [LCL]).

This passage fits the fulfillment-of-prophecy theme and summarizes the Gospel’s plot as a part of God’s larger plan in salvation history. Oracles and the designs of a deity or fortune often functioned as a plot-moving device. Novelists could use oracles as literary devices to lay out, in nugget form (and somewhat ambiguously), the plot of events that would follow, or use oracles as events to move the plot forward by directing characters in the story.

Such devices, however, were hardly limited to novels. Prophecy and fulfillment constitute a plot-moving device in Hellenistic historiography, including in Josephus. No one could escape Fate; some who mocked or sought to circumvent oracles nevertheless suffered the predicted fate. Various historians viewed as tragic the way Fate acted in human lives. Acts is full of programmatic prophecies, though Acts 1:8 is the most obvious. Luke uses the fulfillment of prophecy (including prophecies of Jesus and other reliable characters, not just Scripture) as part of the theme of God’s plan, which the entire story presupposes. This theme provides a “functional counterpart” to the Greek concept of Fate.

God’s will and purposes are a recurrent theme in Luke-Acts, especially in the speeches of Acts. The emphasis on God’s purposes is especially clear in Luke’s use of δεῖ, often (though not exclusively) pointing to God’s will, whether emphasizing obedience to it (Luke 2:49; 4:43; 12:12; 13:33; 19:5; Acts 1:21; 5:29; 9:6, 16; 19:21; 23:11) or God’s fulfilling his own plan (Luke 21:9; Acts 27:24, 26), usually regarding the passion (Luke 9:22; 13:33; 17:25; 22:37; 24:7, 26, 44; Acts 17:3; cf. 1:16; 3:21). Acts 2:23 does not use this frequent Lukan term for divine necessity, instead using three more explicit (though less frequent) terms. First, Luke uses ὁρίζω, which (with its cognate προορίζω) usually designates God’s determination, especially concerning Jesus’s passion (Luke 22:22; Acts 2:23; 4:28) or exalted status (Acts 10:42; 17:31).

Second, he uses here βουλή (“counsel”), which can refer to God’s salvation-historical plan (Luke 7:30; Acts 13:36; 20:27) and specifically to the passion (Acts 4:28, the verse most closely recalling 2:23). The divine purpose included God’s plan in the OT (13:36); God’s purpose in the gospel contrasts starkly with the human plan to oppose it (cf. 5:38), which coincided in the cross (Luke 23:51; Acts 2:23; 4:28). Finally, he uses πρόγνωσις, which appears nowhere else in Luke-Acts but indicates divine foreknowledge (also in 1 Pet 1:1–2; Jdt 9:6).

Most sections of the Gospel reveal explicitly divine activity (the work of the Spirit; the fulfillment of Scripture; divine agents such as angels; miracles) moving the story forward. Here God’s sovereignty stands even behind the very political powers that brought about Jesus’s death. In contrast to some Palestinian Jews before the war of 66–70, Luke does not advocate violent resistance against the powers in the face of their selective repression, but recognizes that God is free to use them to further his good purposes. God is sovereign and knows in advance what believers will face; thus, when he wills, he can provide warnings of impending suffering (Acts 20:23; 21:4, 11), assurance of safety (cf. 18:10; 23:11; 27:34; Luke 21:16–19), or even miraculous deliverance (Acts 12:7–11; cf. 5:19; 16:26). God can provide promises that his agents will bear witness, without guaranteeing for them the response (Acts 23:11; 27:24). Although God can answer prayer with deliverance from a ruler (12:5–11; cf. 2 Thess 3:2), we read of prayer for boldness in the face of opposition rather than a prayer against these rulers (Acts 4:26–30; cf. Eph 6:19–20; Col 4:3–4; 2 Thess 3:1–2). Yet God clearly works in the narrative to guard his people (Acts 21:31–32; 25:3–5) as well as to work through their suffering. God can also blind the resistant (28:26–27) and open others’ hearts (16:14) and doors of ministry (14:27; cf. 11:21). Whether in the forefront or in the background of Luke’s narrative, Israel’s God is accomplishing his purposes and promises.

Although Luke’s idea of providence depends on the monotheistic Jewish understanding of God, it also resembles Hellenistic historians’ articulation of providence. Moreover, even Jewish and Christian debates about predestination and free will were very much shaped (at the very least, in the questions they addressed) by ideas debated in the Greco-Roman milieu. It is therefore helpful to survey some Greco-Roman conceptions of Fate and related ideas before examining predestination.

Providence and fate play a major role in Hellenistic historiography, including in monotheistic historians such as Josephus and Luke. Indeed, no less “naturalistic” a historian than Polybius defines the historian’s task as simply showing how Tychē (Τύχη), Chance or Fortune, ordered all the matters of the world toward her purpose (Polyb. 1.4.1–2). He also opined that it was the task of historians to report Fortune’s activity so that later generations would know not to fear its caprices (2.35.5). Many attributed Rome’s rise to Fortune. Most Hellenistic historians, including Josephus and (perhaps) Luke, temper determinism or fate with free will. Luke’s emphasis on necessity is “not entirely deterministic, but rather serves to reinforce the personal will of God in much the same way as we find in Josephus.”

Such approaches to fate were widespread. Greek and Roman historians followed an emphasis on Fate already present “in Greek epic and dramatic poetry.” In common Greek and Roman thought, even the gods could not contradict Fate, no matter how much they might wish to do so (Virg. Aen. 7.314–15).

Many scholars have argued that common people in the ancient world felt insecure, were fearful about fate, and were pervaded with a cosmic pessimism; Gilbert Murray titled this period “the age of the failure of nerve.” Yet this attitude, including its preoccupation with immutable fate, was surely more characteristic of late antiquity (with its new profusion of demons, increase in astrology, and so forth) than the early empire. Some recent scholars have pointed out that an emphasis on enslavement to fate has been overstated. Such reservations rightly must be taken into account; nevertheless, the evidence more generally for individual and corporate concerns about fate is widespread already long before Luke’s day. Thus, for example, Fortune often became tutelary goddess of cities being founded in the Hellenistic era.

In common understanding, Fate or Fortuna (Tychē) controlled everything; nothing could resist her will, and she did with persons as she wished. Fortune controlled the station in life in which one was born; it could act toward a person with apparent hostility or help a person. Fate killed Patroclus (Hom. Il. 16.849) and Hector (16.853); it was also responsible for others’ deaths in battle or in general. Many burial inscriptions complain that Fate is unavoidable. Storytellers could evade having to explain improbabilities by attributing unexpected acts to Fortune.

Lucian, satirizing inconsistent views in Greek religion, notes that one cannot avert fate; the very attempt to do so would bring it to pass (Z. Cat. 12). Therefore, why pay fees for oracles, since foreknowledge cannot change anything (Z. Cat. 13)? Josephus follows this Greek idea in his portrayal of Ahab’s death: fate let the false prophet seem more convincing, because even with foreknowledge one cannot escape from fate (Ant. 8.409, 419).

Many Hellenistic cities, as already noted, had Fortune as a tutelary deity; she was patron deity of Syrian Antioch, for example. Romans worshiped Fortuna as a goddess; the cult of Tychē was thus influential, for example, in Roman Corinth. The Roman high priest sacrificed to and invoked the Fates in a public ritual; individuals might also call on them. Some sources assimilate Zeus, as the supreme deity, to Fate or Fortune. Certainly, for Stoics, Fate could be understood as identical to the supreme deity. (One writer claimed that if we simply followed wisdom, we would need no goddess of Fortune, but probably meant this in hyperbolic praise of wisdom.) When something happens to which the gods surely would have objected, such as Julius Caesar’s death, the reader is reminded that the gods had to submit to Fate (e.g., Ovid Metam. 15.808–9).

Although rhetoricians could praise a person’s good fortune, most people lamented Fortune’s fickleness or even caprice; it could bring good and bad to the same people at different times. (Some nevertheless entreated Fortune for help.) Some complained of Fate’s cruelty; others (undoubtedly far fewer) responded that people ought not to complain about what happens, since we were born not to govern life but to submit to Fate. It is noble, some thought, to remember the fickleness of Fortune. (Romans did envision another side, personified as good luck, and might praise Fate for their benefits.) Certainly, one ought not to ridicule another’s misfortune, recognizing that “fate is common to all.”

Whether everything was foreordained in advance or whether Fortune and chance act randomly could be disputed; others debated whether Fate and Nature were identical. The question of whether the world was ruled by providence was an ongoing debate between Stoics and Epicureans.

Some intellectuals criticized the popular attribution of everything to Fortune. Some, such as Epicureans, ridiculed the consistency of belief in Fate, noting that it eliminated personal responsibility. (Some did, in fact, attribute their own misdeeds to fortune, which is, obviously, not how proponents of Fate understood their teaching.) Logically, they might argue, there is no need to honor lesser gods if everything, including those gods, is controlled by Fate. They also noted that it was difficult to harmonize the role of the three mythical Fates with Destiny (Εἱμαρμένη) and Fortune (Τύχη). Some writers less opposed to Fortune nevertheless observed the inconsistency of praising Fortune for victories and crucifying generals for failures.

Stoics, by contrast, embraced Fate. Some Cynics mocked Fortune, saying they had nothing and hence could suffer nothing from its vagaries. Stoics and many Cynics were more apt to seek to cooperate with Fate, though, again, by holding nothing as permanent. Early Stoics treated Fate as endless causation, ruling all things. For Stoics closer to Luke’s era, order in the universe demonstrated providence. The Stoic trust in fate was not easily falsifiable, at least not by popular misapplications of the teaching to personal aspirations. Thus, when Galba was assassinated, someone challenged Musonius’s belief in providence (πρόνοια); he answered that his faith in providence never rested on Galba. For Pythagoras, Fate controlled everything individually and as a whole. Middle Platonists also accepted divine providence and viewed anything under the power of fate as inconsequential.

Fate was often closely connected with astrology. The stars either predicted the future or, in the harder deterministic approach, controlled it. In the more pessimistic approach, astrology simply provided the freedom for knowing the unalterable future so that one could accept it willingly. For discussion of astrology more generally, see the excursus at Acts 2:9–11.

Various philosophers argued against fortune-telling from astrology; some thinkers denied any connection between stars and mortals. Some thought that astrologers could predict people’s imminent deaths; charlatans, naturally, exploited this expectation. Pliny claims that his enemy, Regulus, used astrology to gain the trust of a dying matron by promising hope; after she had added him to her will, she then died, cursing him (as Pliny plausibly imagines) for his deception. Even Stoics, who accepted the reality of Fate and hence could accept astrology, could criticize worrying over astrology if it reflected the decrees of Fate, which one could not change anyway. Epicurus, naturally, doubted the power of the stars altogether.

A central understanding of God shared by most Jews was his sovereignty. God was sovereign over human hearts, and hence it was good to pray for God to order one’s heart aright. The Hebrew Bible already regularly affirmed God’s sovereignty over history, but Jewish writers in Greek took over Greek ways of conceptualizing such understandings. Thus God’s plan would be fulfilled by a strong “necessity,” and Jewish people often spoke of God’s Πρόνοια, his “Providence.” Some Diaspora Jews even spoke of the Μοῖραι, the “Fates.”

Josephus emphasizes divine providence, even borrowing Hellenistic historiography’s term “Fortune” to express God’s purposes in history. That God showed Daniel the future in advance adequately refutes Epicurean denials of providence, Josephus insisted (Ant. 10.277–78). Although Josephus recounts some social causes for the war, the primary cause remains God’s plan. No mortal, he points out, may escape “destiny” (Jos. War 6.84). Fate let the false prophet seem more convincing than the true one so that Ahab would die (Ant. 8.409); even foreknowledge does not allow one to escape fate (8.419). Fortune devised the appropriate time for Germanicus’s tragic murder (18.54).

Most important, Josephus uses εἱμαρμένη to distinguish his three “sects” (13.171–73). For the Essenes, fate governs everything (at least according to Josephus); they thus appear as deterministic as the early Stoa. Sadducees reject fate, attributing everything to human choice; they thus appear like the religiously skeptical Epicureans. The Pharisees, whose mediating position Josephus undoubtedly favors, believe that God and fate rule everything, yet also allow a measure of free will. In this way, Jewish philosophic options mirror those of Josephus’s Hellenistic ideal audience, commending to them the relevant forms of Judaism (most would have rejected the Sadducean/Epicurean option). But for Josephus, fate expresses God’s plan and does not overrule it. Thus he mocks Greek myths in which fate rules over even Zeus.

Philo likewise argues for God’s providence in human affairs. But while Philo acknowledges causes and effects, he denies blind Fate or Necessity; God, not Fate, rules the universe. Rejecting Stoic determinism, he may opt for the relative free will doctrine of many philosophic contemporaries rather than an absolute free will doctrine such as found in Epicureanism. His understanding of providence, arguing against that of the Stoics, also differs from that of Platonism; he believed that God expressed providence in his care for individuals whom God favored.

The Jewish king Agrippa I (known elsewhere for his Judean sympathies; see comment on Acts 12:3) commissioned a coin depicting the goddess Fortune, who was considered protectress of Caesarea. Just as fate decreed deaths, so at the Feast of Trumpets God declared who would die and be born. “Fate” could be used, in fact, to refer to “death.” A second-century Christian writer who accepted the notion of destiny could subordinate it to God. Even the use of “destiny” in the Manual of Discipline may reflect Hellenistic influence. It is also said that the concept of providence is common in the sages, although the particular term for it (hashgaha) is later.

Philosophers often asserted free will, in whole (e.g., the Epicureans) or in part (e.g., the Stoics), to address the practical problems created by determinism. On a popular level, some resorted instead to cultic solutions.

Although ordinary people in most societies act as if they have a measure of moral choice (admittedly constrained by circumstance), it was no longer possible to take this for granted. Many thinkers reacted against the growing dominance of Fate and cosmic fatalism in popular circles by emphasizing free will. Some scholars argue that thinkers misreading Aristotle’s philosophy of choice in light of Stoic determinism highlighted the tension between free choice and determinism, especially in the second century C.E. and later. The question was, however, a long-standing one. Thus Cicero admits that circumstances affect behavior but nevertheless insists that the will is free; Plutarch emphasizes reason and free choice against the rule of Fortune.

For Stoics, freedom was simply choosing to accommodate fate willingly; yet first-century Stoics viewed this freedom as real. For Epictetus, the divine spark within the soul conferred such freedom; for Seneca, the very knowledge that all had been predetermined gave him freedom to follow God’s plan voluntarily rather than under compulsion. Even an early Stoic such as Chrysippus may have viewed Fate as compatible with human control of decisions.

Epicureans argued for total freedom, contending that “atoms” “swerve” and hence the course of matter is not determined; arguing against a long chain of causality, they denied Stoic determinism. Middle Platonists could affirm human freedom yet accept the accuracy of prophecy by viewing the latter as conditional. Later Platonists likewise argued that people were free to choose their moral course. Various other writers in late antiquity accepted both Fate and free choice.

In the determinist mood of late antiquity, Christians and Jews had to qualify determinism to allow enough free will for moral responsibility. Before it became a widespread philosophic issue in popular culture, Judaism already assumed free will. Early in the first century, Philo already was grappling with how to articulate the balance, as already noted; he uses free will to distance human sin from divine responsibility, yet his portrayal of God’s sovereignty may owe more to philosophic determinism than to the concept of God’s gracious election. In the late first century, Josephus characterizes questions of God’s sovereignty and human choice as a lively discussion among different Judean sects.

Contrary to Josephus’s verdict about the Essenes, most readers of the Qumran scrolls allow that the sectarians who authored them affirmed both predestination and free will (see esp. 1QS IX, 17–18). The consensus throughout rabbinic literature embraced both providence and free choice. One commonly cited saying, probably from early second-century tradition, is that despite God’s foreknowing everything, people retain freedom of choice (m. ʾab. 3:15). A number of early church fathers, faced with the dominant philosophic questions of their era, also argued for free will.

Many religious responses to Fate evolved in late antiquity. Some deities, such as Isis, were also associated with Fortune or with deliverance from it. “I conquer fate,” Isis was portrayed as saying. “It is to me that fate listens.” She extended Lucius’s days beyond the Fates’ decrees. Some scholars think that Artemis of Ephesus also functioned in this manner.

Many have argued that people looked to the Mysteries to liberate them from astrological bondage. Astrologers such as Firmicus Maternus resented the Mysteries. Mithraic incantations associated with astrology also hailed the Fates; Mithraism raised initiates above the control of the stars and the planets. Some of these sources are much later than our period, at a time when astrological influences were becoming much more pervasive. But it is likely that some sought freedom from determinism earlier.

Some philosophers emphasized that their reason was, or naturally moved, in the heavens, among or above the stars and hence above concerns with astrology and fate. Being raised above the world in transcendental thought allowed one to look down on it objectively. In some Mysteries, at least in a later period, initiates were raised to the deity’s celestial home and hence freed from the power of fate. Some Jewish thinkers eventually adopted a similar solution in which Israel was exalted in Abraham and thus above the stars.

Some segments of early Judaism included a heavy predestinarian element. This is especially evident in the Qumran scrolls and related literature. That is not surprising, since Josephus emphasizes the Essenes’ predilection toward predestination (though he overschematizes their view); his Sadducees deny it, whereas his Pharisees affirm both human choice and divine sovereignty. The Qumran sectarians could confess that humans are too sinful to go in the right way without God’s help (1QS XI, 9–10). They also seem to have accepted double predestination, contrasting the “lot” of the community with that of Belial (1QM I, 5). Their view of God’s sovereignty extended to nature (1QS X, 1–5), apparently the experience of testing (4Q298 1 III, 8), and the workings of all ages (4Q180 1 2).

In 1 Enoch, those “born in darkness” who were not “of the generation of light” will be thrown into darkness, whereas the righteous will shine forever (1 En. 108:11–14). In the Similitudes, it sounds as if Enoch is personally predestined for eternal life. Philo believed in God’s providential care for individuals whom God favored, but this is more closely related to his general determinist outlook than to an emphasis on God’s gracious election of Israel.

Early Jewish sources emphasize particularly the chosenness of Israel (Deut 4:37; 10:15) or (especially in the Dead Sea Scrolls) its righteous remnant; the latter conception is particularly relevant for early Christian applications to Jewish believers plus their Gentile adherents. The Qumran sectarians could note, “You chose a people for yourself”; Israel could cry, “You chose us as your own.” The Qumran scrolls often link predestination with God’s special favor toward Israel, often emphasizing God’s goodwill toward the elect. The emphasis on chosenness continues in the rabbis; God also chose Abraham and the other patriarchs.

Yet as noted above in greater detail, most Jewish groups affirmed human responsibility alongside God’s sovereignty, at least when it became an issue in dispute in the determinist mood of late antiquity. Later rabbinic theodicy explained, for example, that Israel also chose God. In contrast to some systems then and later, most Jews probably viewed predestination and human responsibility as compatible. Early Christians probably shared the same conviction. See also comment on Acts 1:26.

We may conclude that ancient audiences would have readily grasped the idea of God’s “predetermined plan” and that such a conception was, even when articulated in terms shared by a Hellenistic audience, also thoroughly at home in a Jewish setting such as Acts here portrays. Some perspectives on predetermination, however, were closer than others; Jewish notions of providence were much closer than pagan notions of arbitrary fate.

Luke’s theology does not neglect the cross even if he emphasizes (especially in the theologically pregnant speeches) the resurrection. Despite the reservations of many as to whether Luke has much of a theology about Jesus’s death, scholars have explored Luke’s theology of the cross. One scholar argues that Luke alludes to imagery from Wisdom of Solomon to help explain Jesus’s death as the righteous sufferer. This view might appear as developed as the views of some other early Christian writers, but it would indicate, at the least, a coherent theology of the cross.

Although Luke does not articulate an explicit doctrine of propitiatory atonement as it appears in some other writers (e.g., Rom 5:6–10; 1 John 2:2; 4:10), it is not correct to say that he neglects any soteriological significance to Jesus’s death. Jesus’s blood inaugurates a new covenant (Luke 22:20); Luke also draws on Isaiah’s Servant “Songs” in relation to Jesus’s passion (Luke 22:37; Acts 8:32–33). To suggest that Luke would reject the theology drawn from Isaiah’s servant by his Christian contemporaries simply because he does not cite the particular lines stressing atonement (cf. Mark 10:45; 14:22–24; Luke 22:27) seems more an argument from silence than would the presumption that he accepted the widely held early Christian view regarding the context he cites. He does not react against this view, and so silence cannot be construed as rejection.

Luke’s emphasis, however, lies elsewhere, especially on the resurrection, which gives the cross its divinely informed meaning. Because he writes a narrative and not an argumentative treatise, Luke often focuses on Christ’s death as part of God’s salvific plan. God’s sovereignty in Jesus’s death (joined with the resurrection that followed it in Acts 2:24) would encourage those who followed his model according to God’s plan (e.g., 7:59–60; 14:22; 20:24).

Although the cross became a badge of honor for some Christians through identifying with Christ (e.g., Gal 6:14), it remained a shocking scandal for outsiders (e.g., 1 Cor 1:17–18; Gal 5:11; 6:12). The cross represented shameful execution by slow torture, a penalty reserved for low-class criminals and slaves.

The cross required little explanation for Luke’s audience; it was well known in their world, though undoubtedly less common in Achaia, Macedonia, and the province of Asia in this period than in more troublesome provinces such as Judea. Jesus’s crucifixion by the Romans outside Jerusalem is an “almost indisputable” historical fact; early Christians would not have invented the crucifixion. The full horror of this mode of execution (see discussion below) remained vivid enough in the first century that all four evangelists hurry quickly by the event itself, Matthew, for example, “disposing of it in a participial clause.” (It was established rhetorical practice to hurry most quickly over points that might disturb the audience.)

Although some features of crucifixions remained common, executioners could perform them in a variety of manners, limited only by the extent of their sadistic creativity. Thus, for example, one man is bound to a fig tree and anointed with honey so that the ants devour him, but this, too, is called a cross (cruciatum). Before the Roman conquest, following Hellenistic and Persian practice, Jewish executions had also adopted hanging by crucifixion. Though this was then read back into earlier times (L.A.B. 55:3), Israelites originally hanged corpses posthumously and only till nightfall, limiting the shame (Deut 21:23; m. Sanh. 6:4). It was the Romans, however, who popularized the practice most fully.

Executioners usually tied victims to the cross with ropes but in some cases hastened their death by also nailing their wrists (Acts 2:23; cf. John 20:25; Col 2:14). The nails were typically five to seven inches long, enough to penetrate both the wrist and well into the wood of the cross. One being executed on the cross could not swat flies from one’s wounds, nor could one withhold one’s bodily wastes from coming out while hanging naked for hours and sometimes days. The upright stakes were normally ten feet at the highest, more often closer to six or seven feet so that the person hung barely above the ground, with a seat (sedile) in the middle; animals sometimes assaulted the feet of the crucified. Romans could employ high crosses to increase visibility for significant public executions (Suet. Galba 9.1), and Jesus may have been slightly higher than usual.

Crucifixion was treated as appropriate for cases of treason against the majesty of the emperor or for revolutionaries, that is, for political cases. This is undoubtedly the basis for Jesus’s crucifixion, since he is called “king of the Jews” (Luke 23:38; Mark 15:26; Matt 27:37; John 19:19), a charge his followers would hardly dare invent in the first-century Roman world (especially in the reign of Tiberius) unless all were deliberately suicidal. Although the charge against Jesus was undoubtedly political, it put him in the company of other despised groups. Vindictive conquerors sometimes used crucifixion to punish prisoners of war for resistance or war crimes. Avenging Tyre’s long resistance, Alexander sold its women and children into slavery and crucified its men.

Crucifixion was considered an apt penalty for wayward slaves; when a general crucified Roman deserters, a narrator decides not to describe more, since Romans disgracefully “suffered the punishment of slaves.” Slaves could be crucified by cruel masters; those who killed their masters were automatically liable to crucifixion. Slaves were generally much more susceptible to crucifixion than free persons (certainly more than Roman citizens; see comment on Acts 16:37); in an attempted murder where a slave was only an accomplice, a noble might be banished but a slave crucified. Like others, a slave might be left to hang so that the animals could eat him.

Crucifixion could be employed as an example for the most awful sort of death. Needless to say, crucifixion was meant to be, and was understood as, a horrifying, shameful mode of execution; not the sort of event disciples would create for the Lord they proclaimed, it was one preachable only in light of the resurrection.

This verse summarizes one aspect of Luke’s passion narrative (Luke 22–23). Israel as a nation bears corporate guilt for Jesus’s death—but the most explicit mention of this situation shares Israel’s guilt with the Gentiles (Acts 4:27) and emphasizes (4:28), as does 2:23, that all this happened according to God’s plan. Luke emphasizes both God’s plan and human responsibility, just as he emphasizes both Israel’s failure and that Israel continues to belong to God.

Peter charges especially Jerusalemites with Jesus’s death (2:23, 36; cf. 3:15; 4:10). Presumably, he does so because of the participation of the crowds (Luke 23:13, 18, 21, 23), though Luke does not emphasize them (Luke 23:13; cf. Mark 15:11, 15) and they elsewhere appear more ambiguously in his passion narrative (Luke 22:2, 6; 23:27). Historically, hostile crowds probably would have consisted more of Judeans than of Galileans, who knew Jesus better; but theologically, Peter generalizes the sin to “men of Israel” (Acts 2:22). In charging his own Jerusalemite persecutors, Stephen more broadly denounces Israel’s history (7:52), but the narrative is explicit that he does so as a law-abiding Jew (like Jesus or the Qumran sectarians who made similar charges; see comment there). Law-abiding Jews might denounce their nation’s disobedience to the God of Israel, but they recognized that the history of Gentiles was even worse. Such charges, even isolated from the narrative of Luke-Acts, are hardly anti-Semitism (see further our introduction, , ): biblical prophets often denounced Israel as a whole (e.g., Isa 1:10; Ezek 16; Amos 2:6–3:2; 5:21–27), and Jewish people understood well the notion of corporate responsibility and its demands for atonement or restitution (e.g., 1 Sam 15:2–3; 2 Sam 21:1, 6), including for any sort of bloodguilt near a town (Deut 21:1–9). The primary function of Peter’s charges in Acts 2:23 and 3:13–15 is ultimately not forensic (to convict; though perhaps 7:52 functions this way); it is deliberative, to call for repentance.

Although the crowds share the guilt, however, the leaders are the primary target of Peter’s long-term preaching (4:10–11; 5:30; Luke 24:20; cf. Acts 3:17; 13:27), and they recognize this charge (Acts 5:28). Peter’s allusion to the “builders” who rejected the cornerstone (4:11) confirms this by alluding to a parable of Jesus that the leaders also recognized as directed against them (Luke 20:19).

Ultimately Peter will mitigate the culpability of the people and even of the leaders by noting their ignorance of what they were doing (Acts 3:17; see comment there), though some responsibility remains. Most important, Diaspora preaching charges Jerusalemites as a whole (13:27), not the scattered Jewish people as a whole, with the offense and implies consequent judgment (cf. also Luke 13:33–35 and its implication of Jerusalem’s judgment). This cannot be construed as anti-Semitism, and Peter’s words here can be pressed into anti-Semites’ service only by isolating them from the larger context of Peter’s preaching in Acts. Granted, Pilate “and the Gentiles” (presumably the Roman system of governance) also remain culpable (Acts 4:27), but less so because they had less direct knowledge of Scripture and hence less responsibility to recognize its Messiah than those who handed him over (3:13; 13:27–28).

Peter claims that they have killed Jesus by the hands of the “lawless,” a fitting title for Romans and other Gentiles who did not acknowledge God’s law (cf. 3 Macc 6:4, 9, 12–13). This linked Jesus’s opponents with lawlessness, just as Stephen’s preaching reverses the charges of lawlessness against him (Acts 6:11–14; 7:51–53). To those who prided themselves on obedience to Torah, the charge of lawlessness would be deeply offensive and shaming.

That they acted by the “hands” of the lawless might also evoke passages in which one person sought to kill another “by the hand” of someone else, covering up his own guilt (1 Sam 18:25; 2 Sam 12:9). The theme of secondhand responsibility for murder appears elsewhere in ancient texts as well. Biblical tradition could also remind Peter’s hearers in the story world and Luke’s ideal audience that whatever anyone meant for evil, God could use it as part of his plan for good (Gen 45:5, 8; 50:20).

Although Jesus’s death is pivotal, it is his resurrection over which the speech “lingers” (Acts 2:24–36). Dwelling on a point was one way to emphasize it. As is universally noted, resurrection is a theme in the speeches in Acts (3:15; 4:10; 5:30; 10:40; 13:30–37; 17:31; 23:6; 24:15, 21; 26:23; summaries in 4:2, 33; 17:18). The theme is not, of course, distinctively Lukan, but Luke elaborates resurrection narratives (Luke 24) much more fully than Matthew or (especially) Mark.

The “pangs of death” echoes the LXX; thus one could speak of ὠδῖνες θανάτου (2 Sam 22:6; Pss 17:5 LXX [18:4 ET]; 114:3 [116:3]) or the equivalent ὠδῖνες ᾅδου (Ps 17:6 [18:5]). The image, as this text stands, might be of Hades travailing to give birth to Jesus’s resurrection and ultimately that of his followers, but the figurative extension of “pangs” for other traumatic sufferings was by now widespread, even for an era of the end time. (The idea of suffering immediately preceding the end is even more frequent, though usually without the expression “pangs.”)

Another question is more vexing. Why does Luke speak of these pangs being “loosed” (λύσας) and of Jesus not being “held in death’s power” (where Luke translates differently than the LXX)? The Greek term λύω often meant “to destroy,” which could make sense of death’s power over Jesus (cf. Job 5:20 LXX; Hos 13:14), but it also could mean “to loose” or “to free” (as from bonds, e.g., 3 Macc 6:27; Luke 13:15–16; Acts 22:30). The sense “to loose” would work well with a Semitic original here. The Hebrew חבל could be vocalized to mean either “bonds” or “pangs,” and the LXX often used ὠδῖνες to translate both meanings. Thus, even though Luke borrows wording from the LXX (cf. Pss 18:4–5; 116:3), he preserves an exposition that presupposes knowledge of the Hebrew text.

Some scholars suggest that Luke borrowed the LXX’s wording without catching the original speaker’s nuances (which may have been intended more along the lines of Pss 18:4–5 and 116:3). Because some examples of being “bound” with pangs appear in Greek literature, the mixed metaphor could possibly be “merely fortuitous in an original Greek composition.” Likewise, the phrase “held in its power” was a familiar expression for subduing (κρατέω with ὑίό). Most likely, however, “loosing the pangs of death” does reflect an author (perhaps more likely Luke’s source than himself) who was aware of both potential nuances of the triconsonantal Hebrew root behind the LXX translation and alluded to this knowledge by his wording even though speaking or writing in Greek. In its present form, the full expression appears only in a text in the Apostolic Fathers likely dependent on Acts.

Although Luke does not spell out the array of Jesus’s texts concerning his resurrection in Luke 24:44–47 (apart from allusions in the wording there and in Acts 1:8), he offers samples of such teaching in the speeches in Acts. In Acts 2:25–36, Peter makes an argument from Scripture that the risen one is the Lord (2:25–31, 34–35), an argument from the testimony of eyewitnesses and the Spirit’s present confirmation that Jesus has risen (2:32–33), with the resulting conclusion that Jesus is the Lord (2:36).

Deliverance from the “pangs of death” (2:24; cf. Pss 18:4–5; 116:3) invited contemplation of another psalm that addressed deliverance from death (Ps 16). Peter will then expound this psalm by recourse to another one, depending, in this instance, especially on psalms language to interpret psalms. “Right hand,” explicitly in Acts 2:25 (Ps 16:8 ET [15:8 LXX]) and probably implicitly in the context (Ps 16:11 [15:11]), provides for the link (by means of gezerah shevah) with Ps 110:1 in Acts 2:34. (I suggest the implicit connection with Ps 16:11 [15:11] because it refers directly to God’s right hand, as in Ps 110 but not in Ps 16:8.)

Exactly how Luke understands the original sense of Ps 16 is a matter of dispute. According to one view, the ultimate righteous sufferer’s deliverance from death encouraged David that death would not separate him from God. According to another, although the psalm originally referred to simply restoration of health, its eschatological rendering in the LXX allowed its early Christian application. Later rabbis did interpret the passage eschatologically, and a late midrash (Midr. Pss. 16:9) even applies it, in some sense, to the Messiah; on a different psalm, one text (b. Sukkah 52a, bar.) claims that David already prophesied the Messiah’s eternal life (Ps 2:7–8).

At the least, the psalmist spoke of deliverance from death (probably beforehand), and if the principles in the psalms of righteous sufferers applied to Jesus par excellence, so did the vindication they usually promised (see comment on ). As one commentator on the psalms observes, even though the psalmist had no prediction of a messiah’s resurrection in mind, “the New Testament teaching of the resurrection from the dead and the thoughts which here occupy the mind of the psalmist are based on the same fundamental conviction, namely, an unshakable belief in the life-giving power of God.”

This much of the argument would work for modern as well as ancient readers; some of the sermon’s connections, however, follow a hermeneutic that most modern readers would find uncomfortable. We might tolerate the gezerah shevah on the premise that similar language among the psalms might convey related ideas (or at least evoke related feelings); but Luke further tightens the application to Jesus by appealing to the psalm’s authorship by David, who might speak not only for himself but for the promised seed he knew about.

Luke follows the traditional ascription of the psalm to David (see Ps 15:1 LXX); some early Jewish tradition ascribed to David, indeed, 3,600 psalms (11Q5 XXVII, 4) plus other special songs (XXVII, 5–10), all by means of divine prophecy (XXVII, 11). Jewish people naturally spoke of the Holy Spirit’s inspiring David to write such songs.

The original psalm, however, is surely Levitical (or at least uses Levitical metaphor; cf. Deut 10:9; 1 Chr 25:8): as with the Levites, God is the psalmist’s portion (Ps 16:2, 5) because of his heritage (16:6); further, he need not pour libations for the wicked (16:4; cf. Lev 23:37; Num 28:31; 1 Chr 29:21). Thus (unless Ps 16:7–11 was originally a separate psalm) “saints” (16:3) and “holy one” (16:10) could refer to priests in the temple.

By itself, priestly imagery would not affect the validity of the gezerah shevah with Ps 110; indeed, 110:4 also uses priestly imagery (albeit for the Davidic ruler), and the Lord at the right hand is a shield or protector in both cases (16:8; 110:5). Both psalmists also find a place at God’s right hand (16:11; 110:1). It would affect only the specific argument that the psalm must apply to a Davidic descendant (Acts 2:29–31, 34). But the work of Psalms as a whole was attributed especially to David, who in a sense authorized them (1 Chr 25:1; 2 Chr 29:25), and as some Jewish interpreters could apply prophecies broadly to the messianic era (see comment on Acts 3:19–21, 24), Luke readily follows the early Christian christocentric hermeneutic.

Some scholars suggest that Luke may also use another implicit gezerah shevah: the psalmist cries for God to preserve the life (ψυχή) of his holy one (ὅσιος) from death both in Ps 16:10 (15:10 LXX) and in 86:2 (85:2); the holy one in 86:2 is God’s “servant” (δοῦλος), which invited messianic connections (89:3, 20, 39; cf. Isa 42:19; 49:3, 5, 7). These midrashic steps are logical, and some ancient interpreters probably would have made them. But the objections against presupposing this midrashic process here are compelling: the argument is too complex (requiring two different links, neither of which is stated); the term ὅσιος is too pervasive to make a specific link obvious (seventy-six times in the LXX, twenty-six of them in the psalms); and finally, it is not the means by which Peter in the story world arrives at the link between the psalmist and the Messiah. More plausible would be a link with the ὅσια of David in Isa 55:3 because Luke clearly notes this connection, although much later in his account (Acts 13:34–35; see comment there).

Perhaps because Luke understands God as continually “present” with Jesus, he omits Jesus’s cry on the cross, “Why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34; Ps 22:1), while including a promise of paradise the same day (Luke 23:43). It is even possible that some ancient interpreters would understand the “always” as implying Jesus’s preexistence if they had other reasons to find it there; but the text by itself is not clear enough to support this inference (and Luke nowhere else emphasizes this teaching).

Not only Luke (Luke 20:42; 22:69; Acts 5:31; 7:55–56) but other NT authors affirm that Christ is at the Father’s right hand, presumably usually dependent on Ps 110 (Mark 12:36; 14:62; Rom 8:34; Eph 1:20; Col 3:1; Heb 1:3, 13; 8:1; 10:12; 12:2; 1 Pet 3:22; Mark 16:19). The idea was thus one of the most pervasive in early Christianity. (That many of these texts apply it to Christ’s supremacy over angelic powers may suggest a major issue of contention in a Hellenistic Jewish context where the Logos alone ruled the other powers. It may be relevant that some Jewish sources, perhaps as early as the second century, speak of angels who sought to prevent Moses’s ascent to receive the Torah.) Since one can hardly be at another’s right hand and have that person at one’s own right hand (unless each faces the other, not the usual arrangement of thrones), the language of the “right hand” is metaphor in both psalms (Pss 16:8, 11; 110:1, 5). Although seating to the left of the person of highest status was a great honor at a banquet (because one reclined on one’s right elbow; cf., e.g., Luke 16:22–23), seating by a throne was a different matter. Most ancients associated the left hand with dishonor; for example, in the Qumran scrolls, gesturing with the left hand invited the punishment of reduced rations for a time (4Q266 10 II, 13–14). Being at a king’s left hand was still a position of honor (cf. Xen. Cyr. 8.4.3; Mark 10:37–40), but in early Christian imagery, the right hand was better in general. In some texts δεξιά connotes “favorable” (Aratus Phaen. 6, 8), and the right hand was generally more honorable than the left.

In Jewish sources, the queen normally held the position at the king’s right hand; the favorite would also hold such a position near God’s (Sir 12:12) or the Messiah’s (Mark 10:37, 40) throne. In late rabbinic tradition, God reserved a place for Moses beside him in the heavenly court; more relevant is the observation that divine wisdom sits by God’s throne in Wis 9:4. Once exalted, a person might rule the emperor’s assembly, seated at his right hand. Greeks could speak of Athena seated by the right hand of her father, Zeus.

A temporary seat at a ruler’s right hand was a position of honor, but this was still more the case if the seat was permanent. The position at the right hand of the throne invested its holder with delegated authority to act for the ruler. Aelius Aristides praises Athena by claiming that she sits “at the right hand of her father,” Zeus; then he adds that she “receives [ἀίοδέχεσθαι] his orders [ἐντολάς, commandments] for the gods.” (Later rabbis said that the righteous or the scribes would get to stand at God’s right hand in Ps 16:11.)

The theme of joy here (and in Acts 2:28) is probably deliberate; Luke could have skipped this part of the quotation or, without skipping (which he seems disinclined to do in Luke 3:4–6 and Acts 8:32–33; 28:26–27), at least omitted the end of the quotation in Acts 2:28 (though the part about God’s presence there reinforces the same idea in 2:25, which supports the emphasis on the exaltation to God’s right hand in 2:33). Such rejoicing characterizes the early church following Pentecost (2:47). The theme of joy (using ἀγαλλιάω, as here, and other terms) surrounds momentous events in the infancy narrative (Luke 1:14, 44, 47, 58; 2:10); miracle working (10:17; 13:17); suffering in hope of divine vindication (Luke 6:23; Acts 5:41); and celebrating eternal life (Luke 10:20; Acts 8:8, 39; 13:48, 52; 16:34), others’ conversions (Luke 15:5–10, 32; Acts 11:21–23; 15:3), and other good news (Acts 12:14; 15:31). It could be empowered by the Holy Spirit (Luke 10:21; Acts 13:52) and is associated with the resurrection in Luke 24:41, 52.

In this context, that the psalmist’s “flesh” would “dwell in hope” may also suggest the resurrection (cf. Acts 23:6; 24:15; 26:6–7; 28:20). Here the LXX wording, which Luke follows exactly at this point (κατασκηνώσει ἐί’ ἐλίίδι), proves fortuitous; the Hebrew spoke only of “dwelling safely.” That the “tongue” also celebrates may be exemplified in the context’s glossolalic speech as well (2:4), though it need not be limited to that (Luke 1:64).

This is a key text; Luke repeats it in his explanation in Acts 2:31 and reuses it in another sermon at 13:35. That Jesus was no longer in “Hades” (emphasized again in 2:31) simply means that he was no longer dead, but it provided a fitting rhetorical contrast with his exaltation to heaven (2:34). The term ᾅδης refers to the realm of the dead (Luke 16:23) and hence is frequently poetically coupled with “death” not only in the psalms (Pss 6:5; 18:5; 49:14; 55:15; 89:48; 116:3) and other Hebrew poetry (Job 33:22; 38:17; Prov 2:18; 5:5; 7:27; Song 8:6; Isa 28:15, 18; Hos 13:14; Hab 2:5) but also in Hellenistic Jewish literature.

That the second line repeats or develops the substance of the first is good Hebrew parallelism, but it could also prove intelligible to Greek hearers. The NT employs διαφθορά only in Acts 2:27, 31 and 13:34–37, that is, in its expositions of Ps 16:10 (though the term appears twenty times in the LXX). Whereas the soul was in Hades, it was the body that would decay. Even if Hades were a metaphor for nonexistence (not its typical usage in ancient texts), the experience of death for the body here, though parallel and related, does not appear identical to that for the soul. Although Luke’s audience probably would not have paused long over it, how would they have heard this distinction?

Greeks for centuries and, later, Romans regularly differentiated soul and body, often emphasizing the immortality of the former (although many differed on this). Some Greek thinkers denigrated the body, even regarding it as a tomb from which one might be released at death. Contrary to common scholarly opinion, however, early Judaism often accepted this differentiation between the soul and the body. Such differentiation does not surprise us in Josephus (Ag. Ap. 2.203) and other hellenized sources, but it also appears in many sources traditionally viewed as less hellenized. Jewish sources, both those traditionally regarded as more hellenized and other sources, also usually embraced the immortality of the soul; this seems to have posed little conflict, for much ancient Jewish thought, with the doctrine of the resurrection. Some even used various forms of the Greek idea of the body as a tomb.

On the “gladness” of his presence, See comment on Acts 2:26. The “presence” reinforces Acts 2:25, and together they emphasize that Jesus was not only alive again but at the Father’s right hand (2:33), fulfilling Ps 110:1 (Acts 2:34–35). Luke might leave out the final “stich of the last verse” he cites (addressing God’s right hand) to save the exaltation for the second part of his argument (Ps 110:1 in Acts 2:33); his argument would have been easier for less biblically literate readers to follow, however, had he made the connection explicit by including the line.

Luke might envision the “ways of life” as the “ways of the Lord” (Luke 1:76; 3:5; Acts 13:10), although the LXX expression may refer to safe, as opposed to dangerous, behavior (Prov 5:6; 6:23; 10:17; 12:28; 15:24; cf. 4:10; 16:17; 21:21), applicable to the “two ways” tradition (Jer 21:8; Matt 7:14).

Peter here argues that David, having died and been buried yet not having ascended, fulfills neither Ps 16 (Acts 2:29–31) nor Ps 110 (Acts 2:34–35). Rather, both the apostles as eyewitnesses and the outpoured Spirit attest that Jesus has risen and ascended to God’s right hand (Acts 2:32–33); therefore Jesus is both the “Lord” of Ps 110:1 and the “Christ,” the ultimate Davidic king.

That David (in contrast to, e.g., Moses or Ezra) died, as Peter notes, was not disputed; one late tradition suggests that his body did not experience decay, but it is unlikely that Luke needs to polemicize against this idea here. He simply underlines the point that the Scripture, which must be fulfilled, had not applied literally and fully to David and hence must apply to someone else of whom David would have spoken. Peter points out the obvious: the tomb is in plain view among them, and David has not vacated it. (Peter’s stating the obvious is intended either as humorous or as boldness seeking to avoid the appearance of disrespecting the deceased; he prefaces it with, “I may say boldly,” which can mean “Do not be offended if I point out”—depending on whether he meant his preface literally or ironically.)

A teacher who wanted to argue that a psalm (or any other text) applied in a way other than what it seemed to claim literally could begin by showing that the apparent literal meaning was not fulfilled (e.g., y. Ber. 2:1, §5). Because the passage (if interpreted of bodily resurrection) cannot apply literally to David, it applies naturally and especially to Jesus. In many texts, “David” would have been naturally construed as a title for the messianic ruler from David’s line (Jer 30:9; Ezek 34:23–24; 37:24–25; Hos 3:5; cf. Jer 23:5; 33:15–30; Amos 9:11; Zech 12:7–13:1), and this is how the sermon argued the psalm should be applied. This hermeneutic would have sounded plausible on the premises used by some rabbis; we may compare a later tradition that gave as the reason for David’s biblical claim to be “afflicted” that he foresaw that Ahaz, Manasseh, and Amon would be his descendants; he called himself “king” because he foresaw Asa, Jehoshaphat, and Hezekiah (Pesiq. Rab Kah. 27:3). Simeon ben Laqish, a third-century Amora, inferred that David spoke not of himself but of Manasseh, his descendant, when he mentioned the “destitute” man in Ps 102:18 (also Pesiq. Rab Kah. 27:3).

Clearly Luke understood the importance of tombs to Judeans (Acts 7:16; 13:29; Luke 11:47; 23:53–55), but this importance pervaded antiquity. Luke is not, however, theologically impressed with them (Luke 11:48), recognizing also their associations with uncleanness (11:44) and evil spirits or ghosts (8:27).

In the broader culture of Mediterranean antiquity, tombs were sacred and hence often linked with temples. Like Greeks, Jewish people venerated tombs of past heroes (see, e.g., Jos. War 4.531–32; cf. Ant. 16.179–82). Indeed, tombs of famous persons were, like temples, tourist attractions (Paus. 2.7.2; 8.41.1); though new tombs were normally constructed outside the walls of ancient cities, some had tombs of famous leaders in public places, even in a marketplace (ἀγορά, Plut. Themist. 32.3).

David’s tomb was near Jerusalem (1 Kgs 2:10; 2 Chr 32:33), and its traditional site, apparently still known after the exile (Neh 3:16), continued to be so in the first century. Some rabbis suggested that the tombs of David and Huldah (unlike any others) were allowed to remain in Jerusalem because of their antiquity or because (one suggested) subterranean streams carried away the uncleanness. Judean care for prophets’ tombs seems to have particularly flourished around Jesus’s time. Notable monuments for others who were deceased also appear in this period.

Not all alleged tomb sites were correct (some cities and regions even had competing sites for a famous person’s tomb). The site of David’s tomb is lost to us today; today’s traditional site on Mount Zion is from late Roman times and was not identified as David’s tomb before the tenth century; excavation reports suggest that it might even be a Jewish-Christian synagogue. According to one tradition of uncertain (but probably Amoraic) date, David died on Pentecost (y. Ḥag. 2:3, §4), but this datum is probably irrelevant to the connection in Luke-Acts, which emphasizes the Davidic Messiah, in any case (Luke 1:27, 32, 69; 2:4, 11; 3:31; 18:38–39; 20:44; 13:22–23, 34–36; 15:16).

Peter emphasizes that David spoke not of himself but in his role as a prophet. Probably many Jewish teachers would have shared the assumption that prophets spoke especially of the messianic era (see comment on Acts 3:24). Jewish people agreed that the Holy Spirit inspired the psalms. Widespread agreement on this point could obviate the point of stating it, but it serves a subsidiary purpose for Peter in the story world and especially for Luke: as the Spirit inspired prophets to testify of Jesus in advance, now the Spirit was inspiring Jesus’s witnesses to testify for him after the events had occurred (1:8; 2:17–18; cf. 1 Pet 1:10–12); the proposed chiastic parallel between this point and its analogue in the outpouring of the Spirit (Acts 2:33), if accurate, would further reinforce this emphasis. For the promise in the psalms of God’s endorsing David’s lineage, see also Pss 89:26–29; 132:11–12.

That the Spirit inspired David in song (indeed, here an inspired canonical psalm) provides more than sufficient reason for calling him a prophet (cf. 2 Sam 23:1–2; 2 Chr 29:25). Other Jewish texts expanded the list of prophets (Tob 4:12; Sir 46:1), and some included David among them. When the Spirit left Saul for David, Josephus emphasizes, David prophesied (Jos. Ant. 6.166).

God’s promise to David of a seed from his own loins echoes especially Ps 132:11; though the LXX has ἐκ καρίοῦ τῆς κοιλίας, Luke’s adaptation is neither unusual nor, likely, significant. As is often noted, the Qumran scrolls apply this psalm about David’s descendants messianically (4QFlor 1 I, 7–13). The Davidic emphasis is much larger in Luke than in his mentor (in extant Pauline literature, only at Rom 1:3; 2 Tim 2:8) or in Johannine literature (Rev 3:7; 5:5; 22:16; cf. John 7:42); it is more comparable to the emphasis in Mark and Matthew. Yet, outside references shared with Mark, Luke’s Davidic Christology is not pervasive in his first volume, but especially prominent in the infancy narratives with their emphasis on Israelite piety. Jesus later cites the example of David (Luke 6:3–4; Mark 2:25–26) as he cites other examples; like Saul hunting David, Herod Antipas wants to kill Jesus (Luke 13:31–32), but the comparison, if intended at all, is not explicit. Luke retains some Davidic acclamations from Mark (Luke 18:38–39, as in Mark 10:47–48) but omits the crowd’s acclamation from Mark 11:10 in Luke 19:38. Davidic expectation figures more prominently in the infancy narratives: Joseph was the son of David (Luke 1:27; 2:4; 3:31); Jesus will have the throne of his ancestor David (1:32), though this is later qualified as one greater than David, as David’s Lord (20:41–44; Acts 2:34–35). Salvation would come in David’s household (Luke 1:69).

That God “swore” to David might recall other divine oaths to the ancestors (Luke 1:73), which appear more prominent in biblical tradition. But God also swore to David the promise of his kingship (cf. 2 Sam 3:9) and his continuing seed (Ps 132:11, paraphrased here; also Ps 89:3–4, 35–36, 49; cf. Isa 55:3). Luke is not alone in his interest in this; Hebrews emphasizes both the oath to the patriarchs (Heb 6:13, 16) and the promise of Ps 110:4 (Heb 7:21), perhaps the “two immutable” promises of Heb 6:18. The promised “throne” of David recalls Luke 1:32 (in addition to Ps 132:11), but in view of Ps 110:1, this throne is an exalted throne at God’s right hand, as his vice-regent (Acts 2:34).

“Throne” stands for kingdom (and is heavenly, in any case, 7:49), but in view of the emphasis on “sitting” at God’s right hand (from Ps 110:1 in Acts 2:34; cf. 2:33), ancient hearers might visualize the thrones with which they were familiar. The throne, with its backrest and armrests, was unique among ancient seats and was normally reserved for images of rulers and deities; the legs often ended in animal paws (perhaps primarily as a display of lavish wealth). But God’s throne was not comparable to earthly ones, and its image was developed elaborately beyond earthly parallels in early Jewish literature. For Jesus to take David’s throne in heaven, however, redefines the traditional Jewish expectation of Davidic rule.

Prophets often “foresaw” the future (Acts 2:31); indeed, in Jewish tradition, many patriarchs and prophets foresaw future eras. For example, various Jewish traditions emphasized that Abraham saw the future or at least some aspects of it in his vision in Gen 15:12–21. Later rabbinic tradition emphasized the future vision of the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; thus, for example, Abraham foresaw the temples and all the kingdoms to come. Similarly, Jacob foresaw the temple’s destruction and restoration and all the rabbinic academies, as well as some other revelations, although tradition was more ambivalent about Jacob’s visions. In one source, Jacob prophesied to each tribe what it would experience until the days of the Messiah. Such traditions are late, but they develop an early nucleus that God revealed the future history of Israel to Jacob (Jub. 32:21). Others also receive such visions, such as Adam, Joseph, Amram, Moses, and R. Meir.

One late tradition suggests that David’s body did not experience decay; Greek myth also spoke of substances (the gods’ nectar and ambrosia) used to temporarily prevent a corpse’s decomposition. The widespread belief in David’s tomb could have countered such a supposition here, but it is unlikely that if this belief about David was known in the first century, it was widespread enough to invite Peter’s polemic. Rather, he simply addresses the obvious: the incorruptible one is not David.

Peter next appeals to two forms of eyewitness: first, the apostolic eyewitnesses’ testimony that Jesus rose and ascended (Acts 2:32) and, second, the eyewitness recognition of his audience members themselves that the eschatological Spirit has been poured out among them (2:33). Peter’s bold claim, “We are witnesses,” recurs frequently in the Petrine speeches in Acts (3:15; 5:32; 10:39). (On the witness motif at greater length, see comment on .) The disciples were compelled to testify of what they had seen (cf. 4:20); other Jewish texts also indicated that one should testify of what one had seen of God’s works (2 Macc 3:36). At various points in Acts, preachers announce Jesus as “this Jesus” (Acts 1:11; 2:32, 36; 9:22; 17:3), usually emphatically while citing powerful evidence. Eyewitness claims were, of course, significant “proofs” in rhetoric. But the crowds themselves were now also witnesses, seeing and hearing supernatural events (2:33).

Pentecost is connected theologically with Luke’s recapitulation and ascension narrative. F. S. Spencer points out the following connections:

Visible supernatural phenomena accompany both (1:10–11; 2:2).

Prophecy in one (1:4–5, 8) is fulfilled in the other (2:1–13, 17–18).

The Galilean provenance of the disciples (1:11; 2:7) contrasts with the universal mission (1:8; 2:5).

Although Peter and the Twelve lead (1:2, 13, 15–26; 2:14, 37, 42–43), the entire community participates (1:15, 23–26; 2:41, 44–45), including women (1:14; 2:17–18).

Luke might even connect the ascension with Pentecost by analogous wording in Luke 9:51 and Acts 2:1, if this is not coincidental. Certainly, Luke closely connects the giving of the Spirit with the ascension (2:33).

Luke uses the expression “seen and heard” with both components together, but if we are to press specific distinctions into them, “seen” could refer to the tongues of fire if they were continuing (2:3); “heard” certainly refers to the Galileans’ speaking other languages (ἀκούω in 2:6, 8, 11). Allusions to these two senses naturally occur together elsewhere in ancient literature (Acts 7:34), including for divine revelations. But the terms’ conjunction is a frequent Lukan idiom: it usually applies to hearing and seeing signs (Luke 2:20; 7:22; 10:24 [Q Matt 13:15]; Acts 8:6; 22:14) and invites testimony (Luke 2:20; 7:22; Acts 4:20; 22:15). Probably Luke derived the combination, consciously or unconsciously, especially from his Isa 6 quotation (Luke 8:10, 18; Acts 28:26–27; cf. Luke 10:24), though most of his own uses are more positive.

On the theological level, the Spirit’s outpouring stems from Christ’s exaltation (Acts 2:33). That Luke does not identify these moments precisely chronologically but allows more than a week between them (probably because of his historical sources) fits his willingness on other matters to let his narrative record stand in tension at points with his theological declarations. (For example, 2:38–39 tightly connects the gift of the Spirit with conversion theologically, but in 8:14–17 the Samaritan believers experience the Spirit after their conversion; see discussion of this matter at Acts 1:4–5.) In the same way, Jesus’s resurrection and exaltation are theologically united as God’s vindication of Jesus; the few weeks between them are irrelevant to the point. Christ’s exaltation after the cross (also 5:31) also fits the divine pattern of God’s exalting those who humble themselves, whether in the OT (e.g., Ps 138:6; Isa 2:11–12, 17; 57:15; Ezek 21:26) or Luke’s and other early Christian texts (Luke 1:52; 14:11; 18:14; cf. Acts 7:9–10; 13:17; Phil 2:8–9).

If Jesus is in God’s presence (Acts 2:25, 29), Peter can infer for his hearers that Jesus is in heaven. Peter here anticipates his dependence on the more explicit Ps 110:1 in Acts 2:34–35. If Jesus is already enthroned at the Father’s right hand, then he has begun his messianic reign, and hence “the messianic age has begun and the messianic blessings have been given.” Jesus receives royal authority at his exaltation (Luke 20:17, 42–43; 22:69; Acts 2:30–36), and the apostles also begin their eschatological positions of leadership (Luke 22:30; Acts 1:15–26). The outpouring of God’s Spirit constitutes proof that the disciples’ lord, Jesus, was reigning—hence risen.

Jesus’s position here is familiar in terms of a viceroy or vizier. Sometimes this position could apply to a son installed or functioning as coregent (cf. 1 Kgs 1:35–37, 46); thus, for example, Titus dictated letters and “edicts in his father’s name” and publicly read his speeches (Suet. Titus 6). A son or other favorite might also have special access to gaining a supreme ruler’s favors for friends. Jesus’s being at the Father’s right hand to reign indicates that the kingdom has been inaugurated in some sense (Acts 1:3), though in some sense it remains not yet (1:6; 3:19–21). (On the “right hand” as a special position of honor, including at a throne, see comment at Acts 2:25.)

Jesus “pours out” the Spirit here, a clear allusion to God’s pouring out the Spirit in 2:17–18 (the only other passage in Luke-Acts that uses ἐκχέω). Jewish texts also speak of God’s pouring out wisdom (Sir 1:9) as his gift (1:10; cf. Acts 2:38); wisdom was often portrayed as water. This connection is relevant because wisdom sits by God’s throne (Wis 9:4) and a stream of wisdom teaching did identify God’s Spirit with his wisdom. But the closest parallel must be the one most explicit in the text; the allusion to Acts 2:17–18 indicates that Joel 2:28–29 is the primary background, whatever other images may contribute. If Jesus as God’s agent pours out God’s Spirit (cf. also Luke 3:16), he fulfills an explicitly divine role (cf. divine agency in Acts 5:32; 15:8).

“The promise of the Spirit” (i.e., the promised Spirit) in Acts 2:33 is “from the Father”; this notice links the promise even more clearly with “the Father’s promise” in Luke 24:49. Already in Luke 11:13 Jesus teaches that the Father will “give” the Spirit. In view of this connection, it is not surprising that this promise is also called the “gift” of the Spirit (Acts 2:38–39; Luke reserves the term “gift” for the Spirit, 8:20; 10:45; 11:17).

If Jesus is the Spirit-baptizer (Luke 3:16), he takes on a divine role in light of the OT, where only God can pour out God’s Spirit (Isa 44:3; Ezek 39:29; Joel 2:28–29). The present verse (Acts 2:33) is among the most important for understanding Luke’s Christology and pneumatology and their relationship with each other. This is a particularly key text for the work of Max Turner, one of the leading scholars on Lukan (and early Christian) pneumatology. Using this text and others, he rightly points out that Luke does not present an absentee Christology, with Jesus’s return indefinitely deferred (pace Conzelmann); Jesus is enthroned as Messiah (as Luke 1–2 predicted) and now reigns in his church by the Spirit. Instead of an “absentee Christology,” Luke has a pervasive Christology “of soteriological omnipresence.”

When analyzing the activity of the Spirit in ancient Jewish literature, Turner isolates a “messianic” use of the Spirit (Isa 11:2), which he sees as important in descriptions of Jesus and the Spirit in Luke-Acts. By relating the Spirit to Jesus in the way Jewish people had understood the Spirit’s relationship to God (Acts 2:17–18, 33; 16:7; cf. Luke 3:16), Luke further “takes the reader beyond anything Judaism conceived of the messiah.” Luke thus portrays Jesus as the “Lord of the Spirit,” who gives God’s Spirit in Acts 2:33; such a role necessarily involves a “high,” even divine Christology (Luke 3:16). Having affirmed a high and present Christology, however, he denies (against Dunn) the paradigmatic function of Jesus’s earthly empowerment by the Spirit. The latter conclusion must follow from the former premise only if Luke accepted “earthly paradigm” and “heavenly Lord” as mutually exclusive categories, but Luke does not.

Although Turner is largely right in what he affirms, he is surely mistaken in what he denies here. The risen Christ clearly holds a unique status, but the earthly Jesus also functioned as a model for disciples in Acts, as the strong parallels between the two works demonstrate. Luke’s Jesus was more than a prophet, but Luke does not force his audience to therefore reject Jesus’s prophetic status or his dependence on the Spirit for activities that are not solely messianic (e.g., Acts 10:38). Disciples are not messiahs, but Jesus’s ministry is paradigmatic for the church’s, and the programmatic statement of Luke 4:18–19 is related to, though distinct from, the programmatic statement of Acts 2:17–18 (see comment on Acts 1:4–5, 8; 2:17–18).

Scholars cite various analogies on which Luke might draw for describing Jesus as the one whom God has delegated to provide the gift of the Spirit. Given the possible associations between Pentecost and the law-giving in Jewish tradition (noted in the introduction to Acts 2, at “Covenant Renewal and the Pentecost Festival,” above), many scholars see a background in Moses’s ascending on the mountain (and, in some Jewish traditions, to heaven) to receive the law as a gift for Israel. (For the law as a “gift,” See comment on Acts 2:38; it is identified with the “promise” in 2:39 and hence also here. For Jewish haggadah on Moses’s ascent, including its heavenly extent, see comment on Acts 7:38; compare also comment on ascents at Acts 1:9–11.) Thus Jesus here “received” the promise of the Spirit as Moses “received” inspired oracles to pass on (7:38). In support of such a Moses analogy, some scholars find a specific echo of Ps 68:18, which Jewish interpreters associated (perhaps rightly) with Sinai and which later Jewish tradition may have used as a reading on Pentecost. Some early Christians, at least, applied this verse from the psalms to Christ’s triumphant exaltation to offer a multifaceted gift to his church (Eph 4:8). Jewish literature also portrays Wisdom as a divine gift (4Q185 1–2 II, 8–11), including in a context where God “pours out” (ἐξέχεεν) wisdom (Sir 1:9–10) as God pours out his Spirit in this verse. If there are Moses parallels here, they are not very explicit; nevertheless, they would fit the “prophet like Moses” Christology of Acts 3:22–23 and 7:37.

Some others see only a Davidic promise here (cf. Ps 89:19), based on the immediate context in Acts 2:25–34; David’s promise seems to be the most explicit background of Jesus’s enthronement, even if it offers no other striking parallels here. It is possible that Luke draws on several backgrounds to varying degrees.

In 2:29–31, Peter shows that David, being dead and buried, could not fulfill the promise of resurrection or incorruption he finds in Ps 16; after attesting Jesus’s exaltation in Acts 2:32–33, he produces another key text that David, not having ascended, could not fulfill (2:34–35). Peter continues his argument that the promise could not fully apply to David himself (See comment on Acts 2:29 for this kind of argument); he claims that it is self-evident that Ps 110:1, with which Peter links Ps 16, cannot apply to David (both because David did not ascend and because he speaks of his Lord).

Jewish tradition attributed ascensions to several biblical characters (see comment on Acts 1:9–11), but so far as our extant sources reveal, David was not one of them. Peter did not need to respond to potential objections that the psalm applied to others, since probably no one nonmessianic candidate was widely cited in his day. In the mid-second century, Justin refutes the supposed Jewish claim that the psalm referred to Hezekiah (Justin Dial. 33), but Jewish sources themselves (and these later than Justin) suggest at most that a later rabbi proposed that Hezekiah was the Messiah. More commonly, the psalm may have been applied to the Messiah; the rabbinic tradition applying it to Abraham (e.g., Midr. Pss. 110) is probably polemic against the exaltation of Melchizedek (cf. Ps 110:4; Gen 14:18–20) in some circles that they considered heterodox (cf. 11QMelch; Heb 7:4–10).

Some scholars have suggested that Ps 110 may have been one of the readings during the Pentecost festival; whether or not this is the case, its use was pervasive in early Christianity in many contexts without direct relation to Pentecost (Mark 12:36; Luke 20:42; 22:69; Eph 1:20; Col 3:1; Heb 1:13; 8:1).

Because “Lord” is not a title of Jesus in other speeches in Acts, some have regarded its presence here as a late addition. Yet the church’s use of the title “Lord” for Jesus was certainly dominant well before Luke wrote (and before the later speeches in Acts would have occurred); it is Paul’s primary title for Jesus and appears in every part of early Christianity (including Jas 2:1, though James barely addresses Christology elsewhere). Its absence in most speeches could suggest that Luke believed that this Christology evolved gradually in the early church (which would contradict Luke 20:41–44 and Acts 2:34–35); more likely, it suggests that he doubted that the earliest Christians preached the title directly to new hearers without explaining it (contrast the speech to believers, e.g., Acts 11:16; 15:26; 20:19, 21, 24, 35; 21:13). Even here there are exceptions (22:10, 19; 26:15; cf. 10:36). (For other details of the “Lord” title, especially with regard to God, in addition to those noted here, See comment on Acts 2:21.)

Even as a title for the Messiah, “Lord” is hardly a post-Lukan development; the pre-Christian work called the Psalms of Solomon speaks of the “Lord Messiah” (χριστὸς κύριος, Pss. Sol. 17:32) and probably is interpreting Ps 110:1, since the pseudepigraphic psalm goes on to identify the Messiah’s king as the “Lord himself” (κύριος αὐτός, 17:46). That is, the basic line of interpretation was established even before Jesus; Christian sources differ from this pre-Christian tradition only in associating this title with Jesus’s deity (see Acts 2:21, 38).

Some scholars argue that the earliest church used Ps 110 to describe the resurrection but only in later times (probably in the Hellenistic church) applied it to Jesus’s lordship. Others think that Luke-Acts depicts people calling Jesus “Lord” in more than a respectful way only after the resurrection and hence faithfully reports historical tradition even when it does call Jesus “Lord.” But the title even before the resurrection is significant for Luke, if not for those in the narrative world; it is our theological reading of Luke-Acts, rather than grammar, that decides what characters mean by the vocative form of “Lord” on the larger Lukan level. Against the view that the earliest church applied Ps 110 only to Jesus’s resurrection, the psalm itself describes the exaltation and lordship (at least kingly lordship) but not directly the resurrection. Against weakening the title’s christological content on the Lukan level, that “Lord” was a Jewish as well as Hellenistic title is clear from the LXX.

In support of the antiquity of Ps 110 in the early church is that its usage is pervasive. (This is an argument based on probability, not certainty, since a later idea could easily be deemed useful widely enough to spread in the church of its era; but were Christ’s exalted lordship a later idea, it should not have spread with less resistance than Paul’s refusal to demand Gentile circumcision, and it certainly should not have spread from Gentile to Jewish circles.) Whereas one of the few obvious allusions to Ps 110 in extant non-Christian Jewish literature from before about 200 C.E. is the Testament of Job (Test. Job. 33:3), where it is applied to Job’s exaltation (in a nondivine way), it is prevalent in early Christianity. Bauckham counts twenty-one quotations or allusions scattered throughout the entire NT corpus (except John, who could not be accused of denying the exalted Christology other Christians found there). The Christians also consistently used the text in an exalted manner.

The Christian application went beyond contemporary usage. Thus Ps 110:4 (the Melchizedek priesthood) is at the heart of the extended midrash in Heb 5:6–7:28, but Heb 1:13 applies Ps 110:1 in the context of verses on Christ’s deity making him greater than the angels (three texts in Heb 1:6, 8–9, 10–12). Although biblical tradition recognized that at least some people could reign under God (Gen 1:27; Dan 7:13–14), many Jews would have viewed Jesus’s exaltation to God’s own throne to participate in his rule as threatening monotheism.

“My lord” who is addressed in the original psalm could be the psalmist’s king (cf. Acts 25:26), but if one assumes Davidic authorship for the psalm, as most first-century hearers would have done, “my Lord” becomes someone greater (Luke 20:41, 44). (A midrashic connection to Ps 16:2 also suggests the deity of “my lord,” as it is addressed directly to God.) This fits the exposition here, where this “Lord” bears the specific divine name on which hearers must call to be saved (Acts 2:21, quoting Joel). The assumption of the second lord’s divinity in Ps 110:1 helps explain why even most biblically literate Gentiles would understand that the divine name stands behind the LXX’s κύριος cited in Acts 2:21. For Luke, this interpretation of the psalm goes back to Jesus (Luke 20:41–44) and would have been among the teachings Jesus provided his disciples (24:27, 44–45).

The remainder of the quotation in Acts 2:35 is hardly simple decoration; it carries theological weight for Luke. It is significant that Luke (who also expands on a Markan quotation in Luke 3:4–6) includes more of the Ps 110 quotation than does Mark (Mark 12:44; followed by Matt 22:44), both in Luke 20:43 and in Acts 2:35 (only Heb 1:13 and 10:13 also include the rest). Although Luke’s primary point in quoting Ps 110 is Christology, the rest of 110:1 also supports the eschatology he establishes in Acts 1:6–8 and 2:17–18. In this eschatology, Jesus’s present reign is an interim period until its consummation (1:6–7; 3:21). The “horn of salvation” in David’s house (Luke 1:69) would bring “salvation” from enemies (1:71, 74)—presumably the “enemies” here made into his footstool. Jesus’s reign was heavenly, his enemies earthly (especially likely if early Christians linked Ps 110:1 with Isa 66:1 by means of gezerah shevah; cf. Acts 7:49). Jesus has left earth to receive a kingdom but will return (Luke 19:12) at the time of his enemies’ subjugation (cf. 19:27), ending the interim period and establishing the kingdom (cf., perhaps similarly, 1 Cor 15:24–26).

First-century readers would still understand the metaphor of enemies being made a footstool. Prisoners had long been symbolically “trampled underfoot,” as lavishly illustrated, for example, by Egyptian royal sandals with bound prisoners portrayed on the soles or by royal footstools with images of them bound. In classical Athens, people could claim ownership of objects, and hence seize them, by stepping on them; this seems to reflect a wider practice in antiquity. In addition to corporate enemies of their people, many individuals had personal enemies in their own town (sometimes creditors) and might take advantage of unstable situations to kill them. The idiom of those under one’s feet being subjected would be especially clear in light of Scripture (1 Kgs 5:3 [LXX 5:17]; Pss 8:6 [8:7]; 47:4 [46:5]; 18:38 [17:39]).

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