Worshipping Jesus

The ecclesiological structure of second-century Christianity

As with many other things, the second century was the time when the form of ministry assumed the shape which was to become traditional in church history.

Everett Ferguson¹

Despite the political and intellectual pressures that weighed heavily on the early Christian movement, the earliest followers of Jesus remained committed to one simple activity: meeting together regularly for worship. If we are to understand the nature of Christianity during the second century, then we have to learn more about these gatherings. Who led these meetings? What was the leadership structure during this period? How were churches related to one another? And what actually happened during these worship meetings? These are the questions that will be addressed in this chapter.

While these questions are important, it should be noted from the outset that they will not be easy to answer. Our second-century resources on this subject are quite thin and offer only limited and partial glimpses into ecclesiological matters. The incomplete, ambiguous, and even sometimes contradictory nature of the historical evidence often leads scholars to reach vastly different conclusions about the structure and activity of the early Church during this period. Nevertheless, despite the disagreement over the details, we shall attempt to lay out the broad parameters of church leadership and worship in the second century.

We will discover below that the ability of the early Church to continue in its faithful worship of Jesus was largely connected to the strength and perseverance of its leaders. Not only did the leaders protect the Church against the hostilities of the surrounding pagan culture (often by writing or speaking out against the abuse of Christians), but the leaders protected the Church from heresies and false teachings that were circulating among other Christian groups. These pressures, both external and internal, caused the leadership structure of the Church to expand and evolve to meet ever-increasing threats. Thus, for better or for worse, the leadership structure at the end of the second century began to look markedly different from the leadership structure at the end of the first.

Church leadership in the second century

Even though we are concerned primarily with the second century, it is worth noting that we have texts from the first century that already begin to address the issue of church leadership. According to various New Testament texts, the very first Christian leaders were the apostles themselves, appointed by Christ to speak and act for him (e.g., Mark 3.14–15; Matt. 10.20; John 14.26; 17.8; Acts 10.41–42). But it appears that the apostolic office was not instituted to be a perpetual office within the life of the Church. Only those who met the risen Jesus could be considered apostles (Acts 1.22), and by the beginning of the second century the apostolic office was viewed as a thing of the past – it laid a once-and-for-all foundation for the future growth of the Church.² Closely connected to the apostles were the early Christian ‘prophets’ who also delivered inspired utterances (e.g., Eph. 2.20; 3.5; 1 Cor. 12.28; 14.29). Although this office is mentioned occasionally in the early second century, especially among the Montanists, eventually it too is seen as something belonging to the past.³

But the New Testament writings speak of other roles that did continue to function in the life of the Church, such as evangelists, teachers, deacons and elders. Since the most prominent (and most debated) office is that of elder, it will occupy the bulk of our attention here. The task of elders was simple: to shepherd the flock of God (1 Pet. 5.1). This task, of course, included many additional aspects such as teaching the word (1 Tim. 3.2; 2 Tim. 4.2), protecting against false teaching (Acts 20.29–31), providing oversight (1 Pet. 5.2), and general pastoral care (Jas. 5.14).

The book of Acts tells us that as the apostles planted churches, they appointed a plurality of elders (from the Greek term πρεσβυτέρος) to oversee them (Acts 11.30; 14.23; 15.2; 20.17). Likewise, Titus is told to ‘appoint elders in every town’ (Titus 1.5). A very similar word, ἐπίσκoπος (‘bishop’ or ‘overseer’), is used in other contexts to describe what appears to be the same ruling office (Phil. 1.1; 1 Tim. 3.1–7). The overlap between these two terms is evident in Acts 20.28 when Paul, while addressing the Ephesian ‘elders’ (πρεσβυτέρους), declares that ‘The Holy Spirit has made you overseers (ἐπισκόπους).’ Thus, the New Testament writings indicate that the office of elder/bishop was functionally one and the same.⁴ While some scholars have challenged this understanding of these two offices,⁵ others have argued that it remains the most convincing view.⁶

Of course, these early texts indicate that there are some elders who are singled out as functioning in a distinctive manner: ‘Let the elders who rule well be considered worthy of double honour, especially those who labour in teaching and preaching’ (1 Tim. 5.17). In some ways, such elders may have even represented their fellow elders as a first among equals. This may have been the case with James, who assumed a prominent role in the church at Jerusalem (Acts 15.13; 21.18). However, there is no evidence that such elders, at least at this point, constitute a separate office, or function as an authority over their fellow elders.⁷

So, as we enter into the second century, does this broad first-century structure remain intact? As we shall see, the answer is both yes and no.

A plurality of elders/bishops

At the beginning of the second century, it is evident that, in many places, the first-century pattern of a plurality of elders/bishops continued. The Didache, a church manual of sorts from the very beginning of the second century, is one of the earliest Christian texts we possess outside the New Testament. While not actually written by the apostles, it is a very ancient account of the inner workings of the Church. Its early date is confirmed by the fact that along with the offices of bishop (elder) and deacon, the treatise also mentions the roles of apostle, prophet and teacher. The multiplicity of roles – some of which would soon be a vestige of the past – shows that the Didache was written at a time when the Church was transitioning from a less formal ecclesiological structure into one that would guide the Church for generations to come.

At one point, the Didache addresses the issue of church government directly: ‘And so, elect for yourselves bishops (ἐπισκόπους) and deacons who are worthy of the Lord, gentle men who are not fond of money, who are true and approved.’⁸ It is noteworthy that the author mentions plural bishops – not a single ruling bishop – and that he places these bishops alongside the office of deacon, as Paul himself does (e.g., Phil. 1.1; 1 Tim. 3.1–13). Thus, as noted above, it appears that the bishops described here are essentially equivalent to the office of ‘elder’.⁹

A letter known as 1 Clement also has much to say about early church governance. This letter is attributed to a ‘Clement’ – whose identity remains uncertain – who represents the church in Rome and writes to the church at Corinth to deal with the fallout of a recent turnover in leadership. The author is writing to convince the Corinthians to reinstate their bishops (elders) who were wrongly deposed. Since 1 Clement dates to the very end of the first century (c.96) it takes us back to approximately the same period as the Didache. The letter affirms the testimony of the book of Acts when it tells us that the apostles initially appointed ‘bishops (ἐπισκόπους) and deacons’ in the various churches they visited.¹⁰ After the time of the apostles, bishops were appointed ‘by other reputable men with the entire church giving its approval’.¹¹ This is an echo of the Didache which indicated that bishops were elected by the church. It is also worth noting that 1 Clement describes the leaders of the local church as plural ‘bishops’, not a single ruling bishop (‘monepiscopacy’). In fact, the letter even seems to equate the terms ‘bishop’ and ‘presbyter’ (elder), as was done in the New Testament writings. For instance, after mentioning that ‘bishops’ should not be unduly removed from office, the letter then states, ‘How fortunate are the presbyters (πρεσβύτεροι) that passed on before . . . for they have no fear that someone will remove them from the place established for them.’¹²

Whether the author of 1 Clement was, in fact, the Clement whom Irenaeus later describes as the ‘bishop’ of Rome is unclear.¹³ Even if the author was this individual, there is no indication that he held an office of bishop that was in authority over the rest of his fellow bishops/elders. Indeed, as we have just seen, the letter of 1 Clement itself speaks of bishops only in the plural with no indication that one bishop reigned over the others. At best, this Clement may have been the leader of his presbytery – a chairman of sorts – but there is no evidence that he bore the full-fledged authority that bishops enjoyed in the later centuries.¹⁴

The Shepherd of Hermas provides another confirmation of this governance structure in the second century. Written around ad 150, the Shepherd was a very popular apocalyptic-style work that details visions received by a Roman Christian named Hermas from an angelic messenger who appears in the form of a shepherd. After Hermas writes down the angelic vision in a book, he is told, ‘you will read yours in this city, with the presbyters who lead the church’.¹⁵ Here we are told that the church leadership structure is a plurality of ‘presbyters’ (πρεσβυτέρων) or elders. The author also uses the term ‘bishop’, but always in the plural and often alongside the office of deacon.¹⁶ Although the leadership structure of the Shepherd is not entirely clear, it seems (again) that the roles of ‘presbyter’ and ‘bishop’ are largely interchangeable.¹⁷

Polycarp also provides some insight to early church leadership in his epistle to the Philippians (c.110). The opening salutation states, ‘Polycarp and the presbyters (πρεσβύτεροι) who are with him, to the church of God that temporarily resides in Philippi.’ While one might suppose that Polycarp is the bishop over the presbyters, the text does not state such directly. On the contrary, one might interpret this language as evidence that Polycarp is positioning himself alongside the presbytery (or as one of them). This latter possibility finds support in the manner of Polycarp’s appeal to the Philippian church. He does not call them to submit to their ‘bishop’ but instead says, ‘We must abstain from all these [evil] things and be subject to the presbyters and deacons as to God and Christ.’¹⁸ In fact, Polycarp never uses the term bishop, for himself or for anyone else. It seems, therefore, that Polycarp presumes a leadership structure at Philippi that is governed by presbyters (plural) and deacons – and there is no mention of a single ruling bishop. This structure, of course, does not preclude a scenario where one elder functions in a distinctive fashion as the main teacher (cf. 1 Tim. 5.17). Indeed, this may have been Polycarp’s perception of his own role.¹⁹

It is important that the limitations of the above evidence be kept in mind. These historical sources do not give us an exhaustive account of early church government. Moreover, they can only tell us about the state of Christian leadership in their particular locale; the situation may have been very different in other places. Theoretically, therefore, singular bishops could have existed during this early period even though the extant historical sources above are silent about them. If the terms ‘bishop’ and ‘elder’ overlapped in such a way that all bishops were elders even though not all elders were bishops, then one might surmise that every mention of a plurality of ‘elders’ simply included the bishop(s) as well. On such a view, singular bishops could have existed in these early stages but the imprecise nomenclature of early Christians would make them difficult to detect in the historical sources. But even with all these qualifications, it would still have to be acknowledged that there is no positive evidence for the existence of a singular bishop in these earliest stages of the Church. The evidence we actually do have, incomplete as it may be, provides no indication that the monepiscopate was present at the very beginning of the Christian movement. And that reality must be given its due weight.

The emergence of a single ruling bishop

If a plurality of elders and deacons was the established form of church government at the beginning of the second century – as is suggested by the historical sources surveyed above – the situation would not stay that way for long. The singular office of ‘bishop’, in addition to the collective group of elders (or presbyters), would soon emerge. While the specifics of what led to this transition remain very much in dispute,²⁰ many scholars have suggested that Ignatius, bishop of Antioch, may have played a key role. Probably writing toward the end of Trajan’s reign (c.110–117), Ignatius penned seven letters during his journey to martyrdom in Rome. Aspects of those letters reveal a structure of church governance that is more fully developed than Ignatius’ predecessors.

In addition to the offices of elder and deacon, Ignatius repeatedly refers to the role of the bishop – now a singular office. These three offices go together: ‘And so – as is already the case – you must not engage in any activity apart from the bishop, but be subject also to the presbytery . . . and those who are deacons of the mysteries of Jesus Christ must also be pleasing in every way to all people.’²¹ But in the letters of Ignatius, the role of the bishop gets most of the attention. The relationship between the people and the bishop is like the relationship between the Church and Jesus.²² To reject the bishop is to reject God himself.²³ Submitting to the bishop is like Jesus submitting to the Father.²⁴ Indeed, only those in fellowship with their bishop can be regarded as those in fellowship with Jesus.²⁵

Some scholars have interpreted Ignatius’ heightened focus on the authority of the bishop as evidence that the idea of a singular bishop is the invention of Ignatius himself, perhaps as a tool to deal with heretical challenges in the early second century.²⁶ Other scholars disagree, arguing that Ignatius speaks of the monepiscopate as if it were already normative for at least some Christians in his day.²⁷ That latter view finds support in the fact that others in Ignatius’ own time already held the singular office of bishop. After all, Ignatius himself indicates that there are bishops in each of the five Asian congregations he addresses. However, it is noteworthy that he does not name or refer to a bishop in Rome, despite writing a letter to that congregation. If each church had its own established (and) singular bishop by this period, this fact seems difficult to explain. Thus it seems that the structure of church leadership in the early second century was in flux – some churches had singular bishops, some did not.

One of the primary duties of the bishop, according to Ignatius, was the proper administration of baptism and the Lord’s Supper (the Eucharist): ‘It is not permitted to either baptize or to hold a love feast without the bishop.’²⁸ Ignatius’ insistence on the oversight of the bishop suggests that other groups (perhaps heterodox ones) had been offering their own versions of the sacraments. However, it should be noted that he does allow for others to administer the sacraments if they are designated by the bishop: ‘Let that eucharist be considered valid that occurs under the bishop or the one to whom he entrusts it.’²⁹

While the ecclesiological developments in the writings of Ignatius mark a clear advancement towards a more structured church government, the developments should also not be overplayed. It is not yet clear that the bishop is over the presbytery as an entirely separate order – as will be the case in later centuries. At this point, the bishop appears to be the leader of the presbytery; one of the elders who has been singled out, due to special gifting or special calling, as primus inter pares (‘first among equals’). Although Ignatius calls the presbytery to be in harmony with the bishop,³⁰ he never presents the presbytery as under the direct command of the bishop. On the contrary, he calls his audience to submit also to the presbytery and even to the deacons, and not just to the bishop.³¹

Regardless, as the second century progressed the role of bishop took on more and more importance. Hegesippus, a Christian historian writing in the latter half of the second century, even drew up a list of the bishops of Rome back to Anicetus.³² Hegesippus’ list influenced many later writers, probably including Irenaeus, the highly influential bishop of Lyons in the late second century. Irenaeus makes the case for ‘apostolic succession’ by offering his own detailed list of the bishops of Rome that supposedly dates back to the time of the apostles: ‘The blessed apostles, then, having founded and built up the Church, committed into the hands of Linus the office of the episcopate.’³³ For Irenaeus, the concept of ‘apostolic succession’ did not mean these subsequent bishops were apostles, or bore the authority of the apostles, but rather that they preserved the tradition of the apostles in an identifiable lineage.

Irenaeus’ insistence that the monepiscopate dates back to the first century presents us with a confusing web of historical evidence. While a variety of sources from the first and early second centuries (surveyed above) suggest that the office of a singular bishop was not the earliest form of church government, Irenaeus, looking back, argues that this office has been there from the time of the apostles themselves. While such conflicting lines of evidence are difficult to resolve, scholars have understandably tended to prioritize the earlier sources (Acts, Pauline letters, Didache, 1 Clement) over the later ones (Irenaeus, Eusebius). Moreover, there are good reasons why Irenaeus may have been drawn to the idea of apostolic succession, even if he ended up being incorrect about some of the historical details. During the latter half of the second century, the Valentinian gnostics had begun to justify their heterodox theology by claiming that these teachings were from the apostles that had been secretly passed down to them over time. Irenaeus employed a persuasive counter-argument, namely that orthodox theology had been reliably passed down from bishop to bishop, all the way from the apostles to his own day. This concern is evident in Irenaeus’ conclusion to the list of bishops:

In this order, and by this succession, the ecclesiastical tradition from the apostles, and the preaching of the truth, have come down to us. And this is most abundant proof that there is one and the same vivifying faith, which has been preserved in the Church from the apostles until now, and handed down in truth.³⁴

This historical context suggests a plausible explanation for the origin of Irenaeus’ list. Irenaeus, or perhaps even Hegesippus before him, may have looked back at the key presbyters who preserved church tradition in prior generations (perhaps individuals who functioned as the ‘chairman’ of the larger presbytery) and mistakenly assumed they were bishops like the ones that existed in his own day.³⁵ But even if Irenaeus applied ‘apostolic succession’ anachronistically (i.e., on the basis of practices in his own time), the core principle he drew upon – namely that apostolic teaching is preserved by the appointed teachers of the Church – had a long and distinguished pedigree.³⁶ We see this principle in 1 Clement where we are told that the apostles ‘appointed the first fruits of their ministries as bishops and deacons’³⁷ and that ‘if these should die, other approved men should succeed them in their ministry’.³⁸ 1 Clement’s understanding of apostolic succession is more primitive than Irenaeus’ since it makes no mention of a singular named bishop but instead mentions that ‘succession’ occurs through a plurality of bishops (or elders). Put differently, 1 Clement conceives apostolic succession in more general terms – the path of church tradition goes all the way back to the apostles but not necessarily through named individuals. Going back even further, we can see this same principle evident in 2 Timothy 2.2 and Acts 20.28–31.³⁹ The teaching of the apostles is passed down by the leaders of the Church, but not necessarily through singular, named bishops.

Although Irenaeus’ high view of the office of bishop is not in doubt, it is important again that it be tempered by other considerations. Even Irenaeus recognizes that the office of bishop is, in some sense, an extension of the office of presbyter.⁴⁰ Thus, he can refer to the succession of bishops as really a succession of presbyters: ‘We refer them [heretics] to that tradition which originates from the apostles, [and] which is preserved by means of the succession of presbyters in the Churches.’⁴¹ Regarding Irenaeus, Lightfoot observes, ‘The functions of bishop and presbyter are thus regarded as substantially the same in kind, though different in degree, while the functions of the diaconate are separate from both.’⁴²

Regardless of where one lands on the specifics, it is clear that by the end of the second century a transition had taken place in the role of the bishop. At the beginning of the second century presbyters and bishops were largely viewed as one and the same – much like the evidence seen in Acts and the Pastoral epistles – and by the end of the second century the bishop was viewed as a singular office that represented the presbytery (and sometimes may have stood over the presbytery). This more robust monepiscopacy is evident in the Apostolic Tradition attributed to Hippolytus in the early third century. This document provides one of the most detailed accounts of church government and liturgy in the early Church, but its later date puts it outside the scope of this study.

The transition from multiple presbyters to a singular bishop was summed up later by Jerome:

The presbyter is the same as the bishop, and before parties had been raised up in religion by the provocations of Satan, the churches were governed by the Senate of the presbyters. But as each one sought to appropriate to himself those whom he had baptized, instead of leading them to Christ, it was appointed that one of the presbyters, elected by his colleagues, should be set over all the others, and have chief supervision over the general well-being of the community. . . . Without doubt it is the duty of the presbyters to bear in mind that by the discipline of the Church they are subordinated to him who has been given them as their head, but it is fitting that the bishops, on their side, do not forget that if they are set over the presbyters, it is the result of tradition, and not by the fact of a particular institution by the Lord.⁴³

Thus, according to Jerome, not only was there a genuine transition between these two forms of government, but the transition was occasioned by the ‘provocations of Satan’ – a likely reference to heresies and schisms in the Church that were best handled by a single bishop. Single bishops apparently proved to be a helpful representation of unity, particularly if it could be claimed that a succession of these bishops could be traced all the way back to the apostles themselves.

Church structure in the second century

Household churches

From the very beginning of the Christian movement, the structure of the Church was formed primarily around the individual household . Not only did conversions often take place at a household level (Acts 16.15; 16.34; 18.8; 1 Cor. 16.15), but the earliest congregations appear to have met in households. At the end of Paul’s letter to the Romans, for example, he refers to the ‘house church’ hosted by Priscilla and Aquila, and other groupings of Christians (which presumably met in houses as well): those of Aristobolus (v.10), those of Narcissus (v.11), and those with Asyncritus, Phlegon, Hermes, Patrobas and Hermas (v.14). Likewise, Paul closes his letter to the Colossians with a reference to ‘Nympha and the church in her house’ (Col. 4.15).

Any given city (depending on the size) would have probably contained multiple such house churches, each with its own members and leadership.⁴⁴ Thus, the term ‘church’ could refer to one of these household congregations, or it could refer to all the household congregations present in a particular city; e.g., ‘the church of God that is in Corinth’ (1 Cor. 1.2; cf. Rom. 16.23). While individual house churches would have met weekly (more on this below), it is possible, in some instances, that the entire church in one city may have gathered together on occasion.⁴⁵ Regardless, the multiplicity of house churches created an environment that would have been particularly vulnerable to factions and divisions. Indeed the eventual transition to a monepiscopacy may have been motivated, in part, by a desire to link these disparate house churches together under a single titular head.⁴⁶

The nucleus of a house church would often be a particular family – including extended family, servants and slaves – plus new converts and other believers in nearby vicinities. The ‘patron’ or head of that family would have no doubt played a key leadership role, although the specific parameters of that role are not clear.⁴⁷ The size of the house would be correlative to the wealth of the owner. Well-to-do families might have homes that would hold 30–40 people (and sometimes more). It was not unusual for such homes to have shops that faced the street – perhaps with a back door that opened directly into the house.⁴⁸ In contrast, poorer families most likely lived in multi-storey tenement-style housing where the rooms were much smaller.⁴⁹ The residents of such tenements would often work inside the small shops and businesses that were typically housed on the ground floor. The existence of these tenement homes even in the first century finds confirmation in the story of Eutychus who, during a meeting of the church, fell from the third floor window after falling asleep during Paul’s sermon (Acts 20.9).

While much of the evidence above pertains to the first century, there are good reasons to think that this same basic practice continued into the second. As noted in Chapter 1, the pagan critic Celsus describes the activities of the early Christians as taking place in ‘private houses’ and even informs us that the women took children ‘to the wooldresser’s shop, or the cobbler’s or the washerwoman’s shop, that they might learn perfection’.⁵⁰ Celsus is probably referring to the businesses that often fronted the homes of wealthy Christians or to the shops that were often on the ground floor of tenement buildings. Either way, it is evident that Christians were still using their homes/businesses as the primary physical locale for Christian activity. While Celsus does not directly refer to the location of weekly Christian worship services, it is reasonable to surmise they would have been in these same types of location. The Christian propensity to meet in individual homes fits with Celsus’ most foundational critique of Christians, namely that they worship privately and in secret. Christians, he complains, are ‘people who wall themselves off and break away from the rest of mankind’.⁵¹

Similar references to house churches can be found in other second-century literature. The Shepherd of Hermas refers to bishops/elders ‘who are hospitable, who always gladly welcomed the slaves of God into their homes without hypocrisy’.⁵² This matrix of themes – bishop/elder, household, lack of partiality – suggests that a house church may be in view.⁵³ Scholars have argued that Ignatius’ complaint about illegitimate meetings taking place apart from the bishop is probably a reference to gatherings that took place in private households.⁵⁴ Irenaeus mentions a deacon who welcomed the heretic-magician Marcus into his ‘house’ – a likely reference to the church that met there.⁵⁵ Unfortunately, Marcus proceeded to lead astray a number of the women of the congregation. In the Acts of Justin and His Companions (typically dated c.165), the Roman governor inquires of Justin, ‘Tell me, where do you [Christians] meet?’ Justin replies, ‘I am staying above the bath of a certain Martinus. . . . I have not known any other meeting place but here.’⁵⁶ Apparently, there is a church in Rome that meets in the room above the bathhouse or perhaps meets even in the bathhouse itself. The latter possibility shows that Christians may, on occasion, have utilized public spaces (more on this below). Regardless, it appears that Martinus may be a wealthy benefactor who allows Justin, as a famous teacher, to utilize this building (whether first or second floor) for Christian gatherings. Even if the Acts of Justin is not historically accurate (though, as noted above, it is the most reliable of the acta martyrum), it is still likely to reflect second-century realities regarding Christian assemblies.

We see similar evidence for house churches in a number of the apocryphal acts dated to the second century. In the Acts of Paul, we are told that Paul taught the word of God at the house of Onesiphorus (while Thecla listened from the window of a nearby house), the house of Epiphanius, and the house of Claudius.⁵⁷ In the Acts of Peter, we are told that some believers in Rome ‘met day and night in the house of Narcissus the Presbyter’ while listening to Peter preach.⁵⁸ At a later point, the account tells of Peter coming upon a worship service in the ‘house of Marcellus’ where ‘the gospel was being read’.⁵⁹ In the Acts of John, we are informed that assemblies took place in the houses of Lycomedes and Andronicus.⁶⁰ In the latter house, John preached a ‘homily to the brethren’ and offered ‘prayer and eucharist, and the laying on of hands on each person assembled’.⁶¹

While private homes/tenements were the standard meeting place throughout the second century, two important qualifications are in order. First, Richard Krautheimer has argued that in the latter half of that century some Christians began to modify their homes to make them more suitable for Christian worship.⁶² While such modifications would have left the outside of the home relatively untouched, the inside would have begun to look more and more church-like. One of the earliest available examples of such a domus ecclesiae, from the early third century, is the Christian home discovered at the site of Dura-Europos in northwestern Syria. Although it had the appearance of a home on the outside, the inside had been altered to include a baptistery and on the walls were frescoes of various biblical scenes. By the fourth century, Christians had begun to meet in buildings specially designed as churches – the beginnings of the formal basilica.⁶³

Second, it is important that Christian churches not be viewed only within the context of single-family dwellings.⁶⁴ It was not unusual for members of other types of organization – trade guilds, ethnic groups, burial societies, etc. – to live together in the same neighbourhoods. Such groups might even take over numerous rooms within the same multistorey building. Over time they might occupy an entire floor or perhaps the entire building itself. Scholars have argued that Christian groups would have probably functioned in a similar manner, forming ‘neighbourhoods’ where believers dwelt together in the same building or along the same street.⁶⁵ In such situations, the concentration of Christians would not only serve to establish a greater sense of community and identity, but it would provide new locations for worship services, such as the common hall or courtyard of tenement buildings.

In addition, it appears that Christians, on occasion, met in other locations besides private residences.⁶⁶ We already observed above that Christians may have met in the bathhouse of Martinus in Rome. Private bathhouses were quite common in the Roman world and thus would have made for a suitable meeting place, especially in the evening after they had closed.⁶⁷ In the Acts of Paul we read that Paul ‘rented a barn [ὃrrion] outside Rome where he and the brethren taught the word of truth’,⁶⁸ a likely reference to a storage building or warehouse of some sort. Christians may have also met in inns or hotels, especially as teachers taught from city to city. The fact that John and Peter are described in the apocryphal acts as staying in inns suggests these sorts of facility might have functioned as temporary meeting places for Christians.⁶⁹ There is also evidence that Christians sometimes met outdoors in courtyards, gardens, or other open spaces.⁷⁰

The relationship between churches (and their leaders)

As the above discussion indicates, the Church in the second century was composed of a loosely connected web of individual congregations that met largely in private homes/tenements (with some exceptions). This ever-growing number of house churches raises questions about how they related to each other. Were there formal/official connections between these congregations? Were they entirely independent of one another? Did some congregations (or their leaders) rule others? Not surprisingly, the historical evidence does not present a uniform answer to these questions. In many ways this is because the Christian movement (and its governmental structure) was very much in transition during the second century.

It is noteworthy, however, that even the New Testament writers suggest that, in certain circumstances, a degree of connectivity existed between individual house churches. While most cities would have contained multiple house-based congregations, the church in any given city was often conceived as a single entity.⁷¹ Thus, Paul can speak of the ‘church’ (singular) at Corinth (1 Cor. 1.2), at Cenchrae (Rom. 16.1), and at Thessalonica (1 Thess. 1.1). But when Paul addresses Christians in a place larger than a single city, he often speaks of plural ‘churches’ (e.g., 1 Cor. 16.1; Gal. 1.2; 2 Cor. 8.1). Thus, the church at a particular city seems to have been viewed as a single unit – despite the fact that it was probably composed of multiple smaller congregations meeting in homes. Some scholars even think that all the house churches in these cities would have, on occasion, gathered together in a single meeting to worship (1 Cor. 14.23)⁷² or to hear Paul’s letters being read (Rom. 16.3–16).⁷³

A similar phenomenon seems to be present in the second century. The letter of 1 Clement, for example, writes on behalf of ‘the Church of God . . . in Rome’ and writes to ‘the Church of God . . . in Corinth’. Despite the fact that Rome and Corinth are probably composed of numerous house churches, the author apparently views them, in some fashion, as a single entity. The author even refers to the ‘presbyters’ in Corinth, implying that the church there is ruled by a single body of elders.⁷⁴ Likewise, Polycarp writes ‘to the Church of God . . . in Philippi’ even though the city, most likely, has numerous house-based congregations. Thus, there appears to be some awareness that multiple congregations in a single locale are somehow linked together. And Polycarp calls the Philippians to submit to their ‘presbyters’,⁷⁵ implying again that the Philippian church was unified under a single ruling body.

The church governance during the first and early second century provides a possible explanation for how churches in a single city were linked together in this fashion. As a church began in a particular city it would have often been small enough to meet in a single house and would have been governed simply by a group of elders/presbyters. As such congregations grew in numbers and were forced to meet in additional houses, there may have been situations where a single group of elders found themselves ruling over multiple congregations in different locations throughout the city. These multiple congregations would have been naturally connected by the fact that they were led by the same group of elders. Thus, Christians in a given city, even worshipping in separate house churches, would have been able to maintain some common identity under the leadership of a single body of presbyters. In some instances, as discussed above, the multiplicity of house churches in a particular city could have led to a monepiscopate, where a singular bishop would preside over numerous churches in a single locale (e.g., the bishop of Rome).

Of course, it should be kept in mind that the governance structure in the second century was not neat and tidy. The actual state of the Church was probably not as uniform as the letters of Polycarp and 1 Clement imply. Not every congregation in a city would have been aware of other congregations or their connections to them. Moreover, some may have been aware and unwilling to cooperate. The churches in some cities would have been ruled by a single group of elders, while the churches in other cities may have had multiple groups of elders in their midst (perhaps even competing with one another). All of these options appear to have been happening in various places and to various degrees – some churches remained remarkably independent while others seem to have coalesced as a group (whether under a group of elders or a single bishop).

Justin Martyr’s description of his local congregation at the bathhouse of Martinus (noted above) exemplifies the diversity of the second-century situation. As Justin is being interrogated by the Roman governor about the church in Rome, he mentions only his local congregation and then states, ‘I have not known any other meeting place but here.’⁷⁶ It is difficult to know, of course, how to interpret Justin’s words. Given Justin’s influence and leadership, he almost certainly would have known (in principle) that other congregations met throughout the city. Perhaps, then, his words simply mean that he is not part of these other congregations or that he is unfamiliar with their specific locations or leadership. Regardless, it is noteworthy that there is no mention of any formal connection between Justin’s church and the other churches in Rome. This does not necessarily mean that such connections did not exist in some sectors of the city; it simply means that they were not sufficiently well established to be mentioned by Justin. While some scholars have suggested that Justin is intentionally withholding information from the Roman governor, this seems unlikely given that elsewhere Justin emphasizes that Christians should be truthful during judicial hearings.⁷⁷

But in the midst of all this transition and diversity, there are no indications that any one bishop/church was in a position of authority over another bishop/church in a different locale.⁷⁸ For example, while the author of 1 Clement makes his appeal to the church at Corinth regarding the improper removal of presbyters, there is no indication that the church has any jurisdictional authority over the latter.⁷⁹ 1 Clement is not crafted as a directive but instead is designed to persuade – a common reason why letters were written between churches in this period.⁸⁰ As Chadwick observes: ‘While each local church felt itself to be self-sufficient . . . yet the independence and autonomy of this local community is limited by the mutual care that local churches must have for each other.’⁸¹ Likewise, Polycarp’s letter to the Philippians, while offering numerous exhortations for the good of that congregation, does not call them to submit to himself or to any other church or bishop. The only authority to which the Philippians are to submit is their own ‘presbyters’.⁸² Thus, we see that individual churches (and their leaders) were quite willing to collaborate, communicate and cooperate. Indeed, the extensive letter-writing between churches suggests that a high level of interaction was the norm. But in the midst of such interaction, there are no indications of an authoritative structure where one bishop/church rules over another.

The second-century debate over the proper date of Easter is another helpful example of the interrelationship among churches during this period. Polycarp, in the middle of the second century, disagreed with Anicetus, presumably the bishop of Rome, about the best way to celebrate Easter. Polycarp followed the Asian practice of celebrating Easter on the 14th day of Nissan regardless on which day of the week it fell (known as the Quartodeciman practice), while Anicetus followed the Roman practice of celebrating Easter on the following Sunday. Their disagreement was not addressed by one church (or one bishop) declaring authority over another, but by each trying to ‘persuade’ the other.⁸³ Although neither was successful, they maintained a peaceful and respectful relationship.

The controversy flared up again at the end of the second century. According to Eusebius, a number of meetings were called by bishops in various locales – e.g., Jerusalem, Rome, Corinth – all of which declared that Easter should be celebrated on Sunday. In response, Polycrates, bishop of Ephesus, called together a number of bishops in Asia who reaffirmed the Quartodeciman practice, citing a great lineage of prior individuals who shared that view. Victor, the bishop of Rome, was frustrated by this response and ‘tried to cut off’ the Asian churches from fellowship.⁸⁴ However, Victor was sharply rebuked by a number of his fellow bishops, including Irenaeus, for making such a move and disturbing the peace of the Church (a peace that was exemplified in the earlier interchange between Polycarp and Anicetus). As a result, Victor’s bid to excommunicate the other churches failed.

Interpreting the complex details of this account is no easy task. Victor’s failed excommunication attempt may simply be an example of a certain bishop who overstepped the bounds of his authority and was subsequently rebuked by his fellow bishops. Or perhaps the act of ‘excommunication’, in a second-century context, was less about exhibiting power over another church and more about simply breaking off fellowship with that church. Regardless, there are no indications from the Quartodeciman affair that any church or bishop bore an official authority over another. On the contrary, it seems that local congregations existed as independent units governed by their own leadership structure, but were nevertheless quite willing to cooperate, to interact, and even to gather together for discussions about important matters. Although Eusebius presents these gatherings almost as if they were official ‘synods’, it is unlikely that they were so formalized in the second century. Brent argues that Eusebius often describes earlier stages of church history in the terms and categories of his own period, sometimes creating the impression that the earlier stages were more advanced than they really were.⁸⁵

Worship in the second century

Now that we possess at least a broad outline of how the early Church was structured and led, we turn to how the early Church – in this case the Church of the second century – worshipped. As we shall see, it was arguably the worship practices of early Christianity that set them apart most sharply from both the Greco-Roman world and the Jewish world.

The exclusivity of Christian worship

As already observed in a prior chapter, the Greco-Roman world in the second century was quite religious in nature. It was filled with a panoply of gods that served all kinds of purposes for the average Roman citizen.⁸⁶ Often cities or regions were associated with particular gods (e.g., Artemis with Ephesus), families might have worshipped their own (lesser) household deities, and various deities were invoked for particular needs (e.g., Athena in the cause of war, Asclepius for healing of sickness). The ubiquity of gods in the Roman world made it quite natural for an individual to worship not only his own gods but also other gods as the opportunity or need arose.⁸⁷ When people travelled to a different city they might pay homage to the local deity. When they were guests in another home they might drink libations to the family god. When they visited the temple of another god, they might make an offering. There was no sense that any particular god demanded exclusive worship – people could assume the worship a new god without forsaking their prior god or gods.

Of course, it is precisely in this context that Christian worship of Jesus proved to be so distinctive.⁸⁸ Contrary to their fellow Roman citizens, Christians were not willing to participate in the worship of these other deities. There was a fundamental commitment to exclusive worship of Jesus, just as Jews were committed to the exclusive worship of Yahweh.⁸⁹ So upon conversion, new believers would be compelled to renounce prior patterns of worship and henceforth offer worship to Jesus and to Jesus alone. The monotheism of early Christianity is evident from the very start as Paul declared, ‘For although there may be so-called gods in heaven or on earth . . . yet for us there is one God, the Father from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist’ (1 Cor. 8.5–6). And, as we have already seen, the exclusiveness of Christian worship in the second century is precisely the feature of early Christianity that led the Romans to perceive the new movement as a threat to the social-political stability of the Roman Empire. Since religious devotion to the gods was woven into almost every aspect of Roman life, it was impossible for Christians to avoid participating in such activity without drawing (negative) attention to themselves. Christian monotheism was therefore perceived as anti-social, anti-religious, and downright hostile to the Roman Empire.

The monotheism of second-century Christianity is also evident in other historical sources. The apologists surveyed in Chapter 2 made extensive arguments against idolatry on the basis of monotheism – only the one true God of Christianity should be worshipped. As one example, the author of the Epistle to Diognetus mocks the pagan gods of Rome for being made of wood and stone and then asks, ‘Is this why you hate the Christians, because they do not consider these to be gods?’⁹⁰ Exclusive worship of Jesus is also a major theme in the apocryphal acts – writings which often describe how the claims of Christianity were presented to a pagan, polytheistic world.⁹¹ By way of example, in the Acts of John the apostle John presents the good news of Jesus in the temple of Artemis in Ephesus and then, after he prays, the temple splits into two, the idols fall down, and the people repent saying, ‘There is only one God, that of John.’⁹² Similarly, in the Acts of Peter the apostle Peter, right before his death, makes a bold monotheistic proclamation for the crowds to hear, ‘We praise you [Jesus], we thank you, we confess you in glorifying you . . . because you alone are God and no other, to whom be glory now and forever, Amen.’⁹³ Although the stories in these acts are unlikely to be authentic (more on this in Chapter 6), they probably reflect actual beliefs and practices of early Christians.

As already observed in a prior chapter, this fundamental monotheistic commitment of early Christians does not mean that all Christians everywhere exhibited uniformity in their worship practices. We know that some Christians simply had fewer scruples about maintaining some form of allegiance to local, regional or family deities. And other Christians, particularly from so-called gnostic sects (more on them in the next chapter), were quite willing to incorporate a plethora of deities into what seems to have been a polytheistic-style system. Regardless, the evidence above indicates that there was still a general pattern of commitment to monotheistic worship, even in the midst of such exceptions.

The object of Christian worship

While Christianity’s monotheism proved to be an offence to the Roman world, it was not, in principle, a problem for the Jewish world. Jews, of course, were committed to monotheistic worship themselves (Deut. 6.4).⁹⁴ In this way at least, Christianity and Judaism were very much on the same page.

Even so, Christian worship also distinguished itself sharply from Judaism. What proved to be problematic for Jews was not the exclusivity of Christian worship but its object. Christians worshipped a human being, Jesus of Nazareth, alongside Yahweh. In the first century, Christians prayed to Jesus, called upon Jesus, sang to Jesus, and showed adoration and veneration to Jesus.⁹⁵ In the second century, this pattern of worship continues as Christians offer doxologies and declarations of praise to Jesus⁹⁶ and even craft and sing hymns to Jesus.⁹⁷ And, as we shall see below, the core elements of the second-century worship service (e.g., baptism, the Lord’s Supper, teaching/preaching) were all directed towards, or in the name of, Jesus. Even the pagan critics of Christianity observed that the man Jesus was the centre of all Christian worship. In Lucian’s satire, The Passing of Peregrinus, he mocks Christians for ‘worshipping that crucified sophist’;⁹⁸ the Roman governor Pliny observed this devotion to Jesus when he said that Christians sang ‘a hymn to Christ, as to a god’;⁹⁹ and Celsus complains that Christians ‘pay excessive reverence to one who has but lately appeared among men, and they think it no offence against God if they worship also His servant’.¹⁰⁰

Thus, in a strange (at least in the eyes of Jews) and unprecedented fashion, Christians remained committed to monotheism and yet, at the same time, offered worship to both the person of Jesus and to God. Christians, of course, did not see themselves as worshipping two gods – there are two figures, yes, but they share a single divine identity. This remarkable theological move by early Christians does not attribute merely a semi-divine status to Jesus, as if he were simply viewed as another intermediary figure like an angel. No, this was a distinctive and unparalleled ‘mutation’¹⁰¹ in Jewish monotheism that allowed for Jesus to be worshipped alongside Yahweh as divine. In a later chapter we will explore the evidence for this early Christian belief more fully. For now, we simply observe how problematic this would have been for Jews (and also confusing to pagans, as noted by comments from Celsus above). To worship another figure alongside Yahweh would have been seen as blasphemous and was probably the very thing that motivated some Jewish opposition to the early Christian movement.¹⁰²

The elements of Christian worship

We now turn our attention to the details of the Christian worship service in the second century. When did Christians meet for worship? And what did Christians actually do when they gathered together? While we cannot address every facet of early Christian worship in this limited space, we will at least explore the main components: gathering, teaching, eating and washing. As we do so, it should be noted again that second-century Christian worship was not a uniform affair. Not only was the leadership structure in flux (as observed above), but the liturgical practices were mixed. Worship looked very different for some Christians than it did for others. Indeed, for so-called ‘gnostics’, baptism was probably not performed in the name of Jesus (or the Trinity), and the Lord’s Supper was sometimes not practised at all.¹⁰³ Nevertheless, we can still explore the type of worship practices that were common during this period.

Gathering

Before early Christians could engage in corporate worship they first had to gather together.¹⁰⁴ While these gatherings were typically held in private homes or tenements (as has already been established), the question of the time of these meetings must still be addressed. Of course, it should be acknowledged that Christian meetings could (and did) take place at all sorts of times. In the early stages there is evidence that believers, on some level at least, may have met together even on a daily basis (Acts 2.46).¹⁰⁵ But the formal worship of Christian communities quickly coalesced around Sunday, also known as ‘the Lord’s day’. The first day of the week was the day Christians gathered to ‘break bread’ (Acts 20.7), collected offerings for those in need (1 Cor. 16.2), and engaged in spiritual activity (Rev. 1.10). No doubt the practice of a weekly meeting followed the Jewish practice of setting aside one day in seven (Gen. 2.3; Exod. 20.8), although Christians focused on the first day of the week since that was the day Christ had risen from the dead.¹⁰⁶

The practice of gathering (primarily) on Sunday continued into the second century and beyond. The Didache, at the turn of the century, tells Christians, ‘On the Lord’s own day, when you gather together, break bread and give thanks’.¹⁰⁷ The Epistle of Barnabas encourages believers to ‘celebrate on the eighth day [Sunday] with gladness, for on it Jesus rose from the dead’.¹⁰⁸ Similarly, Ignatius makes the link to the resurrection: ‘So those who lived according to the old ways came to a new hope, no longer keeping the Sabbath but living according to the Lord’s day, on which also our life arose through him and his death’.¹⁰⁹ Although some scholars have raised questions about whether Ignatius is referring to Sunday,¹¹⁰ most scholars take the text in this manner.¹¹¹ Even the pagan governor Pliny was aware that Christians ‘were in the habit of meeting on a certain fixed day’¹¹² – probably a reference to Sunday. Pliny mentions that early morning was the preferred time for such meetings (though Christians would often reconvene in the evening for a corporate meal).

The clearest description of second-century worship, however, comes from the account of Justin Martyr in his First Apology – an account we will turn to again below. Justin writes:

And on the day called Sunday all who live in the cities or in the country gather together in one place . . . we all hold this common gathering on Sunday, since it is the first day, on which God transforming darkness and matter made the Universe, and Jesus Christ our Savior on the same day rose from the dead.¹¹³

Justin confirms what we have seen thus far, namely that Christians met for worship on the first day of the week. While some Jewish Christians continued to observe the Jewish Sabbath – even attending the synagogue service – they would have probably also joined in Christian worship on Sundays.¹¹⁴

Teaching

At the centre of early Christian worship was the ministry of the Word. That is, the corporate gatherings of Christians were used as an opportunity to teach and instruct on the basis of Scripture.¹¹⁵ This didactic dimension to worship is a natural outflow of the Jewish background of many Christians – where instruction was regularly received in the synagogue.¹¹⁶ Teaching was also a core component of the ministry of Jesus himself (Matt. 5.2; 13.54; Mark 1.22; 10.1; Luke 5.3) and was later modelled by his earliest followers (Acts 2.42; 5.42; 11.26; 18.25). Paul exhorts Timothy to devote himself to ‘the public reading of Scripture, to exhortation, to teaching’ (1 Tim. 4.13) and even asks that his own letters be publicly read (Col. 4.6; 1 Thess. 5.27; cf. Rev. 1.3). Likewise, Gospel passages like Mark 13.14 and Matthew 24.15 directly address ‘the reader’, suggesting that these Gospels were written with the expectation that they be read publicly.¹¹⁷

Returning again to the account of Justin Martyr, we see that Scripture continued to play a key role in second-century worship settings: ‘The memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read as long as time permits. Then when the reader is finished, the Ruler in a discourse instructs and exhorts to the imitation of these good things.’¹¹⁸ It is noteworthy that the teaching portion of the worship service, at least as outlined by Justin, had a twofold dimension: public reading of Scripture and exhortation/instruction about that Scripture.

As for the reading of Scripture, apparently both Old and (some) New Testament books were being read in public worship by the time of Justin.¹¹⁹ The ‘memoirs of the apostles’ were Justin’s way of referring to the canonical Gospels (more on this in a later chapter). This sort of public reading would have been recognizable to many Christians since it was also typical of how Scripture was read in the synagogue (Luke 4.17–20; Acts 13.15; 15.21). The reading of Scripture in a worship service would have been the primary way most believers would have learned scriptural content, especially given the fact that most individuals during this period would not have possessed a private copy of scriptural books nor would they have been able to read those books for themselves (see discussion below in Chapter 6). In fact, Justin himself indicates that the worship services included both literate and illiterate¹²⁰ and a mix of social classes,¹²¹ confirming our discussion in Chapter 1 about the sociological breadth of early Christianity.

The exhortation/instruction portion of the meeting, Justin tells us, is provided by a ‘ruler’ of the assembly – often translated ‘president’. It is difficult to know what specific office Justin is referring to, but this might be a description of the local presbyter or bishop who was responsible for teaching the Word and celebrating the Lord’s Supper.¹²² This seems to find confirmation at the end of the second century when Tertullian tells us that ‘our elders preside over us’ in the worship service.¹²³ Justin may have used the word instead of the standard ἐπίσκoπος because the former was typically used to describe the leaders of philosophical schools – and Justin routinely presented the Christian faith as a philosophy of sorts.¹²⁴ Regardless, it is clear that there was an individual who was appointed to teach the people the word of God and apply it to their lives. Whether this would have resembled a modern sermon is difficult to know, but it does reveal that second-century Christians continued to be very word-centred, placing a premium on teaching and instruction.

Although we have few texts beyond Justin that explicitly describe second-century Christian Scripture reading and instruction, we do have hints here and there. 2 Clement, a document written in the middle of the second century (possibly the 140s), is probably the earliest sermon/homily outside the New Testament.¹²⁵ The unknown author of this sermon makes a reference to the public reading of Scripture¹²⁶ and also offers an exposition of both Old and New Testament texts to his congregation. The sermon is heavily weighted towards obedience and following the word of God – similar to how the speaker in Justin’s account ‘exhorts to the imitation of these good things’. Similarly, Melito, the bishop of Sardis in the middle of the second century, introduces his sermon on the Passover (Peri Pascha) by acknowledging that the public reading of Scripture has just taken place: ‘The Scripture from the Hebrew Exodus has been read.’¹²⁷ Again, the pairing of public reading with a sermon/instruction seems consistent with Justin’s account. The Muratorian Fragment, our earliest canonical list written toward the end of the second century, tells us that some Christian books could be read privately, and other books could be read ‘in church’ – again a reference to public reading in worship.¹²⁸ And, as noted earlier in this chapter, the Acts of Peter refers to a worship service in the ‘house of Marcellus’ where ‘the gospel was being read’.¹²⁹ At the end of the second century, Tertullian plainly states that in worship services, ‘We assemble to read our sacred writings’ which are typically followed by a sermon of sorts: ‘In the same place also exhortations are made, rebukes and sacred censures are administered.’¹³⁰

Even pagan writers recognized the importance of scriptural reading and instruction in the life of early Christians. Lucian’s satire The Passing of Peregrinus (c.165) describes how Christians supported Peregrinus during his stint in prison: ‘Then elaborate meals were brought in, and sacred books of theirs were read aloud.’¹³¹ It is difficult to know whether ‘elaborate meals’ is a reference to the Lord’s Supper or just a common meal, but Lucian may have not known the difference. But the fact that a special meal and the public reading of Scripture are paired together is at least suggestive that this is an instance of the Lord’s Supper being brought to a Christian who was shut-in – which was not uncommon in the second century.¹³² If so, this would have been a worship service of sorts for those in prison, with at least two important elements, the Lord’s Supper and the public reading of Scripture, and maybe other elements as well.

Eating

It is no surprise that corporate meals played a substantial role in the life of early Christians. After all, feasting was not only central to various groups in the Greco-Roman world¹³³ – whether they be religious, philosophical, political or ethnic – but they also figured prominently in ancient Judaism, particularly in regard to the establishment or remembrance of covenants (Exod. 24.3–11; Deut. 16.1–8). Even more than this, meals were central to the ministry of Jesus himself (e.g., Mark 2.15–17; Luke 11.37–54; 14.7–14) and often anticipated the coming kingdom of God and the great wedding banquet of the lamb that all believers would someday enjoy (Matt. 22.2–12; 25.10; Luke 12.36). This focus on feasting culminated in Jesus’ establishment of the Lord’s Supper which was to be a continuing part of early Christian worship (Matt. 26.26–29; Mark 14.22–25; Luke 22.14–23). This sacred meal was an opportunity for Christians to gather together to partake of bread and wine in remembrance of Christ’s death (1 Cor. 11.23–25).

In the earliest stages of the Church, it seems that the Lord’s Supper was often celebrated within the context of a larger meal known as an ‘agape (love) feast’ (2 Pet. 2.13; Jude 12). Indeed, Paul’s rebuke of the Corinthians for overindulging in food and wine (1 Cor. 11.20–22) suggests that the Lord’s Supper was part of an extended time of meal fellowship. Of course, this practice should come as no surprise – given that Jesus instituted the Lord’s Supper during an actual meal it is easy to see why Christians might celebrate it in the same fashion. Moreover, the fact that Christians often met in individual households would have made feasting a natural part of meeting together. The host/patron of the home may have even provided some of the food, and kitchen facilities for preparation would have been readily available. While it is not always easy to draw a line between general Christian meal fellowship and the sacred meal of the Lord’s Supper (Acts 2.42; 20.7–11; 27.35), there is little doubt that the Lord’s Supper was part of early Christian worship from the very beginning.¹³⁴

Evidence from the second century suggests that the Lord’s Supper continued to be a central aspect of Christian worship. Pliny’s concern that Christians may be engaging in debauchery during their feasts, combined with the widespread accusations of cannibalism (i.e., that Christians ate human flesh), suggest that the sacred meal was a well-known aspect of early Christian gatherings. As noted above, the Didache tells us that Christians ‘break bread and give thanks’¹³⁵ on the first day of the week – referring to a corporate meal that almost certainly included the Lord’s Supper. Again, Justin Martyr is very plain: ‘When we have finished the prayer, bread is brought and wine and water . . . and the distribution and partaking of the eucharistized elements is to each, and to those who are absent a portion is sent by the deacons.’¹³⁶ It is unclear whether the Lord’s Supper described by Justin takes place in the context of a larger meal, but the fact that no meal (beyond bread and wine) is explicitly mentioned suggests that Christians may have begun observing the Lord’s Supper apart from the love feast. Regardless, by the third century the love feast is seen as an entirely distinct event.¹³⁷

The centrality of the Lord’s Supper in the second century is connected to the meaning it bore for early Christians. Most notably, numerous texts indicate that the meal was viewed as something that connected Christians to the sacrificial death of Christ – though the particular way that connection was achieved was a continuing matter of debate.¹³⁸ Even more than this, the meal was viewed as the core indication of unity among the early Christian communities. This aspect was particularly important for Ignatius who was concerned about divisive groups who were participating in communion separately, apart from the bishop.¹³⁹ The connection between unity and the Lord’s Supper is evident when he states, ‘And so be eager to celebrate just one eucharist. For there is one flesh of our Lord Jesus Christ and one cup that brings the unity of his blood.’¹⁴⁰ The Didache expresses a similar sentiment when it says: ‘As this fragment of bread was scattered upon the mountains and gathered to become one, so may your church be gathered together from the ends of the earth into your Kingdom.’¹⁴¹ This same principle is also evident in the Quartodeciman controversy discussed above. When Anicetus and Polycarp disagreed about the date of Easter, Irenaeus was quick to remind Victor that Anicetus was still willing to share the Eucharist with Polycarp as a sign of unity.¹⁴²

The liturgical details of how the Lord’s Supper was administered in the second century cannot be explored here. It can be noted, however, that the sacred meal was often accompanied by special prayers,¹⁴³ administered by a bishop/presbyter,¹⁴⁴ and preceded by a confession of sin.¹⁴⁵ Of course, the specifics would have varied widely across different regions, and not all of these aspects would have been part of each church’s celebration.

Washing

Because the Lord’s Supper concerned the sacrificial death of Jesus and the unity of the Church, it was an aspect of worship that was only available to those who had already been properly initiated into the life of the Church – i.e., it was only for those who had been baptized.¹⁴⁶ Consequently, the act of baptism was both part of early Christian worship and, at the same time, something that was done before one was admitted to Christian worship (at least if it included the Lord’s Supper). Baptism signified the washing away of sins and the new life found in Christ. The second-century Epistle of Barnabas describes baptism: ‘We descend into the water full of sins and filth, but come up out of it bearing the fruit of reverential fear in our heart and having the hope of Jesus in our spirits.’¹⁴⁷

For this reason, the act of baptism, at least in the earliest stages, was often performed at a different location from where Christians would gather for corporate worship. The Didache says that baptism is preferably done in ‘living water’, a likely reference to a river or stream (though it allowed for other options if necessary).¹⁴⁸ Likewise, Justin Martyr informs us that baptisms are performed ‘where there is water’¹⁴⁹ and that only afterwards do they ‘lead him [the baptized individual] to those who are called brethren where they are assembled’.¹⁵⁰

Of course, the practice of baptizing in the vicinity of water goes back to the first century where we have instances of individuals being baptized in rivers, streams, and other public bodies of water (Matt. 3.6; Mark 1.5; Luke 3.3; Acts 2.41; 8.36; 16.13). By the time of the third century, however, Christians began to baptize inside ‘church’ buildings as is evidenced by the baptismal structure discovered in the house church at Dura-Europos (see discussion above). Whether baptisms in these various venues provide any indication about the mode of baptism used by early Christians is hotly debated among scholars. While rivers and streams would have certainly allowed for immersion, they could have also allowed for other modes (e.g., pouring while standing in water). Indeed, the Didache itself allows for the acceptability of pouring.¹⁵¹ Interestingly, the baptismal at the Dura-Europos site would have been too shallow for immersion, implying pouring was probably the norm at least in that vicinity. But there are other texts that seem to imply immersion.¹⁵² In the end, there appears to have been much diversity in early Christianity regarding mode of baptism. This led Tertullian, at the end of the second century, to express a lack of concern over such particulars: ‘It makes no matter whether one is washed in the sea or in a puddle, a river or a fountain, a pond or a tub; and there is no difference between those John baptized in the Jordan and those Peter baptized in the Tiber.’¹⁵³

Second-century sources also inform us about other aspects of baptism. We have good evidence that baptisms were often Trinitarian, performed in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.¹⁵⁴ Such a practice, of course, echoes the words of the Great Commission where the disciples were told to baptize in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (Matt. 28.19). Apparently, the act of baptism was to be performed by the leader of the congregation, either an elder or a bishop,¹⁵⁵ although there were no doubt exceptions to this practice.¹⁵⁶ The second century was also marked by a distinctive, and often lengthy, period of preparation for one’s baptism. While New Testament examples of baptism suggest they were often immediate upon profession of faith (Acts 2.41; 8.38; 16.33), later sources indicate that there was a period of instruction, prayer and fasting prior to baptism.¹⁵⁷ By the third century, it was not unusual for the time of preparation to last several years.¹⁵⁸

Other elements

Of course, second-century worship had other elements as well, but we can only mention them briefly here. Christian worship often included some sort of singing, though the second-century evidence for this is rather limited. Even so, Ignatius¹⁵⁹ and Tertullian¹⁶⁰ both mention it as part of worship, and even Pliny seems to be aware of this practice when he says Christians sang ‘a hymn to Christ as to a god’.¹⁶¹ In addition, prayer was a key element of worship, as evidenced in a variety of sources,¹⁶² as was giving money or offerings.¹⁶³

Conclusion

Since historians have given a lot of attention to the political and intellectual opposition faced by the second-century Church, it would be easy to think that early Christians were preoccupied with only these challenges. But the Church in the second century was focused on a much more basic (and much more private) activity: gathering together for worship. Sure, Christians were keen to respond to the challenges of their culture (as we learned in the prior chapter), but on a weekly basis, and perhaps even on a daily basis, their attention was elsewhere. It was on coming together as one body to offer praise to one God, Jesus Christ.

The worship activity of early Christians happened within the context of a particular ecclesiastical structure. Early churches often met in private homes/tenements and were led, at least originally, by a plurality of elders/bishops. As congregations multiplied, and the complexity of overseeing these churches increased, some churches adopted a monepiscopal structure where a single bishop ruled over the elders in a particular locale (usually a city). The worship service itself, as far as the evidence can tell us, included the following elements: gathering (usually on the first day of the week), teaching (both reading of Scripture and preaching), eating (the Lord’s Supper was a central part of worship) and washing (baptism was the core rite of initiation).

Although the worship practice of second-century Christians was by no means uniform – there was a great deal of diversity in various churches and regions – the ecclesiological structure laid down during this period would be the framework for the Church’s worship for generations to come. Indeed, these same practices, generally speaking, still define worship for the Church even today.

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