Introduction
The goal of this text is multiple:
- It serves as a substantial introduction to St. Paul’s main teaching on Faith & Justification.
- It offers a ground-breaking approach on St. Luke’s teaching based on the most recent works of Exegesis.
- It offers an enlightening comparison between the two saints.
- The approach has practical implications:
- It nourishes Spiritual Life. It offers new avenues on ‘how to read the Scriptures’.
- It shows the development of Christian Doctrine from the New Testament first generation writers to the third one.
- It reveals Mary’s correct place in Christian Doctrine under a new scriptural light.
- It shows how to receive the Holy Spirit according to the last understanding of Christian Doctrine. How we become ‘Servants of the Word’.
Usually, we tend to say “St. Paul” versus “St. Luke.” St. Paul and St. Luke—usually we address them separately, but I wanted to put them together for many reasons. A very basic, simple reason: very recently, a movie came out on St. Paul, and St. Luke is depicted in this movie as being a disciple, a full-fledged disciple, and presented under a light not very flattering for his personality, in the sense that he is presented like not understanding what is happening to the community in Rome, struggling with the reality of mercy… That’s the version of whoever created the movie, whoever studied St. Paul, whoever studied St. Luke. I think it’s an excellent opportunity for us because it is pushing me to write this article and show that the reality it’s not exactly as we often think. If we deepen the subject a little bit, we will find that the movie’s version (and many published works), how it presents St. Luke and St. Paul, is not really sticking to the reality.
So, the aime here is to give justice to St. Paul, but more so to give justice to St. Luke. The good thing is that the majority of what I’ll be saying, can be found in the Bible, so one can check it by himself. One can ponder on it and draw himself the conclusions. One can read St. Luke, the Acts of the Apostles, one can dive into St. Paul, and if one has time one can read many books, serious books—not just movies—books, exegeses, studies on each one of them, and then make up his mind.
Questions of Discrepancy
There are serious questions raised by facts in St. Luke, especially regarding St. Paul, and a little bit vice-versa, that don’t have answers. Let us have one to start with: St. Luke never mentions, literally never quotes, any of St. Paul’s letters, despite the fact that he was supposed to have been very close to St. Paul to the point that he is often considered as his disciple. The proof is in the Acts of the Apostles – written by St. Luke – where Luke talks in the plural form, instead of saying “I”, he says “we”. This “we” in the Acts of the Apostles, is supposed to include Luke and Paul. It means that Paul and Luke are together.
So yes, the movie is right, they were together, at least at a certain point. But strangely, despite all that, Luke never quotes literally in his Gospel any of St. Paul’s letters, which is absurd. Some exegetes even talk about an “impairment ability” between them. They were together, but in their writings they are not talking about important things as we will see. Let us remember that half of the Acts of the Apostles is on St. Paul.
The Acts of the Apostles is written by St. Luke—St. Luke wrote his Gospel and the Acts of the Apostles. But half of the Acts of the Apostles is dedicated to St. Paul. And he quotes St. Paul on the go, while he’s doing something or saying something. But he’s not quoting the doctrinal aspects of St. Paul, which is a little bit absurd. “Why?”
We will examine this below. We will have some clarity and maybe some answer. So, to start with, we have a striking discrepancy. St. Paul is allegedly the master of St. Luke, and despite that Luke doesn’t quote essential parts of the Gospel of Paul.
Without further ado, let us start the journey.
The New Testament’s Development
The New Testament has different authors. Some are more important than others, some are less known, like the Letter of Jude, or small letters like the last letter of St. John or the Second Letter of St. John. These are less known authors, but let us talk about all the others, the most important and known one.
The above diagram is meant to show the stages of development of our understanding of the Gospel.
I want you to get a sense of the development of the understanding of the Gospel amongst the Apostles, and disciples of Jesus throughout the First Century. So, we are facing the first century. It will end roughly in 96 with St. John writing his Gospel. In 95 he is writing down the visions he has during his exile during the persecution.
We can start with the Gospel of St. Matthew. Since Matthew was one of the twelve, let us put Mark (voice of Peter) almost at the same level. Let us say that the beginning, is roughly around 55. That could be before, could be after. Matthew being one of the Apostles of Jesus is probably he’s taking notes also, and we know that Matthew wrote in Aramaic, so certainly he heard Jesus, and since he was called very early on, he wrote what Jesus was saying. He prepared, he had something about his Gospel probably already there.
So, let us see now St. Paul. Most scholars date Saint Paul’s first letter to around AD 49–50, and the majority agree it is 1 Thessalonians. But still, on the diagram he is place slightly above Mark: the majority of his letters: First and Second Corinthians, First of all Galatians, then Letter to the Romans are more or less at that time (54-57). Then come the Letter to the Hebrews, then Letters to Timothy and Titus (parts can be of St. Paul, with some later additions), and then finally we have St. Luke (Luke and Acts).
There is nothing wrong—and this is for your understanding of how it happened—there is nothing wrong in considering that there are various drafts and versions before we reach the final draft. We can accept without difficulty the additions that can occur throughout time before reaching the last version. So, you can very well accept, and it’s there is nothing wrong against faith to say that, imagine you have a good letter from Paul’s hands, but then you have a certain addition after that has been added to it, but still we consider it as the Word of God. So, there’s nothing wrong with that.
Now, bearing in mind more or less this presentation— the development in time of the NT—it makes it more real, more approachable.
When we open the New Testament, it can seem as though all its books stand on the same level and belong to the same moment in time. They are indeed all the Word of God, yet they were written at different times and bear witness to a development — a gradual maturation in the understanding of the Gospel’s message.
Of course, the dates shown above are an estimation; we have brackets, as scholars are not a hundred percent sure of the dates. Example: we don’t have a precise date for Luke.
We have a rough idea. We know the Letter to the Galatians must be between 50 and 53. We know that roughly the Letter to the Romans is more or less written a little time after. But one cannot have a final say; each scholar, each exegete, will present his or her reckoning. But we stay more or less amongst certain important dates. There is a date not shown on the diagram — the year 70. It marks a decisive event: the destruction of the Temple of Jerusalem by the Romans, carried out in response to the Jewish revolts and political upheavals of the time.
This is why many place Luke’s Gospel after this date, because they think that they can sense in the text of St. Luke that he knows that the Temple was destructed. The fact that, in the eschatological discourse given just before the Passion, he alters the account—separating the destruction of the Temple from the coming of Jesus—in contrast to Matthew and Mark, suggests that he probably knew the Temple had already been destroyed. This is why we can consider that compared to Matthew and Mark Luke’s version as a development within the New Testament or the Apostolic time.
It’s essential for our faith to recognise that there is development in the Christian life—a growth in our understanding of faith itself. The faith I hold today is the same faith I had five, ten, or twenty years ago, yet my understanding of it has deepened, sometimes through sudden leaps. In harmony with this growth, we enter ever more deeply into the understanding of the Scriptures.
This is important to keep in mind, as it will help us grasp the heart of this text. When we say that Luke was a disciple of St Paul, it’s true that they spent time together and that Luke learned from him. Yet, if we look at when the final version of Luke’s Gospel was written, it was after Paul’s death—Paul died in 67. So, between that year and, say, the 80s, how much time did Luke have to reflect and deepen his understanding of faith, of the Lord’s words, and of Paul’s teaching? Moreover, was Luke facing the same challenges that Paul had faced? In fact we can see a hint in the following texts. Before his death, Paul writes to Timothy (perhaps in a later addition to the original text) with a warning: “For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but, having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own likings, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander into myths.” (2 Timothy 4:3–4) We have something similar in Acts 20:29–30 (Paul’s farewell to the Ephesian elders): “I know that after my departure fierce wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock; and from among your own selves will arise men speaking perverse things, to draw away the disciples after them.”
Luke mentions in the Acts of the Apostles the existence of a group we might call the ‘Johannites’—people who believed in Jesus as the Messiah but knew only the baptism of John. In Acts 18:25, we read of Apollos, who ‘had been instructed in the way of the Lord; and being fervent in spirit, he spoke and taught accurately the things concerning Jesus, though he knew only the baptism of John.’ Later, in Acts 19:2–3, Paul encounters some disciples at Ephesus and asks them, ‘Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed?’ They reply, ‘No, we have never even heard that there is a Holy Spirit.’ Paul then asks, ‘Into what then were you baptised?’ They answer, ‘Into John’s baptism.’ Could this indicate the beginning of a dangerous deviation in the early Christian faith—a form of Christianity without Baptism in Christ, without the Holy Spirit?
In this sense, Luke may rightly be regarded as an authentic disciple of St Paul; yet he simultaneously belongs to a later generation and is therefore compelled to address the needs of Christians of his own time. Consequently, he is able to offer a version of the Gospel that is deeper, more refined, and more precise, shaped by the pastoral and theological challenges confronting the Church of his day.
It is important to appreciate the temporal distance between them. Fifteen years may appear relatively brief, yet it represents a considerable span in the life of one charged with transmitting, interpreting, and presenting the faith, while also responding to emerging contexts and difficulties.
We will examine the various challenges faced by the early Church. These difficulties elicited the guidance of the Holy Spirit, who enabled the Church to overcome them. With each challenge, a new light was received, resulting in a development of the Gospel’s presentation. Naturally, the Gospel itself does not change; rather, it is articulated with greater precision.
Anticipating Luke’s own explanation, in the Prologue of his Gospel (see Luke 1:1-4) he addresses the question, ‘Why am I writing this Gospel?’ Having been acquainted with the existing accounts and with the teaching of St Paul, he still declares his intention to write. His purpose, he explains, is to provide greater precision—akribēia—in the narrative. “It seemed good to me also, having followed all things closely from the beginning, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, that you may know the truth concerning the things of which you have been informed.” Here, the phrase “an orderly account” (Greek: kathexēn akribōs, literally “accurately, with precision”) conveys the sense of akribēia—Luke’s aim to provide a careful, precise, and reliable narrative. This is the basis for saying that Luke sought greater precision compared with previous accounts. Our task here will be to explore the nature of this precision and to understand the way in which Luke’s Gospel refines and clarifies the previous accounts.
This addition—this enhanced precision—does not imply that what had been previously taught was erroneous; rather, it reveals a progressive deepening of understanding, often prompted by new challenges that emerged. All the writings of the New Testament constitute the Word of God, yet we should allow Luke to be Luke, John to be John—each author to speak from his own perspective, at the time he wrote, and at the stage of understanding of the faith he had attained. Let us remember what St. Paul says in 1 Corinthians 11:19: “For there must also be heresies among you, so that those who are approved may be recognised among you.”
St John Henry Newman is remarkable in many respects, one of which is his profound understanding of the development of Christian doctrine. His concern is not primarily with development within Scripture itself, but more broadly with the unfolding of doctrine in the life of the Church. Newman insightfully explains that, over time, our comprehension of the faith deepens and expands, much like the natural growth of a tree (Newman, An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine, Lect. 2).
Moreover, he carefully distinguishes genuine development from corruption or deviation in the understanding of the faith. He sets out various criteria—conditions that must be met for a development to be considered authentic rather than spurious (Newman, Lect. 6–7). This analysis is both precise and illuminating, and it remains a remarkable contribution to theological thought, for which we are greatly indebted to Newman.
Note: In contemporary New Testament exegesis, scholars recognise that the written texts themselves exhibit a form of development. Later writings sometimes refine, expand, or reinterpret earlier ones, reflecting a progressive deepening of theological understanding within the early Christian community. This phenomenon is often referred to as ‘literary development,’ ‘progressive theological development,’ or ‘doctrinal evolution’ within the New Testament corpus. It is distinct from the development from oral tradition to written text, focusing instead on the interplay and refinement between already composed writings. This approach allows exegetes to appreciate both the continuity and the increasing precision of doctrinal expression across the New Testament.
In the Old Testament, foundational events such as the Exodus are revisited and reflected upon throughout Israel’s history, each time with renewed depth or a new perspective according to the circumstances of the community. This phenomenon is often described in scholarly literature as ‘development of tradition’ or ‘tradition history’ (Traditionsgeschichte). It highlights how the sacred text engages dynamically with key events, allowing the memory and meaning of these events to unfold progressively, without altering the historical reality itself. Through this process, the community’s understanding and meditation on these foundational realities deepens over time.
Part I: The Central Teaching of St. Paul
Introduction
Let us begin with St Paul. We will first follow his writings and then turn to St Luke. When I refer to St. Luke, I mean the final form of his Gospel. I fully acknowledge the research of numerous exegetes who have demonstrated the presence of various compositional layers within the text. In particular, I owe much to the French Dominican scholar Father Marie-Émile Boismard, who passed away recently, for his insights into these layers.
I am convinced that, had I read his work ten years ago, I would have struggled to accept it, finding it quite challenging. Yet providentially, I encountered it at a time when I could appreciate the notion of development and the nuances he presents. Paradoxically, his meticulous scholarship ultimately supports and confirms the points I wish to make. I am not suggesting that he would deliver the same exposition today, but rather that his research and my reflections are in harmony. What I add is not a restatement of his work, but his studies provide reassurance that the observations I make are well-grounded.
St. Paul’s Gospel
Let us now turn to the main teaching of St Paul—what he himself calls his Gospel (1 Corinthians 15:1–4)—and to certain aspects of the life of the early Church in the first century. How can we summarise the teaching of St Paul? By ‘main teaching,’ I refer to the core of his theological vision and pastoral instruction.
St Paul was a Jew and a Pharisee. Initially, he believed he was acting faithfully by persecuting the early Christian community, which was composed largely of Jews like himself. He pursued and treated the first Christians harshly, convinced he was upholding the Law. It was only when Jesus revealed Himself to Paul on the road to Damascus (Acts 9:3–6) that Paul’s understanding was transformed—the scales fell from his eyes, so to speak, enabling him to perceive Christ clearly.
Following this encounter with Christ and Conversion, Paul spent a period of approximately three years in Arabia (Galatians 1:17), a desert region east of Palestine, before beginning his public ministry. He then undertook a series of missionary journeys—traditionally numbered as the first, second, and third journeys—spreading the Gospel throughout Asia Minor and Greece. His final journey led him to Rome, where he was imprisoned and ultimately died as a martyr, probably in 67 AD.
In his teaching, St Paul—trained as a Pharisee and thoroughly educated in Jewish theology—sought to understand for himself, and to explain to his fellow Jews, the significance of the Messiah’s mission. He presents this understanding most clearly in one of his earliest letters, the Letter to the Galatians, and subsequently, perhaps three years later, in his Letter to the Romans. In these two letters, he addresses the same fundamental theme, which can be summarised as follows:
For St. Paul the death and resurrection of Jesus constitute the heart of salvation. Out of pure mercy and love, God gave Himself to humanity: in dying, Jesus bore our sins and mortality (Galatians 1:4); in rising, He grants believers participation in His resurrection (Romans 6:4–5). This salvific reality underlies the sacrament of baptism: in baptism, believers share in Christ’s death and resurrection. As Paul explains, ‘We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life’ (Romans 6:4). Our ‘old self’—our former way of life—dies with Christ, so that through His resurrection, we may rise to a renewed life in Him. Furthermore, Paul underscores the absolute centrality of the Resurrection: ‘And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins’ (1 Corinthians 15:17). Faith in Christ is inseparable from faith in His Resurrection; without it, the entire Christian hope collapses.
Salvation, for St Paul, is a pure gift. No one earns it, and no one can claim, ‘I did this; therefore, I deserve God’s mercy, love, or salvation.’ As he affirms, ‘all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God’ (Romans 3:23), drawing upon the Scriptures familiar to him, including the Psalms and other texts from the Pentateuch and the Prophets. He also reminds us that ‘by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God’ (Ephesians 2:8), emphasising the unmerited character of salvation. The mystery of salvation lies at the very centre of his theology.
For Paul, this gift is dynamic and transformative: it enters our lives, enabling us to die with Christ and rise with Him (Romans 6:3–5). This participation in Christ’s death and resurrection is effected through the Holy Spirit, who empowers believers to live in conformity with Christ (Romans 8:11) and to share in the new life offered in the Gospel (2 Corinthians 5:17). Thus, the Spirit makes it possible for the faithful to enter fully into the mystery of Jesus, sharing both in His death and His resurrection.
St. Paul confronted a critical question, also addressed in Acts 15: the Jewish converts asked, ‘What must we do to be saved? Are we still bound by the Law of Moses? Must our male children be circumcised? Are we required to observe all that Moses commanded?’ While they acknowledged the grace of Jesus Christ, they wrestled with whether obedience to the Mosaic Law remained necessary, since God had never abrogated it. This was a deeply serious question: ‘What am I to do in order to please God? What does God truly require of me?’
Paul’s teaching on this issue, especially in Galatians (Galatians 5:2–6; 2:15–21) and Romans (Romans 3:28; 4:4–5), provides a profound theological framework. It shaped the life of the Church and had far-reaching influence. For example, during the Reformation, Martin Luther, then a Catholic monk, found in Romans 1:16–17 the guidance he needed to resolve his personal spiritual crisis. This demonstrates the lasting significance of Paul’s thought: his writings remain foundational for understanding salvation, grace, and the believer’s response to God.
I firmly believe—please understand this constructively—that it is difficult to grasp the Christian faith fully without the Letter to the Romans, without appreciating the stakes involved. It is therefore valuable to summarise and explain it in context. Let us consider the historical circumstances: there were Christians of Jewish origin and those of Gentile origin. How were they to live together in one community? Should the Gentiles now be required to observe all that Moses commanded?
Jesus never said that He came to abolish the Law. On the contrary, He declared that He came to fulfil it: ‘Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfil them’ (Matthew 5:17). He even emphasised that ‘not the smallest letter or stroke of a letter will pass from the Law until all is accomplished’ (Matthew 5:18). Thus, the Law remains valid in principle, yet its proper understanding and fulfilment are revealed in Christ. This was the critical question facing the early Church, and it remains essential for us to understand what was truly at stake.
The resolution to this initial crisis in the early Church—a crisis akin to that of a growing adolescent, necessary for maturation—can be discerned in the Scriptures. This was a serious challenge that the Church had to confront in its formative years. For those who wish to study it further, the answer first emerges in the Letter to the Galatians, which presents the issue in summary form, and is further elaborated in the Letter to the Romans. Additionally, the narrative of the First Council of Jerusalem provides a historical account of this deliberation, as recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, specifically in Acts 15.
Let us first consider St. Paul, and then we will briefly allude to the account in Acts. St. Paul asserts: I cannot do anything to trigger God’s mercy. God grants His mercy according to His own will (Romans 9:15). This principle underlies the opening chapters of Romans, particularly chapters 3, 4, and 5. Paul emphasises that ‘all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God’ (Romans 3:23), and that ‘there is no one who does good, not even one’ (Romans 3:12). Human beings cannot offer even a single act of true righteousness on their own. Here, ‘righteousness’ is a theological term referring to what is pleasing to God, in accordance with the Law of Moses (Romans 3:20).
Paul explains that it is only through the reception of the Holy Spirit from Jesus that a believer is transformed (Romans 5:5). The workings of the Spirit naturally bear fruit, which encompasses the moral precepts of the Mosaic Law and extends beyond them. Observance of the Law, therefore, is not the cause of salvation but a fruit of the grace already received through Christ and the Spirit (Romans 3:21–22; 5:1–2). As Paul states, ‘we have been justified by faith, and we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ’ (Romans 5:1), demonstrating that righteousness (the reception of the Holy Spirit who makes us righteous) is received by faith, not earned by human effort.
Salvation begins with Jesus Christ. To whoever believes in Him He grants the Holy Spirit, who transforms the believer, and enables a new life in Him. Only then can one love one’s neighbour as Christ loved and fulfil His commands. Human beings have no merit of their own; salvation is entirely the result of God’s gracious mercy, which He bestows according to His will.
In his letters, particularly Romans and Galatians, Paul uses theological terms that can be challenging. He contrasts the ‘works of the Law’ with ‘faith.’ Observing the Law—fulfilling its commands—cannot secure salvation. As he writes in Romans, ‘For we hold that one is justified by faith apart from works of the Law’ (Romans 3:28). Similarly, in Galatians, he stresses, ‘For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision counts for anything, but only faith working through love’ (Galatians 5:6). Justification, here, refers to being made righteous or acceptable before God. Faith, not human effort, is the ground of our acceptance and relationship with God, echoing the Jewish understanding of righteousness in the Scriptures. Faith in Jesus’ Salvation on the Cross obtains for us the Holy Spirit. The fruits of the Spirit, including the moral and ethical imperatives of the Law, flow naturally from this faith, rather than serving as its cause.
Let us examine more closely what faith means for St Paul, as this is central to his theology. Faith, for Paul, is first given in baptism (Romans 6:3–4). While he rarely explicates the mechanics of its reception, it is understood in his context—and in the tradition that follows—that faith is imparted in baptism, beginning slightly before, during, and continuing to develop after the sacrament.
Note: A vestige of this Pauline understanding endures in the baptismal liturgy of the Church. At the beginning of the rite, the celebrant asks the parents and godparents: “What do you ask of God’s Church for your child?” to which they respond, “Faith.” The celebrant continues, “What does faith offer you?” and they reply, “Eternal life.” This brief dialogue expresses with great simplicity the heart of Christian belief: faith, received as a gift from God and mediated through the Church, opens the way to salvation and eternal life (cf. Romans 1:17; Ephesians 2:8; John 3:16).
But what is this faith? It is faith in the salvific mystery: the conviction that Jesus Christ, without any merit on our part, has died for our sins, risen for our justification, and given us the Holy Spirit to transform our lives (Romans 5:8–10; Galatians2:20). Faith is our humble acceptance of this gift: a recognition that we have done nothing to earn it, that salvation is entirely by God’s mercy (Ephesians 2:8–9). From this faith, acts and works naturally flow as fruits of the Spirit, not as prerequisites or causes of justification.
Paul stresses that it is not through our own observance of the Law or human effort that we are made righteous, but through faith in God’s mercy (Romans 3:28; Galatians 3:11). One opens one’s heart to Christ, acknowledges one’s sinfulness, and receives the gift of the Spirit. The Holy Spirit then enables the believer to live in accordance with God’s will, inspiring transformation and sanctification (Romans 8:13–14). Paul gives all merit to God: salvation, faith, and transformation are God’s work. Human effort, observance of the Law, and deeds follow as a response, guided by the Spirit, rather than initiating the process.
Thus, Paul’s primary concern is the ordering of faith and works. Faith comes first; deeds of the Law are a fruit, not the source, of the believer’s justification (Galatians 5:6; Romans 3:20). This is the key to understanding his theology: salvation is God’s gift, received in faith, with the Spirit as the agent of transformation.
The First Council of Jerusalem
In the early Church, questions and struggles arose that required clarification. One such issue concerned the behaviour of Jewish and Gentile Christians. Peter, as the leader of the Apostles, initially acted toward Jewish Christians as a Jew would, observing practices such as circumcision and ritual purity. Paul, however, perceived a serious problem: by acting in this way, Peter risked sending the wrong message to both Jewish and Gentile converts. Paul confronted him, saying essentially, ‘How can you act like this? You are implying that one must follow the Jewish law in order to be a Christian’ (Galatians 2:11–14). The inconsistency of applying Jewish customs differently to Jews and Gentiles threatened the unity of the emerging Church.
To address these critical questions, the Apostles and elders convened what would become the First Council in Jerusalem. The account is preserved in the Acts of the Apostles, specifically Acts 15. The council debated the question: ‘What requirements, if any, should be imposed upon Gentile converts?’ At that time, the majority of Christians, including the Apostles and disciples, were of Jewish origin. As the Church expanded into Gentile regions, it became urgent to determine how to integrate those without a knowledge of Moses and Jewish customs.
The outcome of the council—summarised in Acts 15:19–20—established that Gentile believers were not obliged to observe the Mosaic law. While the specifics of the decision are not our focus here, it is crucial to recognise the significance of this council: it affirmed the universality of the Gospel and brought to light the central question of salvation—how one is saved. Understanding the issues addressed at the First Council of Jerusalem is essential for interpreting subsequent texts, including St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans, as the debates there form the historical and theological backdrop to his teaching.
The Outcome of the First Council of Jerusalem and the New Law
What was the result of the First Council of Jerusalem regarding Gentile converts? Simply put, there was no imposition: nothing was required to become a Christian beyond receiving God’s gift (Acts 15:19–20). Salvation is not earned through deeds or compliance with external regulations; it is a matter of grace. This decision was profoundly liberating, especially for Jewish converts who had previously been bound by more than six hundred commandments. The council clarified that the New Law is not a catalogue of obligations but the indwelling of the Holy Spirit in the believer’s heart (Romans 8:4; Galatians 5:22–23).
However, the New Law is far from superficial. It does not diminish or replace the moral depth of Moses’ law; rather, it fulfils and intensifies it. As Jesus taught in the Sermon on the Mount, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not murder,’ but I say to you, do not hate your brother in your heart” (Matthew 5:21–22), and “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery,’ but I say to you, anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery in his heart” (Matthew 5:27–28). The New Law penetrates the heart, addressing not merely external acts but internal dispositions.
This radical interiority—requiring transformation from within—highlights human incapacity to fulfil God’s law through our own strength. As Jesus declares, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible” (Matthew 19:26). True Christian life begins with the recognition that we cannot achieve holiness unaided; it is only through the grace and power of the Holy Spirit that the believer’s heart is renewed, enabling acts of love, forgiveness, and prayer even toward one’s enemies (Matthew 5:44).
For St Paul, this is the essence of faith: a recognition of human insufficiency and a reliance upon God’s transformative power. Faith begins with the humble admission, “I cannot do this myself, but You can give me the strength to do it” (Philippians 2:13). Only in this acknowledgment do we become true Christians: grateful recipients of divine grace, empowered to live according to the New Law at the deepest level of the heart.
We must acknowledge that the early Church engaged in an ongoing discussion that unfolded gradually as it sought to discern the practical implications of St Paul’s teaching. It was understood that faith is the essential condition for salvation, yet a question naturally arose: how does one come to possess this faith?
St Paul responds by pointing to Abraham as the model of faith: “Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness” (Romans 4:3; cf. Genesis 15:6; Galatians 3:6). He argues that faith is not a novelty but has existed since the beginning of salvation history. Similarly, the Letter to the Hebrews holds up Abraham and the patriarchs as witnesses of faith: “By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called… By faith he went to live in the land of promise” (Hebrews11:8–9).
Yet even with these examples, one may still ask, “How can I receive this faith?” Such a question remains central to the Christian journey. The understanding of faith—its origin, growth, and transformative power—developed progressively within the Church. This gradual clarification reminds us that faith is not an isolated act but a living reality that matures over time, taking shape through the life of the believing community under the guidance of the Holy Spirit.
The Missing Link – Paul, Apollos, and the Baptism of John
Let us now turn to a further development in the early Church’s understanding of faith and salvation. The first answers provided by the Council of Jerusalem (Acts 15) and by St Paul—particularly in his Letters to the Galatians and to the Romans—are foundational for Christian doctrine. They establish with clarity that salvation does not come through “works of the Law” but through faith in Jesus Christ (Galatians 2:16; Romans 3:28). This conviction represents a decisive moment in the life of the early Church. Yet it also opened the door to new questions and challenges: how was this faith to be received and transmitted? What of those who had believed in Jesus but had not yet received the fullness of Christian baptism? These tensions begin to appear in the Acts of the Apostles, in the episodes concerning Apollos and the disciples at Ephesus (Acts 18:24–19:7). It is here that we perceive what might be called a “missing link” in the unfolding understanding of Christian initiation—a transition from the baptism of John to baptism in the name of Jesus, and the gift of the Holy Spirit.
A Problem Arises: Acts 18–19
At a certain stage in the Acts of the Apostles—while St Paul is still alive—we witness the emergence of a new problem. These questions did not arise only after Paul’s death (traditionally around AD 67), but were already present and developing during his missionary activity. Indeed, we find traces of them even in the Pastoral Epistles, such as the First Letter to Timothy.
The events in question occur towards the end of Acts 18, around the year AD 53, well before Paul’s martyrdom. Though Paul himself does not immediately offer a direct resolution, the matter clearly captures the attention of St. Luke, who records it with care.
Before considering this episode, it is useful to recall two key passages that summarise St Paul’s teaching on faith and salvation: Galatians 3:3–14 and Romans 10:8ff. These texts encapsulate Paul’s conviction that salvation comes through faith in Christ rather than through observance of the Mosaic Law.
Now, let us turn to Acts 18:24 and the verses that follow. The narrative situates us in the midst of Paul’s third missionary journey (c. AD 53–57), during which he preached the Gospel across the major urban centres of the Roman world—Corinth, Ephesus, and Rome among them. Just as Paul is about to proceed towards Ephesus, an incident occurs that will become the starting point of a significant theological clarification in the early Church.
The Case of Apollos (Acts 18:24–28)
Acts 18:24–25 recounts: “Now a Jew named Apollos, a native of Alexandria, came to Ephesus. He was an eloquent man, well versed in the Scriptures. He had been instructed in the Way of the Lord; and being fervent in spirit, he spoke and taught accurately the things concerning Jesus, though he knew only the baptism of John.”
Apollos was a Jew from Alexandria in Egypt, home to one of the largest Jewish diasporas of the ancient world. It was from this community that the Septuagint—the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures—originated. Alexandria at that time was both an intellectual and commercial centre, renowned for its philosophical schools and libraries.
Luke describes Apollos with notable respect. He is “eloquent,” “well versed in the Scriptures,” and “fervent in spirit.” Yet Luke also points out a striking limitation: “he knew only the baptism of John.” In other words, although Apollos believed that Jesus of Nazareth was the Christ and proclaimed Him from Scripture, his understanding and sacramental initiation remained incomplete. No reception of the Holy Spirit!
In the earliest Christian communities, Baptism, Confirmation, and the Eucharist were celebrated together as a single initiation into Christ and the Holy Spirit. Those who had received this full sacramental life were marked not only by faith but by the manifest presence of the Spirit—prophecy, praise, and a new interior vitality. Apollos, though fervent and accurate in his teaching, had not yet received this baptism in the Spirit. Luke’s subtle irony underscores the gap: a brilliant and sincere preacher of Christ, yet lacking the fullness of Christian initiation.
Acts 18:26–28 continues: “He began to speak boldly in the synagogue; but when Priscilla and Aquila heard him, they took him aside and expounded to him the Way of God more accurately. And when he wished to cross to Achaia, the brethren encouraged him and wrote to the disciples to receive him. When he arrived, he greatly helped those who through grace had believed, for he powerfully confuted the Jews in public, showing by the Scriptures that the Christ was Jesus.”
The expression “more accurately” (akribesteron in Greek) signals that Priscilla and Aquila offered Apollos a deeper, more complete understanding of “the Way of God.” The episode raises a number of questions that Luke leaves unresolved. Was Apollos baptised again, this time “in the name of Jesus”? Did he receive the Holy Spirit? Was he alone in this situation, or were there others like him? The text is silent.
What remains clear, however, is that this scene reveals a transitional moment in the early Church: the shift from John’s baptism of repentance to the full Christian baptism in water and the Spirit. It marks the beginning of a theological question that will resurface immediately in Acts 19—how does one receive the Holy Spirit and enter fully into the life of Christ?
The Disciples at Ephesus: Acts 19:1–7
The narrative continues seamlessly from the episode of Apollos. Luke writes: “While Apollos was at Corinth, Paul passed through the upper country and came to Ephesus. There he found some disciples, and he said to them, ‘Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed?’ They said, ‘No, we have never even heard that there is a Holy Spirit.’ And he said, ‘Into what then were you baptised?’ They said, ‘Into John’s baptism.’” (Acts 19:1–3)
Paul’s question reveals that he discerned something lacking among these believers. In his theology, faith and the gift of the Holy Spirit are intrinsically linked: “Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed?” (v.2). The normal sequence in Paul’s understanding is clear—first comes the proclamation of the word; this awakens faith in the hearer; and faith, once genuine, opens the soul to the reception of the Spirit (cf. Romans 10:14–17; Galatians 3:2).
Yet here, the order seems broken. These disciples have believed, but no outpouring of the Holy Spirit has followed. Their reply —“We have never even heard that there is a Holy Spirit”— exposes a theological, spiritual and sacramental gap. Paul’s follow-up question makes it explicit: “Into what then were you baptised?” Their answer —“Into John’s baptism”— explains the absence. They had received only the baptism of repentance, not the baptism “in the name of Jesus Christ.”
This discovery is, as Luke subtly presents it, alarming. Faith has been awakened but remains incomplete, not yet sealed by the Spirit. Paul immediately acts to rectify this deficiency: “And Paul said, ‘John baptised with the baptism of repentance, telling the people to believe in the one who was to come after him, that is, Jesus.’ On hearing this, they were baptised in the name of the Lord Jesus. And when Paul had laid his hands upon them, the Holy Spirit came on them; and they spoke with tongues and prophesied.” (Acts 19:4–6)
The laying on of hands here—later associated with Confirmation—signifies the full communication of the Spirit. The outward manifestations, “speaking in tongues and prophesying,” echo the Pentecostal signs of Acts 2, confirming that these disciples have now entered into the complete life of grace.
Luke concludes: “There were about twelve of them in all.” (v.7) The parallel with the twelve apostles is suggestive but not explicit. The number may simply indicate that this was not an isolated case, as with Apollos, but a small group representing a broader phenomenon. Exegetes have referred to such figures as “Johannites”—disciples who had received John’s baptism of repentance but had not yet been initiated into Christ’s baptism and the gift of the Spirit.
This episode marks a critical moment in the early Church’s self-understanding. It exposes a transitional tension within the first generation of believers—those who knew of Jesus and even believed in Him, yet had not entered into the fullness of Christian life through baptism in the Spirit. The account invites reflection on the essential unity of faith, baptism, and the Holy Spirit: without the Spirit, faith remains incomplete, and Christianity itself lacks its living principle.
Note: The term “Johannites” should not be confused with the Johannine community. The Johannine community refers to the circle associated with St John the Evangelist, the beloved disciple, and author of the Fourth Gospel and related writings. In this context, however, Johannites designates followers of John the Baptist. This term, used by some exegetes, describes those who had received only John’s baptism of repentance and had not yet been baptised “in the name of Jesus” or received the Holy Spirit, as narrated in Acts 18–19. Thus, the Johanites—disciples of John the Baptist—are distinct from the later Johannine community associated with St John the Evangelist.
Part II: The Johannites and Luke’s “Greater Accuracy”
We now turn to St. Luke. This discussion follows our examination of St. Paul and the early issues in the Church. By the mid-50s, Paul and Luke had already witnessed the situation regarding those who had received only John’s baptism, yet no immediate resolution had emerged. Notably, Luke twice uses the term accurate (akribōs) to describe the instruction given to Apollos by Priscilla and Aquila (Acts 18:26), signalling Luke’s concern for precision in conveying the teaching of the Way.
Following Paul’s third missionary journey, he is imprisoned—his fourth journey—stands trial in Rome, and ultimately dies as a martyr in 67 AD. With Paul’s death, Luke is left to continue the narrative alone. The final composition of Luke’s works (Gospel of Luke and Acts of the Apostles) is uncertain, though scholars reasonably place completion between 80–85 AD, providing him roughly 10–20 years after Paul’s death to reflect on the issues he had observed (cf. Acts 18:24–28; 19:1–7).
While the precise developments of the community are largely unknown, traces appear in the Pastoral Epistles (1–2 Timothy, Titus), indicating ongoing guidance and warnings from Paul about potential disruptions: “For I know that after my departure fierce wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock” (Acts 20:29). This underscores the ongoing pastoral concern for maintaining the integrity of faith and the proper reception of the Holy Spirit among believers.
Luke’s narrative itself reflects multiple layers of composition. Following the approach of the French Dominican exegete Marie-Émile Boismard (1916–2004), one can discern revisions, stylistic modifications, and editorial insertions within the text, suggesting that Luke carefully structured and reworked his account to achieve clarity and theological precision. Boismard’s analyses, particularly regarding the Synoptic and Lucan texts, highlight the presence of these layers, though a full internal-critical study requires specialised expertise. Nonetheless, it is evident that Luke’s careful treatment of “greater accuracy” (Acts 18:26) demonstrates his concern to present the apostolic teaching faithfully and with due attention to the nuances of early Christian practice.
Luke’s Purpose: The Prologue
Turning now to Luke, we consider the opening of his Gospel, which sets the theological and literary tone for his narrative. While Luke is traditionally understood as a disciple of Paul, his Gospel demonstrates a careful editorial approach, adding what he terms greater accuracy to the apostolic witness (cf. Acts 18:26).
In his prologue, Luke states: “Inasmuch as many have undertaken to compile a narrative of the things which have been accomplished among us, just as they were delivered to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and ministers of the word” (Luke 1:1–2, RSV). Here, “ministers of the word” refers not to a formal office alone, but to those called to serve the message of salvation, a process that unfolds over time through participation and fidelity. Luke continues: “It seemed good to me also, having followed all things closely, so I followed everything accurately, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, that you may know the truth concerning the things of which you have been informed” (Luke 1:3–4, RSV).
Several elements in this introduction are pivotal. First, Luke emphasises accuracy (akribōs), indicating his concern for faithful transmission, not mere reporting. Second, the “orderly account” (kathexēsis) should not be mistaken for strict chronological history. Luke’s order reflects theological priorities rather than a sequence mirroring the synoptic Gospels. Indeed, significant material in Luke (Luke 9-19) has no parallel in Matthew or Mark, and the arrangement is driven by theological insight rather than historical chronology.
Thus, to label Luke merely a historian is misleading. While he preserves factual details, his Gospel is fundamentally theological: it seeks to shape the reader into a servant of the Word, to understand and live the faith, and to provide greater accuracy regarding the apostolic message, sometimes even challenging or refining Paul’s formulation. The prologue establishes Luke’s dual aim: fidelity to the eyewitness testimony and the cultivation of a theological more accurate understanding that guides the Christian community.
The Mechanism of Faith for St. Luke
Now, what is the act of faith according to St Luke? Let us examine it closely, for it lies at the heart of his theological vision. In Luke’s understanding, faith does not arise spontaneously within the human person; it begins with a divine initiative.
First, a word is given — a word from God, addressed personally or communally. This word is the starting point and foundation of faith. As Luke repeatedly shows, “nothing [no word] will be impossible for God” (Lk 1:37). The second movement follows: the believer is invited to trust that God can bring about what He has spoken. Thus, “the act of faith consists in believing that God is capable of realising His word.” The divine word precedes faith and constitutes its object: it calls forth reflection, consent, and ultimately trust. Grace operates precisely at this juncture, enabling the human heart to respond.
We see this dynamic vividly in Mary’s encounter with the angel. Upon hearing the divine message, she replies: “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be done to me according to your word” (Lk 1:38). As Joseph Fitzmyer notes, “Mary’s fiat epitomises Luke’s theology of faith: hearing the word of God and entrusting oneself to its fulfilment” (The Gospel according to Luke I–IX, Anchor Bible 28, 1981, p. 349).
A second concern emerges in Luke’s narrative: the relationship between faith and the gift of the Holy Spirit. Luke, unlike John, places particular emphasis on the necessity of receiving the Spirit after faith has been professed. This concern appears most clearly in the Acts of the Apostles, where he describes how certain disciples, such as Apollos and those at Ephesus, had believed yet had not received the Holy Spirit (Acts 18:24–19:6). Luke’s question, therefore, is deeply existential: how is the Holy Spirit received by each believer?
The narrative of Pentecost in Acts 2 becomes Luke’s theological answer to this question. Through it, he presents not merely an event in salvation history but a pattern for Christian life: faith in the word of God opens the heart, and the Holy Spirit comes to dwell within that believing heart. As François Bovon observes, “For Luke, Pentecost is not only an inaugural event but an enduring model of the Spirit’s gift to those who believe” (Luke the Theologian: Fifty-Five Years of Research (1950–2005), 2006, p. 286).
Scholars such as Boismard have shown that Luke’s account of Pentecost underwent development. In its earliest layer, the narrative emphasised the external manifestations — the noise, the tongues, the flames. In the later, final redaction, these are moderated. Luke now turns attention from mere phenomena towards the inner transformation that faith and the Spirit together accomplish (Boismard, Les Actes des deux Apôtres, Paris: Gabalda, 1999).
Consequently, the entire Lukan corpus — Gospel and Acts — can be read as a theological unity describing the dynamic of faith leading to the reception of the Holy Spirit. From Mary’s initial act of faith at the Annunciation to the outpouring of the Spirit at Pentecost, Luke unfolds what may be called the “mechanism” of divine life: the Word proclaimed, faith awakened, and the Spirit received.
The Annunciations: Zechariah and Mary
Let us examine how Luke presents the act of faith from the very beginning of his Gospel. He offers us two exemplary cases in which faith is required: the Annunciation to Zechariah and the Annunciation to Mary. In both instances, the Angel Gabriel delivers a message and invites the recipient to believe. Yet their responses differ: one hesitates (doesn’t believe the Angel’s message), the other consents.
Consider Zechariah first. Luke introduces him in a way that recalls certain issues addressed by St Paul and resonates with the Johannite tradition: “In the days of Herod, king of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah, of the division of Abijah. And he had a wife of the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. And they were both righteous before God, walking blamelessly in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord” (Lk 1:5–6).
Luke’s portrayal is striking. Zechariah and Elizabeth are “righteous before God,” living in full observance of the Law. This depiction seems to contradict Paul’s insistence that no one can be righteous on their own: righteousness is granted through faith (Rom 3:22–24). By presenting Zechariah in this way, Luke deliberately pushes the ideal of Jewish piety to its extreme: even perfect adherence to the Law cannot substitute for faith.
Despite their exemplary conduct, Zechariah doubts the angel’s message and is rendered mute—a sign, not a punishment, of his unbelief (Lk 1:18–20). The narrative demonstrates that even the most observant cannot receive God’s word without the act of faith. As Joseph Fitzmyer observes, “Luke contrasts human righteousness with divine initiative: the perfect follower of the Law is insufficient without trust in God’s promise” (The Gospel according to Luke I–IX, 1981, p. 342).
By contrast, Paul locates the beginning of faith in Abraham: “Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness” (Rom 4:3). Luke, however, introduces a theological ordering that places Mary at the inception of the salvific response to God’s word. Faith, in Luke’s schema, begins with Mary’s fiat rather than Abraham’s historical act; the narrative is not concerned with chronological precedence but with theological primacy, highlighting what comes first in the economy of salvation (Bovon, Luke the Theologian, 2006, p. 112).
Luke emphasises Zechariah’s inability to respond faithfully, noting: “But they had no child, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were advanced in years” (Lk 1:7). “And there appeared to him an angel of the Lord standing at the right side of the altar of incense. And Zechariah was troubled when he saw him, and fear fell upon him. But the angel said to him, ‘Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer is heard’” (Lk 1:11–13). The angel who addresses Zechariah is the same Gabriel who will later appear to Mary, establishing a parallel that frames Luke’s theological concern: the human response to God’s word. Zechariah’s doubt serves as a cautionary exemplar, whereas Mary’s assent will exemplify the act of faith in its fullness. Through these twin annunciations, Luke illustrates the mechanism of faith: God’s word initiates, and human trust enables reception.
It is crucial to observe that Zechariah’s prayer is not for a child in the immediate sense. Had he been requesting a son in faith, he would have believed in the angel’s message. Yet he did not believe; he was petitioning, like others, for the coming of the Messiah. The angel responds: “Your prayer has been heard, and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son” (Lk 1:13). The child is not the direct object of Zechariah’s prayer, for he could not yet believe the promise.
The angel further instructs: “And you shall call his name John… and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit” (Lk 1:13). Luke’s concern here is theological: he wants his readers to participate in the Pentecostal experience, to receive the Holy Spirit personally. This emphasis distinguishes Luke from what we may call the Johannite perspective, in which belief in Jesus is present but reception of the Spirit is not yet fully integrated (Bovon, Luke the Theologian, 2006, p. 122).
Zechariah’s response highlights his unbelief: “How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years” (Lk 1:18). The angel’s reply is decisive: “And behold, you will be silent and unable to speak until the day that these things come to pass, because you did not believe” (Lk 1:20). Luke’s phrasing is significant: “because you did not believe.” Despite Zechariah’s righteousness and blameless observance of the Law, he could not bring himself to believe. His muteness serves as a tangible sign, marking both for himself and for the community the consequences of disbelief. As Fitzmyer notes, “Luke’s narrative does not condemn Zechariah; rather, it illustrates the indispensable link between divine word and human faith” (The Gospel according to Luke I–IX, 1981, p. 348).
A few verses later, we read: “And after these days his wife Elizabeth conceived, and for five months she hid herself… saying, ‘Thus the Lord has done to me in the days when he looked on me to take away my reproach among men’” (Lk 1:24–25). Elizabeth’s seclusion underscores the narrative’s geography: the Holy Land, Jerusalem, and Galilee are separated by several kilometres, with no means of rapid communication. Mary is unaware of her cousin’s pregnancy, highlighting the careful orchestration of events by God.
In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, the angel Gabriel is sent to Nazareth to address Mary: “Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with you… But she was greatly troubled at what was said, and the angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favour with God’” (Lk 1:26–30). Here again Luke establishes the parallelism between Zechariah and Mary, preparing the reader to observe the contrast: where Zechariah doubted, Mary assents; where he faltered, she trusts. This narrative architecture underlines Luke’s theological emphasis on faith as the prerequisite for the reception of God’s word and, ultimately, the Holy Spirit (Bovon, Luke the Theologian, 2006, p. 123).
The phrase “found favour” (Lk 1:30) marks a profound theological tension. In Pauline theology, justification or the attainment of divine favour is never achieved by human initiative: “no one is righteous by works of the Law” (Rom 3:20). Yet Luke presents Mary as one who “found favour with God”—full of grace—without elaboration on the mechanism or reason. This introduces a mystery at the very outset of Luke’s Gospel, signalling a theological trajectory distinct from Paul’s.
Paul never mentions Mary directly. When he does, he refrains from naming her, as in Galatians 4:4: “God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law”. Here, Mary is present only indirectly, subsumed under the phrase “born of a woman”. For Paul, the emphasis is theological—Christ comes under the Law, and faith contrasts with the Law—rather than Marian. Moreover, it is important to note that Paul’s phrasing—“born of a woman” combined with “born under the law”—is not particularly flattering to Mary. In Paul’s theological framework, being under the law carries a negative connotation, highlighting human limitation and the need for faith over works. By pairing Mary with this concept, she is indirectly associated with a constraint or deficiency, rather than being acknowledged as the singular exemplar of faith. This contrast underscores how Luke deliberately reframes Mary in a positive theological light, presenting her as the one capable of perfect assent to God’s Word.
In contrast, Luke foregrounds Mary from the first page, presenting her as a key participant in salvation history. As François Bovon observes, Luke’s attention to Mary signals a deliberate theological choice: her assent exemplifies the act of faith and opens the economy of salvation (Luke the Theologian, 2006, p. 125).
Luke 1:31–35 narrates the Annunciation: “Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus… And Mary said to the angel, ‘How can this be, since I have no husband?’” Mary’s question differs fundamentally from Zechariah’s. While Zechariah’s inquiry expresses doubt, Mary’s question seeks understanding, aiming to engage the Word of God more fully in order to act faithfully. The angel responds: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God” (Lk 1:35).
Luke’s narrative, however, does not conclude the Annunciation here. Instead, the angel continues by presenting the example that did not achieve its intended faith—the incredulity of Zechariah—as a backdrop. This is evident in Luke 1:36–37: “And behold, your kinswoman Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son… for with God nothing will be impossible” (Lk 1:36–37). Mary’s assent—“Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” (Lk 1:38)—is thus the quintessential act of faith in Luke’s theology. It is not merely intellectual assent but a total commitment of the whole person to God’s message. In accepting the Word, Mary also symbolically completes the act of faith that Zechariah could not accomplish, representing a model for all believers. As Fitzmyer notes, “Mary’s fiat unites understanding and trust, exemplifying the human cooperation essential for divine initiative to bear fruit” (The Gospel according to Luke I–IX, 1981, p. 350). In Luke, then, the act of faith is more than personal assent; it is the willing surrender of one’s entire self to God’s Word, enabling the reception of the Holy Spirit and the continuation of salvation history.
Note: After the Annunciation, Mary “arose and went with haste” (Lk 1:39) to visit her cousin Elizabeth—a sign both of her charity and of being moved by the Holy Spirit. Many exegetes have noted that Luke, while establishing subtle parallels with the Old Testament, presents Mary as the true Ark of the Covenant. In an insert in the Ignatius Study Bible, Scott Hahn emphasises that Luke intentionally echoes 2 Samuel 6, where David brings the Ark to Jerusalem. Mary’s journey mirrors David’s: her haste recalls David’s “arising and going” (2 Sam 6:2), Elizabeth’s awe before Mary recalls David’s reverence (2 Sam 6:9), and the infant John leaping in the womb parallels David dancing before the Ark (2 Sam 6:16). Even Mary’s three-month stay in Zechariah’s house (Lk 1:40, 56) reflects the Ark’s temporary residence in the house of Obed-edom (2 Sam 6:11).
Hahn further notes Luke’s careful use of language: Elizabeth’s exultant cry (Lk 1:42) employs a verb rare in the New Testament, echoing Old Testament expressions describing the joyful sounds of Levitical singers before the Ark (1 Chron 15:28; 16:4–5; 2 Chron 5:13). Through these parallels, Luke presents Mary as the Ark of the New Covenant—a sacred vessel in which God’s presence dwells intimately, surpassing even the Old Covenant Ark and revealing her pivotal role in salvation history.
Luke 1:39–41 narrates the beginning of the Visitation: “In those days Mary arose and went with haste into the hill country to a city of Judah… and entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the child leaped in her womb; and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit” (Lk 1:39–41). This episode can be understood as Luke’s own Pentecost, illustrating the mechanism by which faith is transmitted and the Holy Spirit is received. Whereas Paul’s theology emphasises faith as the essential component for justification (Rom 3:28), Luke situates the reception of the Spirit within a concrete historical and relational context. Mary, by her faith and assent, becomes a conduit through which the Spirit acts upon others. As Bovon notes, “Mary’s visit to Elizabeth is a paradigmatic moment in which faith begets faith, the Holy Spirit confirms and amplifies the divine word” (Luke the Theologian, 2006, p. 129). During the Visitation, the movement of the Spirit is tangible: “And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the child leaped in her womb… and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit” (Lk 1:41). Luke emphasises that the Holy Spirit operates in response to faith and divine initiative together. While Paul provides the “skeleton” of salvation—faith over works—Luke adds the “flesh,” the lived, relational reality in which faith is activated through concrete encounters and signs (Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke I–IX, 1981, p. 357).
Elizabeth’s exclamation further clarifies this dynamic: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?” (Lk 1:42–43). Here, Elizabeth recognises Mary not merely as the mother of the Messiah but as the New Eve, the instrument through which God’s plan unfolds. The recognition itself is enabled by the Holy Spirit, demonstrating Luke’s principle: the Word requires both human assent and divine empowerment to bear fruit.
The narrative continues: “For behold, when the voice of your greeting came to my ears, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfilment of what was spoken to her from the Lord” (Lk 1:44–45). Verse 45 encapsulates Luke’s theology of faith: the act of faith is a complete, conscious commitment to the promise of God. It is not mere intellectual assent but a trust that engages the whole person, confident in the fulfilment of God’s word. Mary’s faith thus becomes exemplary: through her, divine initiative is realised, and others—including the unborn John—are brought into the sphere of salvation. As Fitzmyer observes, “Luke presents Mary’s faith as both receptive and active; she believes so fully that her assent enables the Spirit to move in others, inaugurating the economy of salvation” (The Gospel according to Luke I–IX, 1981, p. 358).
In observing the elements of the act of faith, Luke presents a profound principle: Mary is blessed not merely because she is the mother of Jesus, but because she is able to believe in a way that others, even the most righteous, could not. Her faith is singular, enabling her to assent fully to God’s Word, a grace inaccessible to all others (Lk 1:45). This capacity for belief is central to Luke’s theological vision.
Where Paul presents Abraham as the exemplar of faith—“Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness” (Rom 4:3)—Luke radicalises the notion: in his view, no one prior to Mary could respond with such totality of faith. Mary, in Luke, embodies a mystery: she is the New Ark of the Covenant, the New Eve, the one through whom God’s salvific plan is concretely realised (Bovon, Luke the Theologian, 2006, p. 131).
This marks a deliberate departure from Pauline emphasis. While Luke relies on Paul’s theological framework, he also asserts his own perspective: Paul provides the foundational understanding of faith and justification, yet Luke insists that the economy of salvation requires Mary’s singular assent. As Fitzmyer notes, “Luke positions Mary’s faith as the decisive human response that activates the Spirit’s work; Paul’s schema of faith provides the bones, but Luke adds the flesh” (The Gospel according to Luke I–IX, 1981, p. 359).
In this sense, Luke both honours and transcends Paul. He acknowledges the necessity of Pauline teaching while insisting that the full revelation of faith and the reception of the Holy Spirit finds its apex in Mary’s unique act of belief.
The Magnificat: Mary’s Faith Becomes Ours
Luke 1:46–47 marks the beginning of Mary’s canticle: “And Mary said, ‘My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour’” (Lk 1:46–47). Here, Luke presents a remarkable theological principle: Mary’s faith becomes the faith of the people of God. As St. John Paul II observes, “Mary’s faith becomes the faith of the people of God” (cf. Redemptoris Mater, 44). Faith is no longer an abstract or historical phenomenon; it is incarnate in Mary, from whom it is transmitted to all believers. Luke adds precision to Pauline theology: faith is not merely “in the air” or limited to Abraham, but embodied in Mary, enabling the reception of God’s promises by all subsequent generations.
Luke 1:48 emphasises this foundational point: “For he has regarded the low estate of his handmaid. For behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed” (Lk 1:48). The reason Mary is blessed is not simply that she bears Jesus, but because she believed in a manner unattainable to others. Through her, all generations can share in the act of faith. As St. Augustine reflects, humanity is spiritually enclosed in Mary’s heart; divine life flows to us through her as the New Eve, the Mother of believers (cf. De Genesi ad litteram, Book XII). Mary is not divine, yet she embodies faith perfectly, making her a channel for grace and enabling believers to participate in salvation. (see CCC 148: “The Virgin Mary most perfectly embodies the obedience of faith.”)
Luke’s presentation is revolutionary: in his Gospel, Pentecost and the reception of the Holy Spirit are not merely historical events but are now relational and theological realities, inaugurated through Mary’s assent. She is the believer, the mother of believers, the New Jerusalem, and the New Eve. Her fiat inaugurates the economy of faith, enabling all to receive the Spirit and to respond to God’s Word.
Conclusion
In conclusion, Luke’s Gospel invites us to recognise the theological ordering of salvation history. It is not concerned with chronological precedence but with the primacy of faith realised through Mary: “Mary comes first.” This ordering emphasises development, distillation, and theological clarity and precision. Luke’s Gospel is both historical and theological, guiding believers to understand how God’s plan unfolds through human cooperation.
We are reminded to turn to Mary not for comfort alone, but as the model and transmitter of faith. When we struggle to believe, we can entrust ourselves to her: “Mary, you believed; believe for me. Help me to transmit your faith. Lord, give us Mary’s faith.”
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.
Paul and Luke (video 1/2; video 2/2)