Paul’s letter to the Romans has been seen as, among other things, a systematic theological treatise on salvation by faith alone, a missionary support letter, an apology defending the righteousness/justice of God in his dealings with humanity, an apology to the Jews defending Paul’s gospel of Gentile inclusion, an apology to the Gentiles defending Israel’s continuing role in the story of salvation, and a pastoral letter seeking to reconcile divisions along Jew/Gentile lines within the Roman congregations (Dunn 1993: 839-41). The fact that so many different approaches have been characterized as representing the “central issue” driving the epistle demonstrates, or should demonstrate, that there is not in fact one central concern streamlining throughout Romans (840), but a plurality of concerns that converge upon one another. There may be a unifying theme in their convergence, however, which until recently has gone almost entirely unnoticed by interpreters. The predominant readings, captivated as they have been by constantinian sensibilities, have failed to see the myriad ways Paul utilizes key words from the vocabulary of the Roman imperial propagandists in order to tell the story of Jesus of Nazareth.
Noting the problem of imperial persecution that lurks in the background of Romans—evident in the historical records as well as in the text itself (e.g. Rom. 8:35-38; 12:14-21), Sylvia Keesmaat has shown how from the very outset of the letter, Paul’s language represents a “direct challenge to the empire” (2007: 142). Indeed, the central terms Paul uses in his programmatic declaration in 1:16-17 “are all terms weighted with symbolic and mythic import in the empire” (143). Paul speaks of gospel (euangelion), salvation (sôterion), faithfulness (pistis) and righteousness/justice (dikaiosynê). “In the face of the imperial assertion that Caesar was the one who brought ‘good news,’ the gospel of imperial victory over enemies, Paul describes his own message in terms of a different gospel.”
From the beginning, Paul sets about redefining the very vocabulary the empire has put to work in self-legitimation. Although the Caesars are described in the Roman gospel as the “sons of gods,” a royal appellation in the ancient world, Paul proclaims a “gospel of God” (euangelion theou) centered around a different “son of God,” the one having been raised from the dead after his execution in the name of Pax Romana, and thus named the “son of God in power” (dynamei). Furthermore, “to the Romans, at the heart of an empire that lauded fides (the Latin equivalent of the Greek pistis, faith or faithfulness) as an appropriate response to the salvation of Caesar, Paul asserts in 1:16 that this gospel is the power of salvation to everyone who has faith.” Thus it is clear that Paul is “deliberately weaving together the central terms of the empire and replacing them with the story of salvation by a different gospel, another faithfulness, and a different justice” (143).[1]
Paul has set up his gospel in contrast to the euangelion of Rome, and these currents run throughout the letter, displaying the superiority of salvation by faith/loyalty to Jesus the Messiah to the salvation of the “New Age” promised by Augustus, and now again by Nero (144). In chs. 1-2 Paul presents the scope of the problem, showing that even those who profess to have wrought salvation for the whole world are subjected to a world still thoroughly in need of salvation. This is because the world has rejected God’s justice, and instead has embraced false gods that appeal to the human appetite for power and privilege. In chs. 3-8 Paul displays the scope of God’s salvation, wrought through the suffering of his “son” (royalty language) at the hands of the powers that be. Moreover, in the midst of a pervasively anti-Semitic empire, Paul proclaims a salvation that is “for the Jew first, but also for the Greek,” a salvation which in chs. 9-11 Paul argues, contrary to the salvation proclaimed by the Roman propagandists, is truly universal in scope. In Christ God has brought together into one harmonious body politic both Jew and Gentile, a feat no Roman Peacemaker (Caesar) had ever accomplished.
It is at this point, “at the end of a very detailed argument in which Paul outlines his hopes for salvation for both Jew and Gentile, [that] we find these chapters that flesh out the shape of a new community in Christ” (Keesmaat 2007: 143). Indeed, we are not even able “to grasp the fullness of his soteriological argument until chapters 12 and 13” (Stubbs 2004: 189). Now Paul is ready to bring this “salvation of God” to bear on the real world and describe what this new Jew-Gentile body politic looks like in practice. Paul achieves this by contrasting the Christian body politic (12:1-21 and 13:8-14) with the Roman body politic (13:1-7), bringing the discontinuity between the two into austere relief. Finally, chs. 14-15 continue to flesh out the attitudes and practices necessary for the new body politic to sustain itself in an evil and hostile age.
Now that we have situated our pericope within the broader scope of the letter as a whole, we will take a moment to examine 13:1-7 more closely within its immediate context, from the beginning of chapter 12 to the end of chapter 13.
In 12:1, Paul appeals to the Roman congregations, not to offer sacrifices at the temple in Jerusalem, not to offer sacrifices to the Roman gods or to the imperial cult, but to offer their own bodies as living sacrifices, which is a true spirituality, in contrast to the spiritualities of the world that produce only systemic injustice and sexual exploitation. This true spirituality, of course, turns out to be embodied in a communal life marked by justice, nonviolence, and love, as we will see.
In 12:2, Paul admonishes the Christian body not to be conformed any longer to the pattern of this world. “This world,” as Stubbs has adeptly displayed, is a system of injustices perpetrated in the name of peace through an ideological construct in which the Roman order is simply the way things are. But the salvation Paul proclaimed in chs. 3-8—far from being an otherworldly hope—goes to work exactly here, by making possible a renewal of the mind capable of transforming the new body politic from enslavement to the categories and social stratifications of the Roman order, to the embodiment of God’s will in the habituation of new and just social formations.
In 12:3-8, these social formations are explicitly marked off from those of “the world.” The new and just social formations of the body (politic) of Christ are embodied in humility (in contrast to honor), mutual subordination or equality (in contrast to hierarchical relationships), and unity in diversity (in contrast to unity through conformity).
In 12:9-13, the body of Christ is further contrasted from the body of Caesar, in that the Christians are to be motivated to good works not by compulsion or by the pursuit of personal honor, but through genuine love for the other. Rather than outdoing one another in gaining honor, as in the Roman order, Christians are to compete to see who can give the most honor. More significantly, the ones to whom most honor is due are not those capable of reciprocity, but the poor, the lowly—those who demonstrate a need for hospitality.
Considering that the Jews who were expelled in 49 C.E. by the Edict of Claudius had only recently returned to Rome, it is likely that Paul had them in mind as those in need of hospitality. This is further supported by the fact that Paul here refers to those in need as “the saints” (tôn hagiôn), a word he later uses twice (15:25, 31) specifically to refer to Jewish Christians. For those in the church who were Roman citizens, or for those who wished to advance themselves, there was nothing to be gained (in Roman terms) from honoring Semites with hospitality and affection. But those who are “aglow with the Spirit, [they] serve the Lord” (12:11), which is to say, the Jewish Lord, not the Roman one.
Yet in 12:14, Paul reminds the new body politic that honoring the despised ones, in many cases the Jews, does not entail taking sides with them against their persecutors. On the contrary, the new body politic is marked not by any of the parochial in-group loyalties that comprise the Roman order; rather, the new body politic is marked by love even of enemy.
Of course, as vv. 15-16 display, this love of enemy is not to replace care for and solidarity with the enemy’s victims. The two are to remain in balance, or else the new body politic descends into conformity to the old. The Gentiles are to “associate with the lowly,” to “live in harmony” with the Jews, to mourn with them, and to rejoice with them. They are not to be separate peoples, but one body. It is in this unity that the strength is found, together, to love their now common enemy. In a very significant way, Paul is encouraging the Gentile Christians to make enemies. By identifying themselves with the oppressed, the Gentile Christians are effectively relinquishing their status as good Roman citizens, and are compelled (by love) to undergo a process of conversion through which their most basic loyalties are reinterpreted and renounced. They learn to look upon their very homeland as upon foreign soil.
In 12:17-18, Paul acknowledges that they will continue to be the victims of violent aggression, and that peace between them and their enemies is not ultimately up to them. The Romans will continue to perpetuate violence and hostility—that is, they will continue to tax, stabilize, and make peace (cf. John 10:10). But in contrast, the new body politic does not perpetuate cycles of violence. On the contrary, as 12:19-21 displays, the new body politic is liberated and empowered to disrupt the cycle of violence by extending to their oppressors the same love and care they have (with difficulty) learned to show to one another, even, especially, the lowliest among them.
In 13:1 Paul takes up the public transcript as he moves to make the contrast between the two body politics explicit. According to “this world,” to which the Roman Christians had formerly subjected themselves, and by which they continue to be subjected, Rome’s dominion over its people has been given to it by God (i.e. fortune not violence). If Rome were not divinely instituted, then why is Rome in power? Thus, Roman hegemony is divinely instituted. It is the most natural thing in the world. To challenge this order is to challenge nature itself. Those who challenge the order incur “God’s wrath,” usually administered via crucifixion, as it was with Jesus of Nazareth and tens of thousands of others who wrongly preached any gospel other than Caesar’s. Clearly, these governors are in the right—they would never crucify a good man. Only those who oppose God by opposing Rome deserve to be punished. For who in their right mind would oppose God? But you have nothing to fear from Rome if you do good things—like heal the sick, cast out demons, restore the outcast, give everything you have to the poor, speak out against religious exploitation, castigate extortionists and offer alternative economic systems of mutuality and solidarity. Do good things like that and Rome will commend you publicly. Rome will treat you like royalty. After all, God put Rome here not to be served, but to serve—to serve the interests of the people. But if you break Rome’s law, look out! If you undermine Rome’s authority, beware! Nero may love clemency, but he’ll sign your death warrant, for the stability of the region, if you force his hand. He may detest drawing his sword, but it’s certainly not there for decoration. He’ll use it in a heartbeat if peace is at stake. He’ll regret having to have done it, but he is a servant of God. He has no choice but to bring down God’s wrath, on God’s behalf, upon any and all enemies of the state. Therefore, you might want to consider just giving him a little bow as he passes by, not just to avoid his wrath—which he hates to exercise, by the way—but because it’s a matter of conscience. What possible reason could you have not to want to wholly devote yourself to such an honorable servant-leader? It’s a matter of conscience. That’s also why you pay your taxes. It’s helpful to think about your friendly neighborhood tax collectors like priests. Just think how devoted they are to what they do. They’ve devoted their lives to ensuring that each and every individual soul has the opportunity to give thanks to Nero. After all, we owe him big for saving us from our own barbarisms. That’s why we give everybody what we owe them. Tribute to the tribute collectors. Custom taxes to the guys with swords in the living room. Fear to the good guys. Honor to those who deserve honor.
The significant thing is that, even though the rationale Paul provides for voluntary subordination is obviously bogus, Paul still means to give the instructions that come through in the performance of the public transcript. Like Philo, Paul is promoting “caution” over “absolute frankness of speech.” Paul knows that despite the propaganda about Nero’s temperance, Rome’s wrath will be unleashed swiftly and devastatingly upon any rebellion. Thus, although Paul is using irony to expose the fraudulence of the official transcript, subordination is still the prudent policy.
But in 13:8-10, Paul offers the real explanation for the new body politic’s subservience to the old, securing vv. 1-7 within an inclusio on love for enemy/love for the other (ton heteron). In the new body politic, enemies are not reviled but humanized. The new body politic, through the mutual love its members have learned to share with one another, is empowered in turn to love the wholly other, to give to all human beings more than is their due. The payment of taxes, the offering of honor, these are no longer offered on the terms imposed by the domination system. They are offered willingly, and freely, not because those “above them,” by virtue of their very status, are naturally owed such things, but because the new body politic must learn to respect the God-given dignity of all people. To deny it in the enemy is to deny it in oneself. Thus, the “enemy” of 12:14-21 has become the “neighbor” in 13:8-10. Rather than perpetuate enmity by opposing Rome, or by continuing to conform to subjection on terms of the official transcript, the new body politic is called to engage the enemy with “transforming initiatives,” such as, for instance, offering food and drink in lieu of curses and bloodshed (cf. 2 Kings 6:8-23, esp. vv. 22-23). Such a strategy takes the initiative away from the oppressor and puts the initiative in the hands of the oppressed. The powerless are empowered to resist, not the enemy, but enmity itself.
In 13:11-14 Paul concludes the section begun in 12:1 by alluding to the day of the Lord’s coming, the day of salvation in which the people of God are finally delivered from the domination of ruthless, godless powerholders. This is the day in which “God’s vengeance” (12:19) comes to bear on their oppressors. Many have suggested that 12:19 is fulfilled in 13:4, as if Paul is saying that the Roman order, not the individual, is the proper executor of God’s vengeance. But the reality is that the Roman order is only a parody of that role. By ascribing to themselves the role of divine avenger, the Roman kings have only sealed their doom. For ultimately, if they persist in it, they will become the victims of their own violence.
Yet although this deliverance is held up in the Christian community as a future hope, the undoing of their oppressors is not their concern. They are not to brood in the night wishing violence upon their enemies. They are not to be marked by any of the behavior typical of Roman emperors and elites (drunkenness, orgies, jealousies). These are the deeds of a bygone age. But the day is dawning, and God’s new world order is already breaking in, whenever and wherever the people of God wear their “armor of light,” militating a subversive program of uninhibited love, radical mutuality, and tangible peace.
