Introduction
Christianity, in its historical development, has often been understood through the lens of Greco-Roman institutions, particularly in discussions of ecclesiology. The term ekklesia, central to Jesus’ promise in Matthew 16:18—“Upon this rock I will build my ekklesia”—has frequently been interpreted within a Hellenistic context, leading many to assume that Christian governance was a departure from Jewish communal structures. However, a closer examination of Second Temple Jewish thought and practice suggests that Christian ekklesia was not an innovation but a continuation of established Jewish models of communal and religious authority. What if our ecclesiology has been misframed, not by theological necessity, but by an inherited assumption that ekklesia is foreign to Judaism rather than embedded within it?
Christianity, in its historical development, has often been understood through the lens of Greco-Roman institutions, particularly in discussions of ecclesiology. The term ekklesia, central to Jesus’ promise in Matthew 16:18—“Upon this rock I will build my ekklesia”—has frequently been interpreted within a Hellenistic context, leading many to assume that Christian governance was a departure from Jewish communal structures. However, a closer examination of Second Temple Jewish thought and practice suggests that Christian ekklesia was not an innovation but a continuation of established Jewish models of communal and religious authority. What if our ecclesiology has been misframed, not by theological necessity, but by an inherited assumption that ekklesia is foreign to Judaism rather than embedded within it?
The Hebrew kehal (קהל), the Aramaic knesset (כנסת), and the term eda(עדה) each carry distinct connotations related to assembly, governance, and identity within Jewish tradition. While the synagogue served as a focal point for Jewish communal life, Pharisaic authority—rooted in the tradition of Moses’ seat (Matthew 23:2)—provided the framework for teaching and governance. It is within this context that Jesus and His disciples operated, and it is this structure that likely shaped the early Christian assemblies, especially as they remained attached to synagogues in the diaspora. When Peter made his confession, was Jesus referencing not only his personal faith but also a wider communal reality—one that aligned with the structures of Jewish governance rather than opposing them?
Stephen’s sermon in Acts 7 references “the assembly (ekklesia) in the wilderness,” reinforcing the continuity between Israel’s historical covenantal gathering and the emerging Christian movement. This raises the question: If ekklesia is so deeply rooted in Jewish tradition, why has it so often been presented as a radical departure from it? Perhaps the issue lies in the assumed break between synagogue and early Christian gatherings, when in reality, the early believers functioned as an extension of Pharisaic Judaism rather than its negation. Even Paul’s instructions in Romans 13 to obey “the authorities” have often been understood in purely political terms, yet within a Jewish framework, this may also refer to synagogue-based governance and Pharisaic legal structures. If this is the case, how does it reshape our reading of Paul’s view on church authority?
The interplay of Jewish communal life and the political dimensions granted to Judaism within the Roman Empire suggests that early Christianity operated within a system of governance more ecclesial than imperial. The authority of the synagogue, recognized even under Roman rule, meant that Jewish governance was more than merely spiritual—it had legal and societal weight. This is where the question of acephalic churches becomes relevant. Were early Christian communities truly decentralized, or were they simply structured in ways that reflected Pharisaic synagogues, which often functioned without a central bishop? The precedent for non-hierarchical yet authoritative assemblies was already present in Jewish models—did Christianity preserve this, and if so, how did it later evolve into the episcopal structures that dominated Christendom?
Moreover, if Christian ecclesiology is rooted in Jewish models, should we not also consider the broader Middle Eastern context? Islam, in some respects, retains a strong communal governance model, particularly through its ummah structure and shura (consultative decision-making). While the theological differences are vast, could there be aspects of Islamic governance that preserve features of Jewish communal life lost to later Christian structures? If so, what implications does this have for interfaith understanding, and how might recovering these insights strengthen Christian ecclesiology today?
By reclaiming Judaism as the framework for Christian ekklesia, we gain a deeper appreciation for the organic development of ecclesial authority within the early church. This perspective challenges long-standing assumptions and invites us to reconsider how authority, gathering, and governance functioned in the earliest Christian communities. It raises further questions: How does this impact modern ecclesial structures? What does it mean for denominations that emphasize apostolic succession versus those that emphasize congregational autonomy? If Jesus’ words were spoken within a Jewish framework of assembly and governance, what does that mean for how we structure church leadership today?
These are not merely historical inquiries; they are essential to understanding what it means to be the ekklesia today. If Jesus did not break from the Jewish structures of authority but rather fulfilled and transformed them, then our ecclesiology must be examined in that light. What have we lost by neglecting this connection? And more importantly, what can we gain by restoring it?
Word Study: Kehal, Ekklesia, Kinisa, and Eda
The terms used to describe the assembly of God’s people in Jewish and early Christian thought are deeply interconnected, yet each carries distinct nuances that shape our understanding of communal governance. The Hebrew kehal (קהל) and eda (עדה) appear throughout the Tanakh, both signifying a gathered people, though with different emphases. Kehal often denotes a formal assembly, especially in the context of covenantal gatherings, such as those at Mount Sinai (Deuteronomy 9:10) or the national convocations in Jerusalem (Nehemiah 8:1-3). Eda, on the other hand, conveys a sense of collective identity, often referring to Israel as a whole or specific groups within it (Exodus 12:3, Numbers 14:5).
When the Septuagint (LXX) translates kehal, it consistently uses ekklesia (ἐκκλησία), a term that, in its Greek civic usage, referred to an assembly of citizens called together for deliberation. However, in the LXX, ekklesia becomes a theological term, referring exclusively to the gathered people of God. This translation choice is significant because it demonstrates that ekklesia was not an innovation of the New Testament but a continuation of an established Jewish concept.
Further linguistic connections reinforce this continuity. The Aramaic and Arabic kinisa (كنيسة, כנסיה) shares a root with knesset (כנסת), the Hebrew term for a gathering or legislative assembly, still used today in reference to the Israeli parliament. In Syriac Christianity, kinisa became the standard word for “church,” while in Arabic, it remains the word for Christian places of worship. This linguistic overlap suggests that early Christian assemblies were not conceived as separate institutions but as continuations of Jewish communal structures.
The term ekklesia is often defined as “the called-out ones,” emphasizing the idea of separation from the world. While this is not entirely incorrect, it lacks precision in light of the broader biblical and historical context we have discussed. If ekklesia simply meant an assembly of individuals called out from the world into a new community, it could be applied generically to any gathering. However, within Jewish tradition, kehal and kinisa do not merely denote separation but an assembling of a covenant people under divine authority. Israel was not just “called out” of Egypt but gathered at Sinai to receive the Torah and be constituted as God’s people. Similarly, the early Christian ekklesia was not an abstract assembly of believers detached from history; it was a continuation of the covenantal kehal, now centered on Jesus as Messiah. This means that ekklesia is not merely a collection of called-out individuals but a structured, God-ordained community, rooted in the Jewish framework of governance, teaching, and worship. If we define ekklesia only as “called out,” we risk missing the deeper covenantal reality that Jesus and the apostles had in mind—a reality not of separation for separation’s sake, but of assembling a people to live in the fullness of God’s promises.
This understanding is further reinforced by Stephen’s speech in Acts 7, where he refers to Israel as “the ekklesia in the wilderness” (ἡ ἐκκλησία ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ). By using this terminology, Stephen explicitly links the early Christian movement to Israel’s formative experience in the desert, under Moses’ leadership. If ekklesia in the New Testament simply meant “church” in the later Christian sense, why would Stephen apply it to Israel? Clearly, the concept predates the Christian movement and is rooted in the idea of God’s gathered people, governed by divine authority. This raises the question: Should ekklesia be understood primarily in a Jewish framework rather than a Greco-Roman one?
Peter’s Confession: Authority and the Rock
When Jesus declares in Matthew 16:18, “Upon this rock I will build my ekklesia,” He is not inventing a new institution but reaffirming the concept of God’s covenantal assembly. The wordplay between Peter (Petros) and rock (petra) is well known, but the real weight of this statement lies in Jesus’ choice of ekklesia. Given its established use in Jewish texts, Jesus is pointing to a renewal and expansion of the kehal—not a departure from it.
The geographical setting of this declaration, Caesarea Philippi, adds another layer of meaning. This city, built by Herod Philip, stood in a region heavily influenced by Nabatean and Edomite culture. Herod the Great, Philip’s father, was an Edomite (Idumean) who had been forcibly converted to Judaism and sought to integrate Nabatean architectural and political models into his rule. This means that when Jesus speaks of building His ekklesia, He does so in a place where Jewish, Edomite, and Greco-Roman influences converged. Could this be a subtle allusion to the ingrafting of the nations into Israel’s assembly? The prophetic tradition anticipated the inclusion of Edom in God’s kingdom (Amos 9:12), and Jesus’ statement may signal that His ekklesia will extend beyond Israel’s traditional boundaries.
If this is the case, then Peter’s role as “the rock” must be understood within the framework of Jewish leadership. He is not a break from Pharisaic or synagogue authority but a continuation of the same covenantal governance, now centered on the revelation of Jesus as the Messiah. This interpretation forces us to reconsider how authority in the early church functioned: Was it structured as a centralized hierarchy, or did it maintain the decentralized, yet authoritative, model of the synagogue?
Synagogue and Pharisaic Authority: The Seat of Moses
Jesus’ statement in Matthew 23:2—“The scribes and Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat; therefore, do what they tell you”—is a remarkable affirmation of Pharisaic teaching authority. Despite His criticisms of their hypocrisy, Jesus does not reject their position; rather, He acknowledges their role as the legitimate inheritors of Mosaic instruction. This is critical because the synagogue, as a Pharisaic institution, served as the primary center for Jewish life in the diaspora.
The synagogue (kinisa in Aramaic) was not merely a place of worship; it was a hub for education, communal governance, and legal deliberation. It was within this structure that early Christian assemblies first took shape. Many early believers continued to attend synagogues, and the conflict between the early ekklesia and the synagogue leadership (e.g., John 9:22, Acts 18:6) suggests that the Christian movement was initially seen as a faction within Judaism rather than a separate religion.
If Jesus affirmed Pharisaic authority and the synagogue served as the model for Jewish communal governance, then how does this shape our understanding of early Christian polity? Did the first ekklesiai function more like synagogues than later hierarchical church structures?
Political and Ecclesial Authority in Romans 13
Paul’s instruction in Romans 13:1—“Let every person be subject to the governing authorities”—has traditionally been interpreted as a call to obey Roman rule. However, within a Jewish context, the term exousiai(ἐξουσίαι, “authorities”) may refer to religious as well as political leaders. Given that Jewish communities had significant autonomy under Roman governance, Paul may be instructing believers to respect synagogue authorities and their legal rulings.
The Pharisees, as the dominant group within Jewish communal leadership, had authority over legal and theological matters, particularly in the diaspora. Many Jewish-Christian assemblies likely remained under this structure for some time. If Paul is referencing both Roman and synagogue authorities, then Romans 13 is not merely about submission to imperial power but about maintaining order within the Jewish-Christian communal framework.
Acephalic Churches and Jewish Precedent
Early Christian communities often functioned without a rigid hierarchical structure, resembling the decentralized governance of synagogues. Many synagogues operated autonomously, led by elders and teachers but without a single ruling figure. This model allowed for communal decision-making while maintaining religious authority.
The acephalic nature of some early Christian groups, particularly in regions with strong Jewish influence, suggests that their governance followed Jewish precedent rather than Roman or Hellenistic patterns. Did this synagogue-like structure persist in some Christian traditions longer than we assume? If so, how did it evolve into the episcopal systems that later dominated Christendom?
Early Christian communities often functioned without a rigid hierarchical structure, resembling the decentralized governance of synagogues. Many synagogues operated autonomously, led by elders and teachers but without a single ruling figure. This model allowed for communal decision-making while maintaining religious authority.
The acephalic nature of some early Christian groups, particularly in regions with strong Jewish influence, suggests that their governance followed Jewish precedent rather than Roman or Hellenistic patterns. Did this synagogue-like structure persist in some Christian traditions longer than we assume? If so, how did it evolve into the episcopal systems that later dominated Christendom?
Broader Middle Eastern Parallels
If Jewish communal governance influenced early Christian ekklesia, then we should also consider broader Middle Eastern parallels. The Islamic concept of shura (consultation) and the ummah (community) bear similarities to the synagogue-based authority of the Jewish world. While Islam and Christianity diverged in many respects, the idea of a decentralized yet authoritative religious community persisted in both traditions.
Does this suggest that Christianity’s later hierarchical structures represent a departure from its Semitic roots? And if so, what lessons can be drawn from Jewish and even Islamic governance models to inform contemporary Christian ecclesiology? If ekklesia was not originally a rigid institution but a gathered assembly with shared authority, should churches today rethink their models of governance?
These questions highlight the need for a renewed understanding of Christian ecclesiology, not as a departure from Judaism but as its organic continuation.
Reclaiming the Jewish Foundation of Ecclesiology
If ekklesia was never meant to be a radical departure from kehal and kinisa, then what does this mean for our understanding of the church today? Have we misread the foundational structures of early Christian assemblies by imposing later Greco-Roman or hierarchical frameworks onto what was originally a Jewish communal model? The evidence suggests that early Christian governance, far from being a novel creation, was deeply intertwined with the structures of Jewish synagogues and Pharisaic authority. From Jesus’ affirmation of the Seat of Moses (Matthew 23:2) to Stephen’s declaration of Israel as the ekklesia in the wilderness (Acts 7:38), we see a continuous thread of assembly-based governance that was neither purely political nor strictly religious but something uniquely covenantal.
This raises crucial questions: If Jesus affirmed the authority of the Pharisees and the synagogue, should Christian ecclesiology today reconsider its relationship to these Jewish precedents? Could the synagogue model offer a more organic and communal form of governance than the rigid structures that later emerged? And if Peter’s confession at Caesarea Philippi was spoken within a Jewish and even Nabatean-Edomite context, does this suggest an early vision of the ekklesia as an expanding yet deeply Jewish assembly rather than an institutionalized church?
Paul’s words in Romans 13 also demand re-examination. If exousiai refers not just to Roman authorities but also to synagogue leadership, how does that reshape our understanding of Christian submission to authority? Was Paul advocating for a pragmatic coexistence within Jewish legal structures, or was he setting the stage for a more universal Christian polity?
Furthermore, the concept of acephalic churches—communities functioning without a single hierarchical head—mirrors the decentralized nature of synagogue governance. If early Christian communities reflected this model, at what point did they begin shifting toward more centralized leadership? Was this change a theological necessity, or was it a response to external political pressures?
Finally, how do these insights inform our engagement with broader Middle Eastern traditions? If both Jewish and early Christian communities operated under models of shared authority and deliberative decision-making, could structures like shura in Islam or even the enduring concept of kinisa in Syriac Christianity offer insights into how Christian governance might better function today? Is the hierarchical church structure truly the most faithful representation of the ekklesia as Jesus and the apostles envisioned it?
By reclaiming Judaism as the foundation of Christian ecclesiology, we open the door to a deeper, richer understanding of what it means to be the ekklesia. Rather than seeing the early church as a distinct institution separate from its Jewish roots, we can begin to see it as the natural outgrowth of Israel’s covenantal assembly. If we truly desire to model our churches after the New Testament pattern, then we must ask: Are we willing to return to the structures Jesus and His disciples knew, or are we too deeply entrenched in later traditions to recognize what was there all along?
