early christian practices the didache on fasting

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7- THE DIDACHE AS A SOURCE FOR PICTURING THE EARLIEST

CHRISTIAN COMMUNITIES: THE CASE OF THE PRACTICE OF FASTING

Thomas O'Loughlin

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Taking Note of the Didache

The year 2000 was the one hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary of the announcement of the discovery in Constantinople of the Didache' by Philotheos Bryennios2 in a manuscript now housed in the Greek patriar-chate of Jerusalem.' During that time we have become used to the idea of spectacular discoveries that can change our perceptions of the early church and radically alter how we read the traditionally available material such as the fourth-century collection of early texts commonly known as 'the New Testament'. However, while the Didache lacks the exciting allure of the Qumran and Nag Hammadi documents, it probably has provided as much information on the earliest decades of Christianity as these larger and more famous discoveries. It is a text, now in 16 chapters (really little more than paragraphs), which can be read in less than an hour.' In terms of theology and Christian practice it contains almost nothing that would much surprise the average Christian today—though it would annoy many of them, and has done so since its publication in 1883.5

1. The edition used in preparing this article is that found in Holmes (1992: 246-69); this edition has been compared in the case of each citation with that in K. Niederwimmer's text (1998). The latter book is currently the most comprehensive introduction to the Didache and scholarship devoted to it.

2. The discovery was made in 1873 and announced in 1875, with the editio princeps appearing in 1883. For an account of the discovery the key work is Schaff (1886: 1-10); there is summary in Niederwimmer (1998: 19).

3. Codex 54; there is a facsimile of folios 76-80 (which contain the Didache) in Harris (1887); and a summary of its contents in Niederwimmer (1998: 19); and cf. also Audet (1950).

4. Schaff (1886: 23) pointed out that it is about the same length as Paul's letter to the Galatians.

5. The more irrational late datings (fourth and fifth centuries) suggested by some

v: 3-

84 Christian Origins

Since its publication it has not been without scholarly attention.' Within a few years of its appearance there were major studies in German by Adolf von Harnach (1884), in French by Paul Sabatier (1885), and in English by F.W. Farrar (1884) in Britain and Philip Schaff (1885) in America.' By the 1930s there had been so many studies of this little text that one commenta-tor, F.E. Vokes—in a very strange book, for he thoroughly disliked the text to which he devoted many years of study described it as 'the "spoilt child" of criticism' (Vokes 1938: 6-7).8

Two major schools of interpretation soon took shape.9 The first was in France where the text was held to be first century and from the general area of Syria; the second was in German lands' where it was dated to some time in the second century and from Egypt. Anglophone scholarship took a variety of positions but on the whole tended towards the German school, although it produced a series of eccentric studies beginning with Charles Bigg who in 1898 described it as 'a romance of the fourth century' and had its fullest exposition in Vokes who believed that it was the work of a 'very mild Montanist' at 'the end of the second century or at the beginning of the third' (Vokes 1938: 208-220)." It is important to note the

writers are evidence of this annoyance. Their dismissal of the Didache from discus-sions of Christian origins—for it is so dismissed if it is a 'post-apostolic' document—are usually justified by the fact that only with a long passage of time (and so, they argue, inevitable ecclesiastical corruption) could `un-evangelical' features such as fixed rules regarding prayer have arisen among the Christians; cf. Ehrhard (1900: I, 62).

6. While Niederwimmer (1998) provides a thorough account of the scholarship on virtually every matter of significance, the best historiographical review is Jefford (1989: 3-17).

7. For the details of these works, see Jefford (1989: 3-13). 8. Vokes (1938: 6-7) (when he quoted Bigg 1898 who has been seen as the first of

the British school who have argued that the Didache is an elaborate literary fiction, cf. Niederwimmer [1998: 43-44 n. 16] where he is particularly critical of Vokes). Vokes returned to the topic many years later (1964) without any evidence of any alteration of his views. Vokes, like Bigg, dismissed the earlier datings on the basis that the Didache's praxis too resembled the later 'corrupted' church that was often labelled 'early Catholi-cism' (Friihkatholizismus).

9. This division into schools is based on Jefford (1989: 3-17). 10. This school embraced Polish scholars who lived in regions which were then

part of Germany, e.g. Krawutzcky (1884). 11. For an account of these writers, see Jefford (1989: 15); but see Niederwimmer

(1998: 43-44 and also 52 n. 16, 68) for a more critical assessment. This approach culminated in Middleton (1935) who saw 'the Didachist' as from a 'Jewish community and on his conversion composed his curious little work' which has not made 'any

O'LOUGHLIN The Didache and Early Christian Communities 85

existence of these schools of thought as it has caused many English-speaking scholars who use the Didache for parallels to their main concerns to use fudges such as 'pre-third century, perhaps mid-second century or earlier, from either Egypt or Syria', which really say nothing and only serve to distract students from giving the document the care it merits.' Essentially the difference between the dates (mid to late first century versus early to mid second century) depended on whether one approached the text from the appearance of the church it described (the French approach) or as a witness providing evidence to the formation of the Gospels. Using the German approach, since the Didache seemed to use Matthew (and others found Luke, Acts, Paul, Ignatius of Antioch and even Justin)" it must be later than those documents. Equally, the text as we have it shows signs of redaction,' a process which takes time, and argues for a later date. But equally it has practices such as the cup before the loaf at the Eucharist, a ritual that had already changed by the time Matthew was written, and which argue for an earlier date.' However, as our understanding of Gospel for-

useful contribution to our knowledge of the Early Church' and not 'worthy of anything like the serious attention that was at one time given to it' (1935: 267). Happily this eclipse of the Didache in English-speaking scholarship seems to be coming to an end, but even today it receives more attention from German and French scholars.

12. A good example of this is to be found in Jasper and Cuming (1980: 14) who introduced the text thus: 'It has been allotted dates varying from AD 60 to the third century' without further comment. This statement then informs writings by other liturgists who often conclude that there is little agreement about the Didache—even fewer recognize that the late datings are eccentric—and opt for the latest date as 'the safe option'.

13. The central thrust of scholarship on the Didache has been to establish its literary relations with other texts, either with the New Testament texts for those who argue for an early date (cf. Jefford 1989 passim; and Niederwimmer 1998: 46-52) or to the 'apostolic fathers' for those who have argued for a later date.

14. This is agreed by all, but the significance attached to the activity (i.e. redaction of components into a single manual or simply the binding together of materials for convenience—if these activities can be distinguished), especially in so far as redaction reflects use of other texts (see the preceding note), has a bearing on the whole study: see Niederwimmer (1998: 1-2).

15. Cf. Did. 9.2-3 with Mt. 26.26-28; in support of the Didache order cf. 1 Cor. 10.16 and Lk. 22.17-19; in support of what established itself as the liturgically standard order, cf. 1 Cor. 11.23-26 and Lk. 22.19-20. This question has attracted much attention during the last century, and for an approach that fully embraces these different traditions of practice—in contrast to earlier approaches which saw them as textual contradictions—see Nodet and Taylor (1998: 88-123). For a study of the various texts, see Voobus (1968).


mation has changed, so too has the way that we look at this text, and today there is a broad consensus that the original form of this document goes back to the middle of the first century, and that it draws on the same strands of tradition—written or oral that both Matthew and Luke drew upon,' 6 and that it received the form in which we have it by the end of the first century (if not earlier) as a manual' for presbuteroi.' This position—essentially that of all recent editors of the text: J.P. Audet, Stanilaus Giet, Willy Rordorf and André Tuilier and Kurt Niederwimmer19—has major impli-cations for how the text is used in studies of early Christian communities and must alter the way that it is used by students of the canonical collec-tion of documents in particular. It means in many cases that texts—although hallowed by centuries of familiarity and doctrinal commitment—must be seen as secondary to the Didache as witnesses to the earliest communities (the study of Acts is the example sans pared), while the Didache must • move from being a peripheral, subsequent text to being centre-stage in our study of many of the basic activities of the church such as regular gath-erings for the Eucharist. This is, of course, already happening in studies where it is the actual community and its beliefs—which we know through its literary products such as the Gospels—that are the focus of attention, but there are still many studies that focus on the canonical text as the source or vehicle of religious information, and in which the Didache is viewed as but a useful, if complicated, source of parallels and 'background'. This article is an attempt to demonstrate how one can glimpse an aspect of the life of an early community through the Didache with our other sources

16. In many places the Didache seems verbally closer to Matthew, in other places it seems verbally closer to Luke; and there have been many studies that sought to show that it is linked either with Matthew or Luke. However, that such studies are inconclu-sive is what we should expect: all three documents represent the common church tradi-tion which is fixed textually in slightly different ways by each text. The crucial point is that all three reflect the tradition prior to the time when it was part of the tradition to assert the tradition's content by reference to a fixed, written text. This question is addressed in every study of the Didache, the most extensive recent study being by Jefford (1989); however, for an elegant presentation of the evidence, noting that the Didache is independent of any of our existing Gospels, see Glover (1958-59).

17. The designation 'manual' was first given to the Didache by Philip Schaff (1886: 16). Schaff thought of a manual in a quasi-official sense: a 'brief Directory of Apostolic teaching, worship and discipline'; while I also use the word manual I do not wish to imply some semi-official status; rather, that some materials came together because it was most convenient to have them in one place in a single small codex.

18. See Milavec (1994). 19. See Niederwimmer (1998: 233-34) for the details of these editions.

OlouGHLrN The Didache and Early Christian Communities 87

being used as supporting witnesses.' However, it is necessary at the outset to declare my hand and acknowledge some of my basic assumptions. First, my object is an understanding of an aspect of the life of a community through looking at one of its literary products. Second, an understanding of the text per se is not my objective, but merely a preliminary requisite so that the text can yield the maximum amount of information about a church. Third, the pursuit of this objective presupposes that texts, especially texts giving directions for group activities, exist within communities, and that the community has both a prior and more fundamental existence than its literary products.' In short, the reality of Christianity in the first century is to be located in a community defined by its religious identity, not in texts.'

Low-Level Documents

However, using the Didache as a source for observing a first-century community begs a question. If that document is valuable for understanding their lives, why did it not continue in use within the church, since we know that it was translated in Coptic and Georgian and a work like it—if not the actual text—was still remembered in the late fourth century and mentioned by Jerome?' A simple answer would be to point out that what has sur-vived has been very much a matter of chance and that there is much that we know existed which did not make it through the sieve of time. From the first two centuries we have, in fact, only a fraction of what was pro-duced and the real question is whether there are any special features of the texts that did survive that made them popular, and, consequently, with a higher chance of survival through much copying and wide diffusion. But while such considerations are relevant to a work the Gospel of Thomas is a case in point—deliberately produced with the demands of the kerygma

20. I am concentrating on early Christian sources at the expense of inter-testa-mentary Jewish sources and Greek sources from the wider first-century society: an article has little canvas!

21. This raises questions of both epistemology and literary theory; in the context of the Didache my approach is that since it relates to the common activities of the group (broadly defined as its `rituals'—and not just its 'rituals' in the narrow sense of reli-gious ceremonies), then the ritual-as-communication school's approach is the most appropriate, cf. Rothenbuhler (1998).

22. This has, obviously, important implications for anyone who looks to either the early days of Christianity or to canonical texts as part of a theological quest, but these implications are not my concern here; cf. 0?Loughlin (2001).

23. Cf. Niederwimmer (1998: 4-13).


in view,' there is a simpler reason for the disappearance of the Didache and texts like it.

I begin with an analogy. I reach to a shelf in my study and pull out three books at random. I have picked up F.J. Matera, What Are They Saying about Mark? (1987), Sean Kealy's Mark's Gospel: A History of its Inter-pretation (1982) and Wilfrid Harrington's Mark (1984). For me there is some ongoing relevance to these books—if nothing else, I know two of the authors—and so they stand there safely on my shelf ready to be used again, and if anyone interested in early Christianity saw them thrown on a skip they might rescue them and declare that they were 'still worth holding on to'. Yet in the same period in which I bought those books, I also got umpteen practical guides to this, pastoral guides to that, 'regulations concerning...' and bundles of magazines containing information which I then considered important for I remember copying items at the time for others. I look around my study and I cannot find a single such item. And even if I were a magpie and kept everything, at some stage that material would have to be skipped, and if at that point you came across it you would probably leave it there as 'it's too dated to be of use'. My point is this: manuals, catechisms, guidelines, homily notes, and other pastoral ephemera are vital at the time but have a short shelf-life, after which they disappear through obsolescence. Indeed, it is their very relevance to a par-ticular moment and situation that makes them ephemeral. When we move from our world to that of manuscripts where every copy is a result of a distinct decision that someone wants a new copy for future reference,' the chances that an earlier manual will continue to be copied decline to almost zero. If, indeed, many of the literary works from antiquity have been lost (e.g. the Hortensius by Cicero which was still available in the fourth cen-tury), the survival of a practice-related work is simply a happy accident. Manuals, of their nature, are updated continuously leaving their earlier forms to disappear, usually, without trace. This is what I contend hap-pened with the Didache,26 and the fact that any copy survived must be seen as a stroke of luck. Moreover, in fact, the text we have is one of the

24. See the context suggested for the Gospel of Thomas by Valantasis (1997). 25. Just as today the publisher produces copies in anticipation of demand, the deci-

sion to make a new copy is based on the judgment that someone else needs the work for their use and for whom the existing copy is no longer sufficient.

26. Schaff (1886: 16) recognized this as the mechanism that eventually led to the eclipse of the Didache: 'It was afterwards expanded in various modifications, and ultimately displaced by fuller manuals...'


`updates' of the basic text: someone, probably in the early second century, had the manual and decided that he would add at its end—perhaps where there was a blank page in his copy27—a useful homily (Did. 16), and that update stands behind our surviving manuscript.28

However, we now encounter the paradox of manuals. If, perchance, they do survive, then there comes a time when the very fact that they are so primitive, and linked to people now seen as the progenitors of a tradition, means that they attain the status of monuments. Then they become worthy of being reproduced and studied as relics. Here, perhaps, lies the reason why someone in 1056 CE coming across an obvious antiquity entitled 'the teaching of the twelve apostles' deemed it worthy to be copied once more.

But if the Didache is a monument for those seeking apostolic relics because of its title's claim to have links with the apostles and the earliest times, then it has another claim on our attention as historians as a piece of pastoral ephemera. This value to investigators of the earliest Christian communities lies in the fact that `low-level' documents with their stress on what should be done in concrete situations, and their interest in day-to-day problems, allow us to see how individuals believed and behaved. While all documents reveal a community in some way, such ephemera reveal their home far more directly. To return to my analogy: if one wanted to under-stand the concerns that animated the Christian communities in Ireland in the 1980s, to what sources should one turn? One would certainly find much of value in books and formal statements written at the time, but one would have a much fuller picture of how the Christians viewed the situa-tion by looking at newspapers (even at the adverts in them), looking at regulations that were issued, and at lists of meetings that took place in parish halls. The value of the Didache to historians is that it belongs to this second category of document. It is a witness to a living community and its cares which were changing from day to day.' As Niederwimmer has remarked: 'The whole composition is unpretentious as literature, nour-ished by praxis and intended for immediate application' (1998: 3). Unlike Acts, which has a theological vision of what the Church should be in con-

27. The possibility of such a page is based on its transmission in a codex made up in quires, and I take the use of a codex for granted; cf. Roberts (1979); Roberts and Skeat (1983); Skeat (1994; 1997).

28. This proposal would accord with Niederwimmer's dating of the Didache (1998: 52-53), but also shows my sympathy (against Niederwimmer 1998: 42-43) with those (Audet, Giet, Rordorf and Tuilier) who hold that the text as we have it is the result of several redactions.

29. See Kraft (1965: 64-65).


trast to its actual defects, the Didache is not a theological work; but in so far as it proposes rules to a community to be followed, it can reveal to us the operative theology of its compilers and the communities which used it.

A Manual

Most attention to the Didache during the twentieth century focused on what it could tell us about other things—especially the Gospels as texts. Today, its value is increasingly seen to lie in what it tells us of the con-cerns and everyday priorities of an early community. Therefore, the pic-ture of the early Church we discern in the Didache is at the opposite end of the spectrum to that given in Acts with its imaginary 'golden age'. Thus far I have referred to the Didache as a 'manual' (Schaff s term) and as a piece of ephemera (my term), but, as Aaron Milavec has pointed out, we must use such terms with caution lest by them we imply that the Didache was an 'off the cuff' document or the casual product of some presbuteros (1994: 118). Milavec has shown there is a careful rhetorical structure in parts of the text which was probably given to it in order that its guidance could be memorized. The obvious implication of his research is that what we have is not an individual's notes, but the record of a community's decisions on matters of discipline and organization. The term 'manual' was used disparagingly by Schaff. In the Didache's regulations on various matters he found something out of accord with his notion of primitive `evangelical liberty'—a state which he imagined had to precede any more formal organization within Christianity. As such, a 'manual' was an indi-cator that Christianity was already in downward spiral from the Lukan `golden age' as read through the eyes of late nineteenth-century rationalist Protestantism.' I use the word 'manual' in the wholly positive sense of manuale or enchiridion: a distillation designed to be user-friendly in that it allows key, frequently accessed information to be conveniently retained by its users. As such, the Didache is one of the first of many similar works which we know existed, but which have in most cases vanished with only accidental traces. Moreover, we know from later examples that such short collections of diverse pastoral materials often contained items known as meinoriae technicae, exactly as Milavec has argued that the Didache contains. By calling it a piece of ephemera I mean that it was assembled

30. See Schaff (1886: 29) where he sees 'the beginning of liturgical bondage' and of practices which 'interfere with evangelical freedom' in the Didache. For an analysis of how that agenda informed many studies of early Christianity, see Smith (1990).


with a specific situation in mind rather than planned as some ideal guide to Christian praxis. Thus we have moral instruction, combined with ritual regulations, some rules dealing with problems facing that community, and lastly (what is usually referred to as the eschatological section) what is probably the earliest surviving sermon notes.

The Didache is a pastoral manual produced in the first century in a place where there was not yet any of our canonical texts; and consequently should be used by us an independent witness to Christian praxis in that commu-nity.' We should compare alongside it other contemporary texts such as the genuine Pauline letters; and we should use it as a backdrop when reading later Christian documents from the first and second centuries, be they canonical or not, when we attempt to imagine the Christian commu-nity in which those writings were valued. What follows is a sketch of one aspect of early Christian living which we glimpse through it.

Fasting: A Regular Custom

The Didache assumes, as was the case within contemporary Jewish prac-tice,' that there was regular weekly fasting by the community:

Do not let your33 fasts [take place] with [i.e. at the same time as] those of the hypocrites. They fast on the second [Monday] and fifth days [Thursday] of the Sabbath; you,34 though, are to fast on the fourth [Wednesday] and on the day of preparation [for the Sabbath: i.e. Friday] (Did. 8.1).

This matter-of-fact presentation of regulations is all that the text says about this regular weekly fast. Now let us see what is implied in it. First, it is clear that this is already a well-established practice—it is something that the community takes for granted, and it is a custom which they

31. See Milavec (1994: 118), who argues that this approach is a necessary assump-tion for a fruitful study of the Didache.

32. The practice is widely attested, and it was given a range of interpretations. How it was perceived in the Judaism in which Jesus lived can be seen from the way it is imagined in the book of Judith: at a time of great crisis, its author imagines that 'all the people fasted' to implore divine assistance (4.9 and 13); while the heroine, Judith, as part of being the perfect Jewish woman fasts every day except 'the day before the Sabbath' (Friday) and 'the Sabbath' (Saturday), the day of the new moon and its eve, and the great feasts of the Lord (8.6). For the notion of regular liturgical fasting, see Zech. 8.19 (and for the impact of that verse of Christian tradition, cf. Talley [1980-82: 43-45]). For an excursus on the practice in Judaism, see Niederwimmer (1998: 132-33).

33. Note this is the plural: Upc;ay. 34. Note this is the plural: IMOTElkiaTE.


value.' This is not a preacher introducing something new, and there is no sense that they need encouragement to continue the practice nor per-suasion as to its credentials within the churches. Second, as with practical books in general, the concern is with 'doing the right thing' rather than with a justification of why one must fast or with some symbolic explana-tion. That fasting is something that is worth doing and an intrinsic part of religious discipline is assumed. The Didache follows this instruction with directions on prayer, and so the community clearly held the notion that fasting adds earnestness to prayer, and we know that this was a wide-spread notion in Jewish thinking on prayer at the time.' Thirdly, their particular discipline regarding when they fasted was a feature that con-tributed to giving the group a distinctive identity. The regulation's stress is not that they should fast, but that they fast on particular days so that their group is distinctive through behaving differently from the others (`the hypocrites'). Moreover, this is not just some invisible difference—a different intention, or a distinct attitude of mind and heart—but a concrete separation in the way they collectively organize their week. They are visibly bound together in being, as a group, out of phase with the others.

As a group regulation, framed in the imperative, this verse would seem to be unproblematic and, indeed, to be simply the earliest attestation of something—namely a twice-weekly fast by Christians on Wednesdays and Fridays—that would become standard for centuries. Indeed, as a scholar born in Ireland whenever I read this verse I recall that this practice has generated the names for three weekdays in the Irish language.' However, this verse of the Didache has been a source of debate for much of its history. Starting with the assumption that the Gospels show Jesus as casual about fasting (Mt. 9.15) and Paul's rejection of ritual food regulations (Rom. 14.1-22; 1 Cor. 10.23-31),38 coupled with 'let no one pass judgment on you in questions of food and drink or with regard to a festival or a new

35. This aspect of the text is central to Niederwimmer's exegesis (1998: 131). 36. See Jdt. 4.9, 13; 9.1 (to which further reference will be made below); and cf.

Horbury (1998: 306). 37. In modern Irish the name for Wednesday is De Ceadaoin, which comes from Old

Irish Cetain, which means 'first fast [of the week]'; the word for Friday is De hAoine from the Old Irish ain, which means 'fast' and is a borrowing from the Latin ieiunium; while the word for Thursday, Deardaoin, is derived from the Old Irish Tardain/Dardain coming from etar di ain, which means `[the day] between the two fasts' (Quin 1983).

38. There is an additional problem regarding food which has been used in Gentile cults. Paul (1 Cor. 8) takes a pragmatic view that the only harm in eating such food is the danger of scandal to those with weak consciences, for the Christian knows those 'gods'


moon or a Sabbath' (Col. 2.16), then, many have argued, the Didache must be a later document when the ritualization—it has been a widespread assumption in nineteenth- and twentieth-century scholarship that the original Christianity was not only free of ritual but against the very notion

of Christianity was well under way. The theme was well stated at the very beginning of the study of the Didache by Schaff:

The prescription to fast before Baptism (in Ch. VII. 4) and on Wednesday and Fridays (Ch. VIII) goes beyond the New Testament, and interfered with evangelical freedom. The Lord condemns the hypocritical fasting of the Pharisees, but left no command as to stated days of fasting (1886: 29).

The general assumption that rituals equal some sort of corruption—indeed a betrayal of Christianity through the admixture of superstitions derived from paganism—of a primitive simplicity focused on the written word" was part of the agenda of those who went back to the 'primitive church' to find there the 'warrant' for their own view of Christian worship.' We see this exemplified in this statement: 'Fasting before the act [of baptism] was required, but no oil, salt, or exorcism, or any other material or cere-mony is mentioned' (Schaff 1886: 139).

This suspicion of rituals, with the consequence that there are 'right' ways for the community to perform them, has often blurred our vision so that we fail to note that one of the binding factors that formed the Chris-tian community was its rites. However, behind the later Lukan phrase `they devoted themselves to the teaching of the apostles and the commu-nity, to the breaking of the loaf and to the prayers' (Acts 2.42) lies a rich pattern of community ritual activity, such as the regular 'celebration of the Eucharist' (Did. 9-10; 14); rites of passage, such as baptism (Did. 7); ways of viewing time such as the Lord's Day (Did. 14); regular prayers (Did 8.2-3); and regular practices, such as fasting. While the explanation of these practices changed—hence in the canonical collection there is not one, but many explanations of the significance (theologies) of baptism and the Eucharist—the practices themselves formed a continuity over time and a bond between groups.41 So, taking a set of rituals that includes fasting as

have no reality; the Didache, by contrast, offers a simple, non-nuanced regulation: 'keep well clear of food offered to idols because that is the worship of dead-gods' (6.3).

39. The canonical texts, as writings, were seen not only to be ritual free but also to be such that they allowed their readers to live lives free of religious ritual. Ritual, as such, they held was part of the world of paganism, and the antithesis of 'word'.

40. See Smith (1990: esp. 54-84). 41. It is this hypothesis that underlies the approach of Nodet and Taylor (1998).


that which marks out the community's group culture, do we get any hint as to how they imagined its purpose to themselves?

Fasting as a Form of Love

The first mention of fasting in the Didache is at the very beginning of the text where we have a saying forming part of a piece of teaching known as the 'Two Ways '.42 The 'Way of Life' is 'love of God who made you' first, and then 'love of neighbour as yourself' Although generically claimed by the title of the Didache as 'the Lord's teaching through the twelve apos-tles' this commandment is not explicitly claimed as a saying of Jesus, and it is located within a catechetical framework rather than in some historical situation. The love of neighbour is then explained using a troika of blessing, praying and fasting:

Now the teaching of these words is this [that you] bless those who curse you and prayer for your enemies and fast for those that persecute you [Urrip -r6v 6tCJKOVTCOV Upasi. For what credit is it to you if you love those who love you? Do not the nations do the very same! (Did. 1.3)

While this immediately rings many bells for us, it is worth noting how different it is to those echoes it calls up for us.' First, we are used to the troika of alms, prayer and fasting (cf. Mt. 6.2, 5, 16), but here we have blessing, praying and fasting. These are the three ritual actions with which Christians respond to attacks with acts of love. Second, what is found here as a single unit of teaching is found in a variety of places in the Synoptic tradition. In Mt. 5.44 we have 'Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you' (61-rip -r(31/ 6tcoK6v-rcav 6pC(5), which is arguably less demanding than fasting for them. In Lk. 6.28 we find 'bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you' (TrE pi TC3V ii-rripEacci rc.ov 605), while in Mt. 5.46-7 we have 'For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you salute only your brethren, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same?' While the Didache gives this as a direct instruction; in Matthew it is expanded with explanations such as: 'Love

42. This is the most studied part of the Didache because of parallels in Jewish and other early Christian sources, cf. Niederwimmer (1998: 30-41); and to see some of the complexities that surround this part of the Didache, see Goodspeed (1945).

43. Did. 1.2; and cf. Lk. 10.27; Mt. 22.37-39; and Mk 12.30-31; for a discussion of the textual relationships, see Jefford (1989: 29-37).

44. See Jefford (1989: 38-48) for the textual relationships.


your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust' (5.44-45).

While in Luke it is supported with examples such as:

Bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. To him who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from him who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to every one who begs from you; and of him who takes away your goods do not ask them again. And as you wish that men would do to you, do so to them (6.28-31).

Similarly, the troika of alms, prayer and fasting in Matthew is found in a much more expanded form than here. Indeed, Mt. 6.5-16 can be seen as a particular spiritualizing interpretation of the practice of fasting whose physical structure is indicated in the Didache's regulation.' Moreover, while here it is inappropriate to open the question of the history of the Synoptic tradition, when we examine texts with common elements and include the Didache as a basic witness to tradition, it constantly challenges neat textual explanations of the preaching of the Christian movement's message in the early decades.'

Third, while it is clear that one can pray for someone, the Didache has the notion that one can transfer the benefits of one person's fasting to another.' It seems that one's own acceptance of a penitential regime can become an act of love replying to an injury. This supposes a spiritual universe of human solidarity before God more akin to what later Latin theology would refer to as the transference of merit within 'the treasury of the church' (thesaurus ecclesiae), than to the rejection of violent responses to attack supposed 'in turning the other cheek' (cf. Mt. 5.39; Lk. 6.29).

Fasting and 'Rites of Passage'

The third mention of fasting is at the end of the instructions on how to baptize: 'And before the baptism there should be a fast by the one who

45. See Glover (1958-59) where this is examined in detail. 46. See Glover (1958-59) for the light the Didache can shed on the relationships

between the Gospels, and see Glover (1985) for a general discussion of the value of non-Synoptic early sources for a discussion of Synoptic relationships.

47. For a context in which we might locate this notion, see Maher (1979). 48. I am using the term here not in its classical anthropological sense (A. van

Gannep) but in the sense of rites whereby the community makes sense of its activity to itself, as explored by Turner (1969: 131-65).


does the baptising and the one who is baptised, and any of the others who can. Tell the one who is to be baptised to fast for one or two days before hand' (Did. 7.4).49

The great difficulty about this text is that while it lays down a rule about who is to fast and for how long, it gives no hint as to how they perceived the purpose of this practice, nor does it offer any theory about the origin or benefits of the practice. That a pre-baptismal fast was an early practice within the church is not in doubt. Indeed, it is confirmed indirectly by Luke in Acts 9 when he presents such a fast as taking place prior to Paul's baptism. The presence of this element in his story shows that Luke assumes that his readers will view it as a standard, well-established, custom. In 9.9 Luke states that from the moment of revelation on the Damascus road, Saul 'neither ate nor drank for three days'. Then, having met Ananias, he was baptized and took food again (9.19).50 Moreover, we know that the practice continued in the church for we have many later references to it.51 But, given the fact of the practice, can we draw on other sources which might throw light on how it was understood?

Some commentators have seen this fast as designed so as to dispose the recipient to receive divine illumination;52 however, that would not explain the need for the minister to fast, nor do we know whether or not they under-stood baptism in terms of illumination. The first point to note is that the act of baptizing a new member into the Church is imagined as a process that personally involves not just the recipient of baptism, and the one who baptizes (both baptizer and baptized seem to be equally involved),' but the whole community. This larger involvement is implied by the Didache's desire that the community should fast in preparation for a new member's baptism. A minimal explanation is that since they understood baptism to be a decisive moment both for the individual and the community, then

49. The most extensive commentary on this text is in Voobus (1968: 20-21); however, to see how this text is the first in a trajectory of texts from the early period until the third century, see Niederwimmer (1998: 129-31).

50. I wish to thank Dr Brendan McConvery for reminding me of Paul's fast in Acts 9.

51. The earliest of these later references is in Justin Martyr, Apologia 1.61-62. 52. See, e.g., Meloni and De Simone (1992). 53. That the baptizer has any individual personal involvement in the baptism is

something that would soon disappear in the church, such that the focus was on the baptismal action (the pouring of the water with the correct verbal formula), with some interest in the attitude of the one baptized, but with the assumption that the baptizer merely was the agent for the pouring of the water and the expression of the formula.


fasting was taken as a standard part of the preparation for a major religious event, and that the moment was of such importance as a rite of passage that everyone concerned had to be spiritually fully ready for it.' This could look back to Moses's fast of 40 days prior to receiving the Law (Exod. 34.28) or Daniel awaiting a revelation (Dan. 10.3) as its model and inspiration. And, it is very likely that it is against the backdrop of their own pre-baptismal fasting that they would have understood traditions about Jesus' fasting prior to his public ministry as witnessed, for us, in Mk 1.13, Mt. 4.2 and Lk. 4.2. It is also possible that this pre-baptism fast was penitential—for which there was the precedent in 1 Sam. 7.6—with the fast being seen as a purification prior to entry into Christ. If one accepts the notion, mentioned above, that they imagined a universe where spiritual benefits could be transferred from one person to another, then it may be that the fast of the various members of the church was to produce a benefit that could be transferred from them to their new brother/sister to enable the initiate to turn away from his or her sins and to enter Christ.

A more elaborate explanation, following from the scenario just pro-posed, would relate this fast to a connection being made by the community between baptism and an exorcism—which would later become a standard part of baptismal rites. Voobus addressed this possibility:

It was believed [he asserts on the basis of later evidence] that fasting had a purifying effect and contained expiatory power. It was also held that fasting could break the power of demons and that it strengthened the efficacy of the prayer of the candidate. This is what was regarded adequate [sic], for the preparation of the body for the reception of the Holy Spirit (Viiiibus 1968: 20).

If the fast were only that of the candidate, then fasting as a spiritual preparation could provide an explanation of the matter, but the involvement of the minister and preferably others in the community points to the fast being a collective act of intercession for the candidate. If the demons are to be confronted and ejected, then all involved must work together to bring about their casting out from the individual. If this line of argument is fol-lowed, then here again we have the notion that the effect of fasting is to be understood in terms of the spiritual solidarity of the whole community: engaging in this act together, they work for the holiness of the church-

54. While the notion that the baptizer is entering the mystery as much as the one baptized is foreign to later Christian theology, that an event of such spiritual magnitude in the eyes of the participants would make severe demands on the minister is not foreign to students of ritual, cf. e.g., Turner (1969: 20-33).


and it is the church that is strengthened by the process. It is not the candi-date alone who must confront the demon that is within them, but also the minister who carries out the exorcism' (and who consequently needs to be fortified for the encounter), and those at the centre of the process are buoyed up by everyone else in the community who have chosen to help this new member by adding their fasts.

In support of the possibility that they understood the fast as part of a ritual of exorcism we have only one tantalizing piece of evidence: the text of Mk 9.29 that there are demons that 'can only be driven out by prayer and fasting' .5' The words 'and fasting' disappeared long ago from critical editions as they were held to be a later addition to the text, as has the whole verse's other occurrence at Mt. 17.21. The reason for the exclusion of 'and fasting' is based on the phrase being omitted in the major textual families (`common omissions' logically point to something that was not present in the common ancestor of those families), despite the counter-indicative evidence of its being well attested in terms of numbers of manu-scripts of every text family. Where, as here, the evidence of the manuscript readings is contradictory, the formal deductive methods of textual criti-cism cannot alone produce a answer and the critic must fall back on historical conjecture to indicate the more likely earliest reading. Bruce Metzger approaches the matter thus:

In light of the increasing emphasis in the early church on the necessity of fasting, it is understandable that Kai VflGTEla is a gloss which found its way into most witnesses. Among the witnesses that resisted such an accretion are important representatives of the Alexandrian, the Western, and the Caesarean types of text (Metzger 1975: 101).

However, if fasting was not a practice upon which emphasis increased in the early church but one upon which there was emphasis before there were any of our Gospels, then we should reverse the judgment: instead of following the common omission we should accept the diffusion of the reading as pointing to the original.' Moreover, while a fast for the one

55. That those who saw themselves involved in preaching the Gospel saw part of their task as casting out demons is well attested from the time in which the Didache was being used: see, e.g., Mk 3.14-15; 16.17; and cf. Mk 6.13, 9.38.

56. The phrase is familiar as it is found in both the Vulgate (where it is not prob-lematic as a reading) and the so-called `textus receptzts', which together lie behind many modern translations, so it is found in the RSV, but not in the JB or NRSV.

57. It should be noted that if one accepts any reading that is found in the different textual families, yet also omitted in every family, as genuine; that reading should have preference as the lectio difficilior.


being baptized remained the practice of the church, references to a fast by the minister and the community are not found in later texts this argues that the emphasis on fasting by those carrying out an exorcism (for in later texts it is clear that this was an aspect of baptism) decreased, rather than increased, with the passing of time. It may be simply that fasting and exorcism were connected at an early stage—hence the widespread form of the text—and this, in turn, is reflected as a regulation in the Didache. If, then, one accepts, as I do, that the original Markan text read 'by prayer and fasting', the consequence is that Mark reflects a belief within his commu-nity that there are many grades of demons afflicting those who come to `the disciples' (i.e. the church) and the more powerful variety are those where the community must both pray and fast if they are to be ejected.' As in the Didache, there is the supposition that the individual's spiritual health requires the generous, and physically demanding, action of the whole church.

One other fragment of evidence must also be considered. In Luke's en-vironment there was a fast preparatory to apostolic commissioning. When Luke imagines the selection of Barnabas and Saul by the church at Antioch (Acts 13.2-3) and Paul's appointment of presbuteroi in churches where he had preached (Acts 14.23) he has the appointment take place after a preparatory ritual of 'prayer and fasting'. This appears to be a solemn community action which rendered all present capable of selecting and appointing those who should have authority within the church. Luke assumes that it is common practice within the churches that significant moments in each community's life will be ushered in with a special period of fasting and prayer, and that this practice was one that went back to the earliest communities. We have already noted that Acts 9 points to pre-baptismal fast by the one awaiting baptism, while Acts 13 and 14 assumes a more general community fast to prepare for a central ecclesial event; together they indicate that fasting was a significant practice in Luke's time, even if some of the details of its regulation which he knew were dif-ferent to those found in the community of the Didache. Moreover, since the Didache is earlier it shows that Luke was correct in his assumption that the practice was primitive. We might further speculate that fasting as part of the ritual for these significant moments for individuals within the group

58. Glover (1958-59: 26) remarked that the Didache may at times preserve 'a text of our Lord's teaching more primitive than the text of our Luke and Matthew'; here I would alter his argument slightly to say that it may show us which is the primitive reading of the earliest extant Gospel.


(someone entering the group or being commissioned by the group) was a widespread practice in Luke's time.' In all three cases, the action of fast-ing is presented as an integral part of a complex liturgy. Acts 9 has absti-nence from food initiated by a vision and terminated by a ritual. Acts 13 assumes that once the choice of who should be sent had been made under the direct inspiration of the Holy Spirit, it was now a case of needing to pro-ceed with the appropriate ritual which involved the sequence of: (1) prayer and fasting; (2) laying on hands; and (3) sending off. In Acts 14 'prayer and fasting' is a specific part of the ritual of appointing presbuteroi—for it was, for Luke, so done 'with prayer and fasting' in every church by Paul and Barnabas—who are then 'committed to the Lord'. And, this last text's most obvious meaning is that this period of prayer and fasting included not just thepresbuteroi-to-be along with Paul and Barnabas, but the whole of those churches.' In the Didache there is the period of prayer and fasting, fol-lowed by the event of baptism. However, neither document offers a ration-ale as to why fasting was part of these rites of passage.

Whatever meanings early communities gave to this baptismal fast remain a matter of conjecture, and if one or more explanation did come down to us it would still be simply a rationale post factum rather than an expla-nation for that fact: it was their practice which survived in the communities. Indeed, a pre-baptismal fast became a fixed element in the final days of the catechumenate.61 It is referred to by Justin (Apol. 1.61); it is commented upon by Tertullian (De bapt. 20) and Hippolytus (Trad. apost. 20); and later still Augustine on several occasions (e.g. De fide 6.8 and Epist. 54.10) looks at its significance.62

59. Such an assumption, involving the notion that the practice was a very early one which diffused with the earliest Christian movement, would make the later ubiquity of fasting at such times far easier to explain than an appeal to an explanation that fasting was a later introduction somewhere which had then to be diffused and adopted widely —a process of which we have no historical trace.

60. The impression in Acts 14 is that everyone in those churches fasted, while the Didache assumes that the fast will be undertaken by only a part of the church (`those who can')—here we may have another instance of Luke imagining a perfect church in the first generation of Christians: in those golden days it was not just a proportion who fasted, rather, everyone fasted as part of the community's preparation for these signi-ficant events. This fast by the whole community prior to the appointment of pres-buteroi is thus set out as the ideal that should be imitated.

61. See Talley (1980-82: 43-45) for an account. 62. For a guide to later instances of pre-baptismal fasting, see Meloni and De

Simone (1992).


Fasting and Identity

Several elements have recurred in the above examination of the three references to fasting in the Didache. First, it was a practice that was seen primarily in terms of the community's action rather than in relation to an individual's penitence or asceticism. Second, it had a public, organized and regulated structure. And third, it was something that was recognized as part of their distinct ritual activity as a community—and as such it was part of their ritual exposition to themselves of their identity as a group. From this perspective, regular fasting being a marker of identity, I now want to return to Did. 8.1 to see if it can throw any further light on the community which produced the regulation we find in the text.

From the perspective of a group wishing to make its own identity clear the most striking feature of the text is that the regulation requires that their fast be distinct from 'the hypocrites'. However, with that group they not only share the practice of a twice-weekly fast, but also a basic structuring of time: both identify the days of the week by counting the days after the Sabbath. So it is no simple matter of marking identity that is involved here (e.g. 'I am from Judaea' or 'I use the calendar of Alexandria' with the implication that that designation marks someone off from people born elsewhere or using any other calendar), but establishing an identity within a group who are already distinct from the larger society by the fact that they fast to preserve identity and already have their own special time-structure to set them apart. The community of the Didache have to forge an identity in the midst of a larger group seeking to do the same thing within the general society of the time.

That the reference to fasting is related to the fasting of 'the hypocrites', first brings Matthew's teaching on fasting to mind:

And when you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they dis-figure their faces that their fasting may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by men but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you (6.16- 1 8).

But there are some significant differences. The text of the Didache prohib-its 'fasting with the hypocrites', while Matthew is concerned about the intention and purpose of fasting for Christian fasts must not 'be like the hypocrites'. What 'fasting with' means has been the subject of debate, but the simplest explanation from the context is that 'fasting with' relates to


sharing the same fasts, that is, times of fasting. The position would appear to be this: if our group's fasts coincide with that of another group, then we are one with that other group.' That a sense of sacred time, and particu-larities of calendar, can provide a very firm group definition64—such was one of the distinguishing features of the sectaries at Qumran65—is not, however, what is most significant about Did. 8.1. The Didache reveals a community who believe that simultaneity in rite is a means through which sacred union can be maintained within a larger, dispersed group of devotees —one might almost say 'communion'. The essence of this belief is that if two physically separate groups carry out the same religious activity at the same time—which is marked off against an 'absolute' common to both such as specific days—then we have a single action, taking place in two locations, and so one actor and one objective for the action. 'The fast' is not just a collective name for individuals' activities in common, but was being reified as an event in which each person participated through his or her avoidance of food.' For a group who thought about ritual time and action in this way, if one fasted on the same days as the others, then one would be in union with them at a most profound level. The community of the Didache does not want union with those Jews who are not Christians and so stays clear of ritual union with them, and their appeals to God, by fasting at different times; but equally, by demanding that the Christian com-munities fast at the same time, they see themselves establishing a union whereby they petition God as a single body—though physically dispersed —with their fasting.

This developed sense of ritual time should not surprise us. It was, in part, the belief that the Jerusalem priesthood was using the 'wrong calendar'—that is, ritual was not taking place at the correct moment in absolute time

63. This is well expressed in the translation by Cody (1995: 9); and by Kraft (1965: 165) when he translates: Tut do not let your fasts fall on the same days...'

64. See Sproul (1987). 65. See Vermes (1975: 42-44). 66. This attitude to 'the fast' as an event distinct from the activity may appear logi-

cally flawed to many western Europeans today, but that approach neglects to recognize how individuals within a religious group view their common rituals as independent of them as actors—they view themselves as participating in a drama which has been taking place before their entry and in which they are duty-bound to take part. This perception is a common element of religious traditions, with regard to fasting one has simply to recall how Roman Catholics prior to 1961 approached 'the fast' before 'going to communion' or 'the black fast' in Lent, or how Muslims today refer to fasting dur-ing Ramadan; cf. Douglas (1973: 59-76).

OlouGHLIN The Didache and Early Christian Communities 103

—which caused those at Qumran, who had the 'true calendar', to set them-selves apart. Another, intriguing, witness to this sense of time is the way Judith—an ideal Jewish woman—is presented in Jdt. 9.1. Judith makes her most intense prayer (9.2-14) deliberately 'at the very time when that eve-ning's incense was being offered in the house of God in Jerusalem'. This assumes a belief that one could link one's own prayer with the formal lit-urgy of the temple far away though using the same moment. This linking in prayer meant that one was not praying alone, but as part of the whole of Israel. Such combined prayer presumably added force to one's own ritual of prayer (Judith put ashes on her head, dressed in sackcloth, and lay prone), but also established a notion of spiritual identity: the temple may be far away, but I too am involved in its liturgy; I am one with the whole people and it is we who pray." This sense of sacred time joining people into a communion which is implicit in Did. 8.1 means that we must see the instructions on common fasting not simply as reflecting their external church order, namely a group with a clear organizational identity. Rather, it gives an insight into their ecclesiology: the Christians are bound together for they participate in a single liturgy, not just as a community, but as a body made up of geographically dispersed communities. Moreover, if they had a sense of being unified by using the same time for their fasting, then it has implications for how we read the Didache's instruction on prayer, and, more importantly, the emphasis found in the Didache and elsewhere on gathering for the weekly Eucharist on the first day of the week. The Didache does not want Christians to pray at the same time as `the hypocrites' (8.2), they are to pray using a special formula," and to do so three times each day (8.3). This implies that they viewed this thrice daily prayer as an act of collective worship, the prayer of the whole Chris-tian community, rather than as instructions to Christian on how to organize a personal prayer regime. Rather, three times a day, the whole church assembler and made an act of prayer using a single formula and unified through a common moment of time.' If so, this throws a very precise

67. This sense of the 'we who pray' would have been heightened in the case of the community of the Didache through their belief, seen in what the Didache says of the Eucharist, that they were one with Jesus.

68. Did. 8.2 is our earliest witness to the text known variously as 'the Lord's Prayer' or Pater foster; cf. Carter (1995).

69. Note there is no hint in the text that there was a physical gathering of the Christian community in this or that village or town.

70. Such a use of time to create a 'virtual' gathering while not mentioned in most studies of the early church should be seen as another common ritual element—such as


liturgical and ecclesiological slant on that prayer's use of the plural.' Equally, the Didache expects Christians to come together on the Lord's Day for the Eucharist (14.1), and this is a practice well attested else-where;72 and the implication is that if each community is holding its Eucha-rist simultaneous with every other community, then it is one meal they are celebrating. This interpretation of the Eucharist—unity of time cancelling out separation by place—may appear to take us more into the territory of liturgical scholars such as Odo Casein than to reflect the traditional con-cerns of students of the early church, but it certainly helps our understand-ing of what the Didache says of the importance of the Eucharist (14.3):

For this [the Eucharist as their sacrifice74] is what the Lord spoke about when he said: 'In every place and time offer me a pure sacrifice, for I am a great king and my name is wonderful among the nations says the Lord' [Mal. 1.11].

If in fasting there are not several individual fasts, but one fast by the whole church, so while there are many physical gatherings for the Eucharist on a Sunday morning, there is just one sacrifice from the whole people.

However, while the community may have been concerned that they were spiritually separate from 'the hypocrites', they also were concerned with creating a practical social separation between two groups. The other group is, in all likelihood, a group of Jews who considered themselves Pharisees, for fasting on second and fifth days was a Pharisee practice.' The designa-tion of 'the hypocrites' is probably part of the mutual dislike of the two groups, which we find also in Matthew's Gospel (6.2, 5, 15; 15.7; 22.18;

has been studied by Rothenbuhler in cases where a modern state uses as part of its ritual 'a minute's silence' as a precise moment and the citizens are united through the action—for which there is no basis for any assumption that the early Christians were immune. Contrariwise, we can see this attitude to time in connection with fasting, prayer, and other rituals as the link between those attitudes when found in late Second-temple Judaism (e.g. Judith) and the sentiments later expressed by Christians about the Liturgy of the Hours.

71. Our Father .. . give us ...our...bread... forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors...lead us not...but deliver us...

72. See 1 Cor. 16.2 and Acts 20.7; and the expectation in Lk. 24.13 and Jn 20.19-31 that regular meetings of the Christians occur on Sundays. On the importance of Sunday in the early church, see Rordorf (1968: 238-73).

73. See Casel (1999) where he develops the patristic theme that the mystery of Christ is available momentarily in the liturgy.

74. This link between the Sunday gathering and their sacrifice is explicitly made in Did. 14.2.

75. See Schtirer (1979: II, 383-84).


23.13, 15, 23, 25, 27, 29). The message here is simple: have nothing to do with them and be obviously different. We know that the Didache was com-posed within a very Jewish-Christian community, and as this passage makes clear the two groups are still cheek-by-jowl; hence the desire by Christians to demarcate themselves ritually from many of the former co-religionists.

Didache 8.1 and the Gospels

The instruction in the Didache calls to mind two texts in the Synoptic Gospels. The first is Mt. 6.16-18 where (by contrast to the Didache which locates its teaching as community, apostolic, regulation) the teaching on fasting is placed directly on the lips of Jesus. For Matthew the Jewish context is far less immediate, and the issue of physically demarcating com-munities is absent. Rather than being concerned with two groups of people

Pharisee-Jews and Christians the Gospel is concerned with Christians; and its aim is to inculcate the correct intention and attitude without which fasting is useless: 'the hypocrites' are a notional other which illustrate an attitude to be avoided. For the community of the Didache fasting is something one does because one belongs to a particular community, and it is a recognized bonding ritual; it is identification with real people rather than with an attitude that is to be avoided. Matthew takes a practice with which his community is obviously familiar and he wishes to interpret it spiritually;76 he shows no interest in the benefits to the community's self-perception in having shared rituals, and apparently without reference to any notion of sacred time.' Matthew seems to take the practice of organ-ized fasting—as also prayer and almsgiving—for granted, and to be con-cerned that no one should use his or her success in performing these group activities as a means of demonstrating their religious prowess in the group. Hence, one should hide one's success in fasting from others (see Mt. 6.18), or else one's only reward is good repute within the community (see Mt. 6.16).

There is also a difference in their approaches to the common term 'the hypocrites'. In Matthew, this term has become a class-designation for

76. As already noted, see Glover (1958-59: 18-19). 77. The silence of Matthew on these notions cannot be seen as criticism—pre-

sumably they were part of his community's experience and common understanding, and if criticism of those ritual notions were intended he would have made that explicit. Rather, his concern is with the approach to fasting as a practice within his conception of the Christian.


those who have the wrong motivation—into which anyone who fasts could fall—rather than a specific, distinct religious group referred to by a deroga-tory label. If one accepts this point, then it has implications for how we read many uses of the term in Matthew, especially the 'woes' in Mt. 23, `Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites...' (23.13, 15, 23, 25, 27, 29). In this case he is employing a usage familiar within his community where 'hypocrites' is a vulgar synonym for 'Pharisees' while removing its sting: Pharisees who fall into the category of hypocrites are those to whom a curse applies. This interpretation would fit with the opening of the dis-course at 23.2-3.

The other echo of Did. 8.1 in the canonical collection is the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector in Lk. 18.9-13. If we assume that the Didache witnesses to widespread practices in early Christianity, not just the idiosyncrasies of particular communities, and that there is good reason for this assumption with regard to fasting; then starting with the Didache alters how we read this text. It could be common knowledge that Pharisees fast twice weekly, they are at prayer, and they give tithes which can be seen as the equivalent of alms. These are practices including the twice- weekly fast—familiar within Christian communities, thus the warning about performing these practices is not a criticism of the practices or their value, but of performing them in a useless way like the Pharisees, and without the more basic activity of humbly seeking pardon. Certainly, for the com-munity of the Didache that the Pharisees did those things, but equally did them fruitlessly as hypocrites, would have been taken as common knowl-edge. In short, the Didache lays down what is to happen, while the Gospel writers act as preachers recalling their audiences to what each perceives as the intention and purpose of their churches' practice. Having isolated the praxis, through the Didache' s evidence, the distinct theologies being preached in the early church by writers such as Matthew and Luke become more clearly displayed.

Enlarging the Context

The cumulative information of our first- and early second-century sources shows that fasting was a fixed element of early Christian practice and ritual. It was taken over from Judaism and associated, in particular, with the prac-tice of the Pharisees and John the Baptist (Mk 2.18-22 and par.). Luke imagines one of the earliest churches, Antioch, fasting (Acts 13.2), while Matthew (4.2) and Luke (4.2) add the example of Jesus' own fasting dur-ing his time in the wilderness to the Markan account (1.13). However,


there also seems to have been hesitations about the practice or how some gave it a rationale. Mark, followed by both Matthew and Luke, records a tradition that Jesus and his followers, unlike the other groups, did not fast (Mk 2.18-22), while both Matthew (6.16-18) and Luke (18.9-13) are inter-ested in the correct attitude to fasting so that it is not mere external display.

For the Didache there is neither hesitation about fasting, instruction about intentions, nor information on its supposed benefits; its sole concern is with fasting correctly. Such bluntness is exactly what one expects in a guide to group behaviour and brings us right into the atmosphere of those who used it pastorally: get the practice right, and then wonder about what it means and about right intentions. But, acknowledging that the Didache does not offer explanations, can we learn anything else about the commu-nity and how it understood its activity? In the Synoptics a link is made between fasting and mourning that the Bridegroom is no longer with them (Mk 2.19; Mt. 9.15; Lk. 5.35), and so fasting has a connection with long-ing for the eschaton: it belongs to the time before the final return of Christ. In a slightly later work, The Pastor, we also find fasting as a standard Christian practice, but its purpose and benefits are explained in detail. It is undertaken as a sacrifice to the Lord, and brings practical benefits to the community (the cost of the food not eaten must be calculated and that amount given to the poor) and the household, for the practice is a family affair and fasting together brings about family happiness.' Moreover, in The Pastor, as in Matthew's Gospel, there is a concern that Christians should not simply fast, but should engage in fruitful fasting that is accept-able to God.'

We have already seen that the community of the Didache had a devel-oped sense of sacred time. Moreover, their week had a religious structure which reflected their Jewish past and Christian present. They celebrated the 'Lord's Day' as the first day of the week, they still referred to the Sab-bath as the seventh day for they referred to the sixth day (Friday) as 'the Preparation Day' (Parasceve), and also following Jewish practice they re-ferred to days by numbers rather than by names. Thus they knew that the

78. This second-century work, often linked with the name Hermas, preserves many traditions from the first century that are related to a Jewish-Christian context. The reference to fasting occurs in Parable (Similitudes) 5.3.56.5-9 (Holmes 1992: 432-33); for the background cf. Snyder (1992: 148); for a detailed commentary on the passage, see Osiek (1999: 173-74).

79. Parable (Similitudes) 5.1.54 (Holmes 1992: 426-29); cf. Osiek (1999: 168-69).


Jews—perhaps the family next door—fasted on Mondays and Thursdays, while they fasted on Wednesdays and Fridays. This practice spread—there were fixed fast days in the church of The Pastor known as 'stational days'—and it was not long before there was a standard explanation of the significance of the two days. Tertullian, followed by later writers, says that Christians fast on Wednesday because it was on this day that Christ was betrayed, and on Friday as the day of crucifixion81 the one day, the Parasceve,82 on which, as later writers were keenly aware, all the Holy Week chronologies come into alignment." Is there any basis for supposing that such symbolism of days stands behind the practice in the Didache and that Tertullian is recording an already old tradition? I believe such a retro-jection is without foundation and that a simpler solution can be found. Here was a community which before becoming Christians had fasted twice weekly on Mondays and Thursdays; now they want to continue that prac-tice as part of their devotional lives—for a pious life without such regular practices would have been inconceivable. But if the Pharisees do this at one time, they must be different and alter the times of their fasts. Since the Sabbath and Sunday are not available, the greatest difference is to be had by opting for Wednesday and Friday, and they needed no further justifica-tion for their choice.' At a later time when the overlap with Jewish prac-tice was long forgotten (for the process of separation was no longer ongoing) but complete, and with that separation had disappeared any memory of why those days were chosen, then a symbolic reason was needed. Then, with the Jewish roots receding into the background, the link with Holy Week provided a suitable rationale by allegorizing analogy.

80. Parable (Similitudes) 5.1.54.2 (Holmes 1992: 426-27). These were frequently seen as Wednesday and Friday and explained by reference to the Didache (see Meloni and De Simone 1992: 319), but as Osiek (1999: 169) has pointed out, the term seems to be as obscure in Hermas' church as it is for modern readers: it is our assumption that these days were weekly and followed the Didache pattern on the basis that Tertullian later refers to Wednesday and Friday as 'station days' (on the term's possible origins, see Osiek [1999: 169 n. 6]).

81. De iehtnio 14; and see the 'classic' statement of this interpretation by Augustine, Epist. 36.16.30.

82. See Jn 19.31 and cf. Mt. 27.62, Mk 15.42 and Lk. 23.54. 83. For an account of this problem in pre-critical exegesis, see O'Loughlin

(1997). 84. For a list of the various attempts to explain the choice of days, see the notes to

Niederwimmer's excursus on Jewish fasting (1998: 132-33).


Practices and Rationales

This article has been driven by the historian's desire to understand how people in the past understood themselves, their beliefs and their situation. It has focused on one aspect of one, rather sparse, document to see what it tells us about the practice of fasting in some early churches, and so in turn about the attitudes and beliefs of those who fasted. What we have found is a community with a keen desire for a sharp, demarcating identity which expressed itself in a desire for a unity of discipline and action; a commu-nity which, through its Jewish inheritance, already had a rich ritual life, with an interest not only in regular liturgical action but in a regular asceti-cal discipline. Their sense of community was not simply a negative desire for segregation or group unity, but was already underpinned with an eccle-siology which saw the group capable of united action in the spiritual realm which allowed them to share the benefits of their endeavour. However, these insights into a group of Christians have been largely obtained by inference from the rules for their practices rather than by an analysis of their own reflections on their believing. This means that the Didache stands in contrast to almost every other early Christian document: it is without justifications, aetiologies or interpretations of the actions it finds in its church. So perhaps the most important lesson that the Didache teaches us as historians is that what survives in religious communities are regular practices; these give continuity within the group's memory and so give them group identity." These practices perdure the various rationales that are thrown up at various times in the tradition, whether it is Mark, or Matthew, or Hermas or Tertullian, and become the real bonds within that tradition.' So this actual manual disappeared, but the practice of regular fasting—to which the Didache is a witness like a still from a movie—spread and continued. Old understandings were forgotten, others were changed and developed, while new explanations were invented, but the continuity lay in the people and their activities.'

85. See Douglas (1973: 59-76). 86. I make this statement in conscious debt to the work of Nodet and Taylor

(1998), who in the work on the Eucharist assume a continuity of practice which gave rise a variety of theologies in the churches.

87. This has important implications for any Christian theology which appeals to the origins of traditions as part of its theological argument, for it demands that the tradition is really a tradition of people rather than of ideas. This is a distinction noted by J.H. Newman (cf. Evans 1995), but more often than not ignored when early Christian examples are cited by theologians.


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