The Rock Beneath Zion

I hope you’ve got a cup of tea ready — this is going to be a deep and lengthy journey.

Today we begin a study of Robert Murray’s important article “The Rock and the House on the Rock,” published in 1964 in Orientalia Christiana Periodica, a scholarly journal produced in Rome by the Pontifical Oriental Institute. The journal became one of the major centers for the study of Eastern Christianity, especially Syriac theology, liturgy, and biblical symbolism.

This matters because Syriac Christianity represents one of the oldest streams of the Christian faith — rooted in the Semitic world of Aramaic-speaking believers and closely tied to the language and culture of the Peshitta, the ancient Syriac Bible. Long before Christianity came to be heavily interpreted through Greco-Roman philosophical categories in the Latin West and Byzantine world, Syriac Christianity preserved a more biblical-symbolic mode of thought shaped by poetry, typology, worship, and sacred imagery.

Rather than approaching theology primarily through abstract philosophical definitions, Syriac writers such as Aphraates and Ephrem expressed doctrine through symbols: paradise, light, temple, bride, rock, fountain, vine, mother, and kingdom. Robert Murray became one of the great modern scholars to recover and explain this symbolic world for contemporary readers.

In this study, Murray explores how the imagery of the Rock and the House built upon the Rock became a way for Syriac Christians to understand Christ, the Church, divine dwelling, and the union of heaven and earth.

Unlike later theological traditions that organized doctrine into formal systems and carefully defined propositions, the earliest Syriac Fathers expressed their theology primarily through symbol, imagery, and biblical figures. This does not mean that central Christian doctrines were absent or uncertain. On the contrary, these beliefs were deeply rooted and firmly preserved. Yet the manner in which they were communicated belonged more to the world of the early Judaeo-Christian Church and its midrashic traditions than to the analytical and philosophical style that later became common within the Greco-Roman Church.

One of the most striking is the theme examined in Murray’s article: the title “Rock” (kepha). This forms part of his broader study on the doctrine of the Church in the Syriac Fathers before the fifth century.

The title “Rock” (kepha) occupies a unique place among the symbolic titles shared by Christ and the Apostles. In the Syriac tradition the word carries special force for two reasons. First, it is the very word Christ transformed into a personal name — Peter. Second, within the Peshitta, the Syriac Bible, kepha appears far more prominently than any equivalent term for “rock” or “stone” found in the Hebrew Scriptures, the Septuagint (LXX), or the Greek New Testament.

The Syriac word kepha is used broadly to translate several biblical terms: both ’eben and λίθος (lithos), meaning “stone,” whether ordinary or precious, small or large; and also sela and sur, terms represented by nerga (“rock,” “crag”). Yet in the Peshitta New Testament even nerga is often replaced by šaw‘a. Most importantly, in all the Old Testament passages later gathered together to form the New Testament testimonia concerning Christ the Stone, the Syriac text consistently uses the word kepha.

The significance of kepha is that in Syriac Christianity the same word unites several biblical ideas that are often separated in Greek or English translations. Christ is the Rock, Peter is called Rock, believers become living stones, and the Church itself is built upon that Rock using the same symbolic language.

Because the Peshitta repeatedly uses kepha across both Old Testament and New Testament passages, Syriac readers would naturally hear deep connections between:

• Christ the foundation stone,

• Peter the Rock,

• the Apostles,

• and the Church built upon the Rock.

This created a deeply unified symbolic vision. Rather than treating these as isolated metaphors, Aphraates and Ephrem understood them as one living pattern flowing outward from Christ Himself. Christ remains the true and ultimate Rock, yet His authority, stability, and foundational role are shared symbolically through Peter, the Apostles, and ultimately the Church.

For this reason, when Syriac writers speak of the Church being built upon Peter, they are not usually separating Peter from Christ or replacing Christ with Peter as the foundation. Instead, Peter becomes “Rock” because he participates in Christ’s own Kepha. The Church is therefore founded upon Christ through the apostolic foundation He establishes in Peter and the Apostles.

At the same time, the Church in this Syriac vision is not an institution or administrative structure. It is a living spiritual reality — a divine dwelling built from human beings joined to Christ. The Church is the living Temple, the House upon the Rock, the assembly filled with God’s presence, made of “living stones” united together in faith, worship, Spirit, and communion. Bishops and Apostles matter because they serve this mystery, but the Church itself is ultimately understood as the living Body and dwelling-place of God among His people.

The early Christians connected several Old Testament passages about stones and rocks directly to Christ. Among these were Isaiah 28:16, Psalm 118:22, and the “Stone cut from the mountain” in Daniel 2, which is indirectly echoed in Luke 20:18. Another important image was the rock in the wilderness that gave water to Israel — a symbol St. Paul interprets as referring to Christ, following earlier Jewish traditions that the rock accompanied Israel through the desert and already carried messianic meaning.

Aphraates and Ephrem draw deeply from all of these traditions. In their search for biblical types of Christ, they repeatedly use passages containing the word kepha (“Rock” or “Stone”), and at times they also apply these same images to the Church itself. This wider symbolic background is essential for understanding how Syriac Christians interpreted Matthew 16:18.

In the Syriac understanding, Kepha (Peter) is not merely a personal name but a functional title given to Simon by Christ. Just as Christ, the Chief Shepherd, appoints Simon to shepherd in His place, so Christ — the true Kepha foretold through prophecy and biblical types — appoints Simon as Kepha in participation with Himself. Thus Christ says that upon this kepha He will build His Church, and that the “bars of Sheol” will not overcome it.

Aphraates begins his first Demonstration, devoted to faith, with the image of a house founded upon the crag of the firm Rock, and this Rock is Christ Himself. Even here the image of the “house” already quietly suggests the Church, though Aphraates does not yet fully explain the symbolism.

He then states that he will prove that the Prophets themselves called Christ the Kepha. To do this, he gathers together a series of biblical testimonies from both the Old and New Testaments, creating a connected chain of “Stone” and “Rock” passages centered on Christ.

The first text is Psalm 118:22:

“The kepha which the builders rejectedhas become the head of the building.”

Aphraates interprets the rejected stone as Christ. The “builders” are those who rejected Him, especially the Jews, and he supports this interpretation using New Testament passages together with Ezekiel’s imagery concerning the destruction of the wall.

He next turns to Isaiah 28:16:

“Behold, I am laying in Zion a tested kepha, in the corner of honour, the head of the wall of the foundation, and whoever believes in it will not fear.”

Immediately afterward, without interruption, he connects this with Luke 20:18, which itself reflects Isaiah 8:14 and Daniel 2:

“Whoever falls upon that kepha shall be broken,and whoever it falls upon, it shall shatter.”

From there Aphraates moves into Daniel 2 and the vision of the stone cut from the mountain without hands:

“A kepha was cut from a mountain without hands, and it struck the image, and the whole earth was filled by it.”

He interprets this as referring to Christ filling the entire world through the Gospel. To explain this worldwide spread, he joins the prophecy to Psalm 19:4 and Matthew 28:19, showing how the message of Christ goes out into all the earth.

He then adds Zechariah 4:7:

“I saw a principal stone of fairness and mercy,”

and later Zechariah 3:9:

“Upon this kepha I will open seven eyes,”

which Aphraates understands as referring to the sevenfold Spirit of God, also linked with Zechariah 4:10.

What is remarkable is that Aphraates gathers together nearly all the major biblical “Stone” and “Rock” passages into one unified vision centered on Christ as the true Kepha. Yet these same images will later extend toward Peter, the Apostles, and the Church itself. The symbolism therefore forms one connected theological structure: Christ is the divine Rock foretold in prophecy and typology, and from Him the imagery of foundation, building, temple, and spiritual house flows outward into the Church.

Again we encounter another “Name of Jesus,” one that belongs to the New Testament and yet is also shared. Christ is the Kepha śarrirta; the Firm Rock, and Christ in turn makes Simon the Kepha śarrirta as well. The biblical types that originally point toward Christ are then also extended toward Simon and toward the believing community itself. Murray suggests that even before Aphraates, Kepha śarrirta may already have existed as a recognized title of Christ, likely connected with the Greek phrase derived from Isaiah in the Septuagint tradition.

Of all the “Stone” passages gathered by Aphraates, he only returns elsewhere to the prophecy in Daniel concerning the stone cut from the mountain without hands. In Demonstration V, while commenting on Daniel, Aphraates interprets the stone as the messianic kingdom in an eschatological sense. Here he remains very close to older Jewish interpretive traditions and therefore does not press the fully developed Christian interpretation as strongly as many later Fathers would.

When Aphraates turns to Simon Peter, he explains that Christ rewarded Simon’s faith by giving him the title Kepha. He writes: “Also Simon who was called Kepha, because of his faith was called Firm Rock, Kepha śarrirta.” Elsewhere, in Demonstration XI, Aphraates compares Joshua and Christ: “Jesus bar-Nun set up stones (kefē) for a testimony in Israel; and Jesus our Saviour called Simon Kepha śarrirta and set him up as a faithful witness among the Nations.” Peter therefore becomes a witness and representative of Christ’s own Rock-like function.

Aphraates also connects Peter symbolically with the rock struck by Moses in the wilderness. In Demonstration XII he writes: “He (Moses) brought forth water from the rock (kepha); and for us our Saviour has made waters of life flow from his belly.” Here Christ is not merely compared to Moses, Christ Himself is the Rock, with an implied reference to John 7:38.

Yet the symbolism extends further. Aphraates then says: “Moses brought forth water from the rock (kepha) for his people; and Jesus sent Simon Kepha to carry his teaching among the Nations.” Peter is therefore linked typologically to the wilderness rock. Just as life-giving water flowed from the rock in the desert, spiritual teaching now flows outward through Peter’s apostolic mission.

Only two passages in Aphraates clearly allude to Matthew 16:16ff, and neither directly quotes the verse. In Demonstration VII, after describing Peter’s repentance following his denial of Christ, Aphraates says: “Our Lord accepted him and made him a foundation, and called him Kepha, the building of the Church.” In another brief reference during a discussion of the Transfiguration, Christ takes with Him “Simon Kepha, the foundation of the Church, and James and John, strong pillars of the Church.”

What is important here is that Aphraates is not describing the Church as a material structure, an institution of stone and mortar, or merely an external religious organization. The imagery is entirely spiritual and symbolic. The “building” is the community of believers founded upon Christ and joined together through faith, indwelling, and divine life. Christ is the true Rock, Peter shares symbolically in that Rock, and believers themselves become the living structure raised upon that foundation.

This becomes even clearer when Aphraates develops the imagery of building upon the Rock in Demonstration I. There the building represents the structure of faith laid upon Christ the Firm Rock. Aphraates uses both kepha and šaw‘a, the same word used in Matthew 7:24–25 concerning the wise man building upon the rock. He also interprets 1 Corinthians 3:10–11 in this way, where Paul says that Christ alone is the true foundation.

The emphasis is not upon a physical building but upon the act of establishing one’s life upon Christ. The “house” is spiritual. Aphraates says: “When the whole building has gone up and is finished and perfected, it becomes a house and temple for the indwelling of Christ.” He then adapts Jeremiah 7:4–5 and combines it with passages such as 2 Corinthians 6:16, 1 Corinthians 3:16, and John 14:10 concerning God dwelling within His people.

The result is a vision of the Church not as an institutional structure but as a living temple formed from believers in whom Christ dwells. The true sanctuary is the people themselves, transformed into a spiritual dwelling-place of God. Even when Aphraates speaks of “foundation,” “building,” “pillars,” or “house,” the imagery always points toward the living community of faith and the indwelling presence of Christ rather than toward an earthly institution or physical structure.

After presenting his chain of biblical testimonies concerning Christ the Rock, Aphraates develops a broader spiritual architecture. Christ is not only the foundation but also the “head of the wall,” while the whole structure is completed with stones (kefē), though Aphraates never explicitly identifies what these stones represent.

In Demonstration II, On Charity, the image of building appears again, this time with charity serving as the foundation of the structure. Elsewhere, faith itself is described as the house established upon the rock (šaw‘a), while charity acts as the force binding the walls together. Aphraates clearly echoes Matthew 7:24ff, the image of the wise man building upon the rock, and this theme reappears again in his exhortations to the Bnay Qyama. In one of these passages he also refers to Luke 14:28–29 and the image of counting the cost before building a tower.

The tower image returns again in Demonstration XIV in a passage filled with symbolic titles applied both to Christ and to bishops. There Christ Himself is called the Tower: “He is the Tower on which many build; let us reckon its cost, that we may build and finish it.” Murray notes that when this passage is compared with Ephrem’s use of the same imagery, it becomes clear that the tower is also a hidden allusion to the Tower of Babel understood typologically as a figure of the Church. In this Syriac interpretation, Babel’s scattered and divided tower becomes reversed in Christ. Humanity, once divided through pride and confusion, is gathered again into unity through the spiritual building established upon Christ the true Tower and Rock.

Murray also notes an intriguing wordplay in Aphraates involving the Syriac word magdla (“tower”) and Mary Magdalene. This likely reflects traditions preserved in the Diatessaron, the early Syriac Gospel harmony widely used before the separate four Gospels became standard in Syriac churches. The wordplay suggests that even names and places associated with “tower” imagery could become spiritually symbolic within Syriac interpretation. The symbolism of the tower therefore carries meanings of witness, elevation, proclamation, gathering, and restoration. In this context, Mary Magdalene herself may subtly become associated with the role of witness standing near the mystery of resurrection and proclamation.

Another important apostolic title appears here as well: “Skilful Architect” (ardeklā hakkimā), taken from 1 Corinthians 3:10. Aphraates quotes this passage twice in Demonstration I, but in Demonstration XIV the title is applied to bishops: “You are skilful architects, digging foundations and laying bare corruption.” Yet immediately before this the bishops are called “the Building on the Rock” (šaw‘a), and shortly afterward they are called “the Temple of the Spirit.”

Even here, however, Aphraates is not speaking about a physical structure or institutional church building. His imagery remains spiritual and symbolic. The “building,” “tower,” “temple,” and “house” all refer to the living reality of believers joined together in faith and indwelt by God. The Church is not conceived as stone walls, mortar, or an earthly institution filled with gold, but as a spiritual communion founded upon Christ and animated by divine indwelling.

This emphasis becomes especially clear in Aphraates’ repeated reflections on the indwelling of Christ and the Holy Spirit. Most often, whether he speaks of Christ dwelling within believers or of the Holy Spirit dwelling within them, the focus falls primarily upon the individual Christian. In this respect Aphraates remains close to the language of the New Testament itself.

Still, there are moments where a more communal and ecclesiological vision appears. One important example occurs in Demonstration XII: “He called their tabernacle the ‘temporal tabernacle’ (maskan zabna), because it served only for a limited time; but ours He has called the Temple of the Holy Spirit, which is forever.” Although the immediate comparison concerns Christ’s body as the true tabernacle, the surrounding context suggests a broader communal meaning connected with the Church.

This communal dimension becomes even clearer in the paragraph that follows, where Aphraates refers to the Passover being eaten in one house (Exodus 12:46) and explains: “The one house is the Church of God.” Here he follows an established patristic tradition that sees the Passover house as a type of the unified people of God.

Murray observes that Aphraates does not attempt to systematize or fully reconcile all these images. Instead, he leaves behind what amounts to a mosaic of symbolic fragments. Yet when viewed together, a coherent vision emerges. Christ and Peter are both described as Rock (kepha) and foundation. The building upon the Rock is usually faith itself, though at times Peter and the Apostles also become part of the structure, while James and John are called pillars. The Church is the “One House,” and believers become temples of the Spirit — usually individually, though not exclusively so.

At the same time, Murray believes Aphraates’ doctrine of the Holy Spirit remains somewhat incomplete. Aphraates never fully develops the idea of the Holy Spirit dwelling within the united Church as a corporate body and guiding it collectively through both its head and its members. Murray suggests this may partly reflect Aphraates’ own context as an ascetic devoted largely to solitary prayer and spiritual life.

If the Syriac tradition could associate Mary Magdalene symbolically with the imagery of the tower (magdala),, a figure connected with witness, proclamation, restoration, and even resurrection faith, then an important question emerges:

Why, centuries later, was Mary Magdalene officially identified in the Western Church as a prostitute by Pope Gregory the Great, despite the Gospels themselves never explicitly saying this?

Was this later interpretation shaped more by evolving Western penitential traditions and conflations of several different women in the Gospel narratives, rather than by the earlier symbolic and apostolic memory preserved in Eastern Christianity?

And if the Syriac Fathers often emphasized spiritual symbolism, witness, and divine indwelling over moral reductionism, does their treatment of figures like Mary Magdalene preserve traces of a much older Christian understanding of her role as witness, disciple, and herald of resurrection rather than primarily as a repentant sinner?

Ephrem, like Aphraates, develops the symbolism of Christ as the Rock through a network of Old Testament types and Jewish interpretive traditions. Commenting on Jacob’s stone at Bethel, Ephrem says that when Jacob poured oil upon the rock (kepha), he was prophetically revealing the hidden mystery of Christ. Yet the symbolism does not stop with Christ alone. Ephrem also says that in this same rock was symbolized the mystery of the Church, to whom the vows and offerings of all the nations would eventually come. Thus the stone at Bethel becomes both a type of Christ and a type of the believing community gathered into Him.

When Ephrem comments directly on the rock struck by Moses in the wilderness in Exodus 17, he does not initially develop a typological interpretation. However, in his reflections on the Blessings of Jacob from Genesis 49:24, where the Peshitta calls God “the Shepherd, the Rock (Kepha) of Israel,” Ephrem connects the wilderness rock directly to Christ. He explains that the Shepherd who was to lead Israel through the dry desert was Himself the Rock giving life through water to the people. He then adds that this happened “through the name of the Son himself, he who was called by the Apostle the Rock (Kepha) which journeyed with Israel in the desert,” referring to 1 Corinthians 10:4.

Here Ephrem follows ancient Jewish traditions already found in the Targums and other Jewish writings that the miraculous rock actually travelled with Israel throughout the wilderness journey. Although Ephrem does not emphasize the moving rock when commenting directly on 1 Corinthians 10:4, he returns to the image elsewhere. In Paradise 5:1 he compares the travelling Rock to the creative Word of God itself. Just as the rock produced water though it contained none within itself, so the Word of God creates all things out of nothing.

Ephrem also develops another important typology: the water flowing from the rock prefigures the water and blood flowing from Christ’s pierced side. In his commentary on 1 Corinthians 10:4, the blood of Christ becomes both propitiation and drink for all the nations. Similar imagery appears in the Hymns on Epiphany.

Another Jewish tradition familiar to Ephrem concerns the twelve streams flowing from the wilderness rock to the twelve tribes of Israel. By Ephrem’s time this tradition had become intertwined with the story of Miriam’s miraculous well. Ephrem may even have known visual depictions of this tradition, such as the famous fresco at Dura-Europos showing Moses opening the well and twelve streams flowing toward twelve tents.

Ephrem transforms this imagery into a type of Christ sending forth the Apostles into the world. In Nativity Hymns 2:10 he writes:

“O Source untasted by Adam,which gave forth twelve speaking springs and Life filled the world!”

Likewise in another hymn Christ, who is called the Rock, gives drink to the whole world through the twelve Apostles. The Rock therefore becomes not only Christ Himself but also the source from which apostolic life and teaching flow outward into all nations.

Ephrem also repeatedly weaves together the major “Stone” prophecies from Scripture. Commenting on Matthew 21:42 and Psalm 118:22, he identifies the rejected Stone with the “adamant” or plumb-line of Amos 7:8. He then joins this with Luke 20:18 and Daniel 2, where the stone cut from the mountain shatters the kingdoms of the world. Ephrem explains this as Christ’s teaching destroying idolatry and filling the earth.

In another passage on Christ’s burial, Ephrem says that a stone was placed against the tomb “so that a stone might guard the Stone which the builders rejected.” The Syriac uses kepha throughout, preserving the layered symbolism. Christ is then compared to the stone from Daniel 2 and also to Jacob’s stone at Bethel. Rather than constructing formal testimony lists, Ephrem typically alludes to several scriptural Stone texts simultaneously, weaving them together poetically.

The same pattern appears in Virginity Hymns 14:6:

“With stones (kephe) Satan tempted the Stone which gave drink to the People, the Stone that was the Bread of Life, the Stone that shattered the great image.”

Here Christ is simultaneously the wilderness Rock, the Bread of Life, and the stone of Daniel that destroys the kingdoms of the world.

In the next stanza Christ stands upon the pinnacle of the Temple as the “Perfect Stone” rejected by the foolish. Daniel’s stone appears again in Resurrection Hymns 20:17, where Ephrem says:

“The Stone which Daniel saw, the whole world was filled by it.”

Alongside this he places Elijah’s small cloud from Mount Carmel that gradually fills the sky. Both become symbols of the Gospel spreading throughout the earth.

Throughout all this typology, Christ remains the true Kepha. Yet Ephrem also extends the symbolism toward the Church and believers themselves. Jacob’s anointed stone becomes a type of the anointed members of the Church, while the expanding stone of Daniel hints at the spread of the Church throughout the world.

Ephrem also uses the imagery of “hearts of stone” to describe both the rejection of Christ and the transformation Christ brings. In one hymn he says:

“The people that had a heart of stone He rejected through the Stone; for behold, even the rock in the desert was obedient to words.”

In another passage, alluding to Luke 19:40 (“the stones would cry out”), Ephrem writes:

“Since the scribes were silent through envy and the Pharisees through jealousy, men of stone cried praises, men with hearts of stone.They sang praises before the Stone,the Rejected, which became the head; through the Stone, stones were softened, and acquired mouths that speak.”

Here Ephrem reaches one of his deepest symbolic insights. Humanity itself possesses a stony nature; hardened, silent, resistant. Yet Christ the Stone enters that condition and transforms it. Echoing Ezekiel 36:26, the Stone softens stones. Those who once were mute become capable of praise, proclamation, and witness. The transformation is not institutional but spiritual and living. Christ the Kepha changes human hearts into living stones capable of speaking, worshipping, and bearing divine life into the world.

In Ephrem’s writings, Peter is most often referred to simply as “Simon.” Even in many passages where his authority or importance is implied, Ephrem avoids using the name Kepha. Only occasionally does he directly explore the meaning of Peter’s names, Simon and Kepha, and in one unique place he even uses the Greek form Petros.

One of the most important passages appears in Ephrem’s commentary on Matthew 16:16ff. There Simon is presented as taking the lead among the disciples in confessing Christ:

“Simon the leader took the lead, saying: Thou art the Son, the Christ, the Son of the Living God.”

Christ then blesses Simon and declares that “the bars of Sheol shall have no power against thee.” Ephrem interprets this primarily as referring to Peter’s faith; that this faith would not be destroyed. Whatever God builds cannot truly be overthrown. Ephrem illustrates this principle through biblical examples: kings and rulers who attempted to destroy what God established ended up destroying themselves instead. The Assyrian sought to overthrow the house God built, but his own kingdom collapsed. Ahab tried to rebuild Jericho after God had overthrown it, yet his own kingdom perished.

Ephrem then expands the image into a vast symbolic meditation on the Church. When Christ built His Church, He established a Tower whose foundations are strong enough to support all built upon it. Here the Tower becomes deeply symbolic. Murray notes that Ephrem is likely alluding to the Tower of Babel. At Babel humanity attempted to ascend to heaven through pride and earthly power, trusting in its own tower rather than in righteousness. Their unity was shattered into many languages, and the earthly tower became a symbol of division, confusion, and human self-exaltation.

But Christ reverses Babel. Instead of an earthly tower built through pride, He gives humanity a heavenly Tower flowing from Himself. Ephrem says the Lifegiver gave them “a Tower which leads up to the heights, and a Tree whose fruit is the Medicine of Life.” The imagery merges Babel, Paradise, the Cross, and the Church into one symbolic vision. Humanity once scattered is gathered again. The divided languages are overcome not by earthly empire but by divine life flowing through Christ.

Ephrem then interprets Christ’s words: “Thou art Kepha.” Peter becomes the stone Christ places in the world so that Satan may stumble upon it. Yet Satan himself tried to place a stumbling stone before Christ through Peter’s own words, “Far be it from thee.” Christ exposed Satan’s hidden intention when He replied, “Get thee behind me, Satan, thou art a stumbling-block to me.” Ephrem then connects this with John 18:6, where Christ’s enemies draw back and fall to the ground before Him. Thus Peter participates in the mystery of the Stone, but Christ remains the true and decisive Kepha.

What is striking is how differently Ephrem reads Matthew 16 from later Western interpretations. He does not emphasize Peter as an institutional ruler or as the sole earthly foundation of the Church. Instead, Peter’s significance lies primarily in his faith, confession, witness, and participation in Christ the true Rock. Even the promise concerning the “bars of Sheol” is applied directly to Peter himself rather than explicitly to the Church, though the faith shared by Peter and the Church ultimately remains one.

Ephrem’s interpretation of “Thou art Kepha” also strongly recalls Isaiah 8:14, the Stone of stumbling, which in early Christian interpretation refers to Christ Himself. Simon Kepha therefore becomes closely associated with Christ the Kepha. Peter participates in Christ’s Rock-like role rather than replacing Christ as the foundation.

Elsewhere Ephrem returns repeatedly to Peter’s confession. In one hymn he writes:

“Blessed art thou too, Simon Kepha, who holdest the keys which the Spirit forged.”

Peter is then described as the head and tongue of the apostolic body. The disciples form one body, while James and John become its eyes. Through Simon, Ephrem says, the revelation of the Father was heard “through the Rock unshakable.”

Another striking passage appears in the Sermones de Hebdomada Sancta, a work whose authenticity is debated but which remains closely connected to Ephrem’s thought. Here Christ speaks directly to Simon:

“Thee, Simon, my disciple, have I set as the foundation of holy Church. I called thee Kepha from of old, that thou mightest bear all buildings.”

Peter becomes overseer of those building the Church on earth. He is called the “fountain-head” of Christ’s teaching and the one through whom all nations will drink. This imagery almost certainly echoes the wilderness Rock struck by Moses. Just as water flowed from the Rock to Israel, so spiritual life and teaching flow outward through Peter to the nations. The “sweetness of Life” likely refers to the Eucharist (remembrance meal).

Even here, however, the imagery remains spiritual and symbolic rather than institutional. Peter is “foundation,” “Rock,” and “fountain-head” because he participates in Christ’s own mission and life. The Church itself is still understood primarily as the living communion of believers joined together in divine life rather than as an earthly administrative institution.

Murray notes that Ephrem remains surprisingly restrained in his use of the name Kepha. Yet whenever he does use it, the symbolism of Matthew 16 is usually present beneath the surface. Kepha is never merely a personal name; it remains a functional and symbolic title rooted in Christ the true Rock.

One especially intriguing feature of these later Syriac traditions is the blending together of Mary the mother of Jesus and Mary Magdalene in certain passages. This fusion reflects the fluid and symbolic style of Syriac interpretation, where biblical figures often overlap typologically rather than remaining sharply separated. In this symbolic world, names, titles, rocks, fountains, towers, and women all become interconnected images reflecting divine mysteries through layers of scriptural resonance rather than through rigid doctrinal categories.

Scripture begins with God Himself as “the fountain of living waters” (Jeremiah 2:13), the hidden Source from whom all life flows. In the wilderness this mystery appears through the Rock struck by Moses, from which living water poured out for Israel (Exodus 17:6; Numbers 20:11). Paul later reveals that “the Rock was Christ” (1 Corinthians 10:4), showing that the wilderness spring was already a figure of the Messiah giving divine life to His people.

This same mystery deepens in the Song of Songs, where the Bride is called “a garden enclosed, a sealed fountain” (Song of Songs 4:12). The fountain is hidden, protected, and full of life within itself. Syriac Christianity understood this not merely as romantic poetry, but as a revelation of divine indwelling. The Bride becomes the dwelling-place of the hidden waters of God.

Christ then openly declares Himself to be the giver of living water: “If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink” (John 7:37). He promises that those who receive Him will themselves become fountains: “Out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water” (John 7:38). Thus the divine Fountain flows outward through participation. God is the Source; Christ is the revealed Fountain; the Spirit is the living water proceeding outward into creation.

Within this mystery Peter is called the “fountain-head” of teaching because he participates in Christ’s own life and mission. Just as water flowed from the Rock in the wilderness, spiritual life now flows outward through apostolic witness to the nations. Yet Peter is never the source itself. Christ alone remains the eternal Rock and Fountain. Peter becomes instead a living channel of the waters flowing from Christ.

This is why the imagery remains spiritual rather than institutional. Peter shares Christ’s title because he shares Christ’s mission. The Apostles become rivers flowing from the one Fountain. The Church becomes the watered garden of God. And the Bride herself becomes the sealed fountain because within her dwells the hidden life of God.

The mystery reaches its fullness in Revelation, where “a pure river of water of life” flows from the throne of God and of the Lamb (Revelation 22:1), beside the Tree of Life whose leaves heal the nations (Revelation 22:2). What began as the Rock in the wilderness, the sealed fountain of the Bride, and the living waters promised by Christ all converge into one vision: God pouring His own divine life into humanity through Christ, His Apostles, and His living Church.

If the earliest Syriac Fathers understood the Church primarily as a living spiritual communion built from believers indwelt by Christ, rather than as a material or institutional structure, how did later Christianity increasingly come to identify the Church with an earthly administrative system centered upon one episcopal throne?

If Aphraates and Ephrem saw Peter’s “Rock-ness” as participatory; sharing in Christ the true Kepha, rather than independent from Him, how did the interpretation evolve into claims of a uniquely centralized juridical authority rooted exclusively in Peter’s successors at Rome?

Why do the Syriac Fathers repeatedly emphasize faith, divine indwelling, spiritual life, living stones, and symbolic participation, while later Western theology increasingly framed Matthew 16 in legal and institutional terms?

If the Church is the “One House” made of living believers, the Temple of the Spirit, and the Body indwelt by Christ, can its deepest identity truly be reduced to an earthly institution, hierarchy, or political structure?

And if Ephrem interprets the Tower positively as Christ’s heavenly reversal of Babel; gathering divided humanity back into spiritual unity; should we ask whether later forms of ecclesiastical centralization risked recreating another earthly tower, one grounded more in visible power than in the living unity of the Spirit?

In Ephrem’s commentary on Peter’s confession in Matthew 16, something striking happens: he never actually quotes the words, “upon this rock I will build my Church.” Instead, he develops the meaning indirectly through a series of symbolic variations centered on building, towers, refuge, righteousness, and divine life.

Immediately after Christ blesses Simon, Ephrem moves directly to the phrase about “the bars of Sheol” not prevailing. He explains this as referring to the indestructibility of faith itself. What God establishes cannot ultimately be overthrown by human power. To illustrate this, Ephrem recalls figures such as Nebuchadnezzar, Nicanor, and Ahab — rulers who attempted to oppose or reverse divine judgement but instead brought destruction upon themselves.

From there Ephrem unfolds one of his most remarkable symbolic meditations. He says that when Christ built His Church, He established a Tower whose foundations were sufficient for everything built upon them. Yet this Tower is not an earthly institution or visible empire. Ephrem immediately contrasts it with the Tower of Babel.

At Babel humanity tried to ascend to heaven through its own skill, power, and self-exaltation. The one language of mankind was divided into many languages so that humanity would not place its trust in the tower rather than in righteousness. Ephrem’s concern is deeply spiritual: the problem at Babel was not architecture itself but humanity’s attempt to reach heaven apart from God through human achievement and pride.

Ephrem develops the symbolism of building upon the Rock even further in Ecclesiastical Hymns 34, where the entire image becomes a meditation on repentance. As so often in Ephrem, multiple layers of symbolism are woven tightly together. The Ark appears again as a figure of salvation, while Paradise quietly stands in the background through Ephrem’s idea of three levels or grades of Christian attainment, corresponding to different levels within Paradise itself as described in the Hymns on Paradise.

Returning again to the important passage in Commentary on the Gospel 14:2, Ephrem contrasts humanity’s failed attempts to save itself with the gift given by Christ. Human beings lost every earthly refuge and every humanly constructed means of ascent. But “the Lifegiver gave them from himself a Tower which leads up to the heights, and a Tree whose fruit is the Medicine of Life.”.

In this passage the Tower still stands in deliberate contrast to Babel. Humanity once attempted to ascend to heaven through pride, skill, and self-made structures. But in Ephrem’s interpretation, the true ascent to heaven comes only through Christ. This becomes even clearer in Nativity Hymns 1:44:

“The Tower which the many built in its symbolic meaning was looking toward the One:He came down and built on earth the Tower that leads up to heaven.”

Here the old Tower of Babel becomes a distorted foreshadowing of the true Tower that Christ establishes. The false tower of human ambition is replaced by the true spiritual ascent found in Christ and His Church. In some passages the Tower clearly symbolizes the Church itself; in others Christ Himself becomes the Tower upon which believers build. Ephrem even echoes Aphraates’ phrase: “He is the Tower on which many build.”

At the same time Christ is also the Architect (ardeklā). This title comes partly from Matthew 16 and partly from broader Syriac imagery in which God is portrayed as the divine builder of creation, incarnation, and resurrection. In one Syriac passage on the Annunciation, Ephrem explains that it was fitting for the “Architect of Creation” to come and raise up the building that had fallen. The Holy Spirit then overshadows and sanctifies the defiled structures of humanity.

God is also called Architect in relation to the Resurrection itself. Yet the title is not reserved only for Christ. Through 1 Corinthians 3:10 the Apostles also become “architects of the Spirit.” At Pentecost Christ sends these spiritual architects to restore and strengthen faith that had been shaken. Ephrem then calls the Apostles “pillars,” likely echoing Galatians 2:9, and applies this title especially to Peter, James, and John.

Although the Temple does not occupy a central role in Ephrem’s interpretation of Matthew 16, he does occasionally use it symbolically for the Church. Still, his primary understanding of the Temple is not a physical building but living bodies indwelt by the Holy Spirit. First and foremost Christ’s own body is the true Temple; destroyed and raised again. After Christ, Mary’s body becomes the dwelling-place of God, followed by all believers and especially consecrated virgins. These living temples too will one day be raised in resurrection.

Ephrem occasionally extends the Temple imagery to the Church corporately. In one hymn he argues against Marcion by stressing continuity between the Old Testament Temple and the Church. He imagines that where the Temple once stood, the Church now stands in continuity with God’s ancient people. The true Church stretches from Adam through the Patriarchs, David, Christ, and the Apostles. Ephrem triumphantly declares:

“He who commanded the Ark,the same built the Temple of the Nation. He who made these pass away, has established the Church of holiness.”

Yet even here the Church is not conceived as a merely earthly institution. The true continuity lies in God’s living presence among His people.

One of the clearest expressions of this appears in a commentary on Zechariah 4:9. Ephrem distinguishes between the literal meaning and the spiritual fulfilled meaning. Literally, Zerubbabel rebuilt the Temple. Spiritually and truly fulfilled, however, the prophecy refers to Christ and to the Church built through faith in Him among all the nations. Those delivered from death and the devil are gathered together “into the One House, which is the Church of Christ.”

This “One House” is therefore not a structure of stone and mortar but the gathered community of believers united in Christ, indwelt by the Spirit, and restored through divine life. Throughout Ephrem’s symbolism, towers, temples, arks, trees, rocks, and houses all converge toward one central reality: Christ Himself building a living spiritual people who ascend toward Paradise not through human achievement but through grace, repentance, and participation in divine life.

One of the most fascinating details in the Syriac tradition is that the Diatessaron does not read “the gates of Hades” in Matthew 16:18, as found in the Greek tradition, but “the bars of Sheol” (muklē da-Sheol). This small change completely reshapes the imagery and possibly the theological meaning of the passage.

The question Murray raises is why this change was made and what it implies. Did Tatian, the compiler of the Diatessaron, intend a different understanding of Christ’s words? And how did Ephrem interpret this imagery?

At first glance, replacing “gates” with “bars” may seem minor, but in poetic and symbolic language such changes are usually deliberate. The Diatessaron was not a simple mechanical harmony of the Gospels but a highly interpretive and symbolic retelling of Christ’s life. This becomes even more important with Ephrem, whose theology constantly weaves meaning through layered imagery.

Some scholars suggested that the “bars of Sheol” should be understood through the imagery of the Flood. Just as the deep waters burst forth from beneath the earth during Noah’s Flood, so the powers of Sheol were imagined as surging upward against the Church. Since Ephrem often alludes to the “house built upon the rock” from Matthew 7, this interpretation imagines the Church as a fortified structure enduring the assault of the underworld without collapsing.

Yet Murray believes this does not fully explain Ephrem’s imagery. In Ephrem’s writings the Flood is not primarily about the Church surviving attack but about humanity’s failure to repent. Noah was saved not because of architecture alone, but because of righteousness and repentance. The Flood passage is therefore secondary in Ephrem’s interpretation.

The real key lies in the Syriac word “bars” itself. In the Old Testament Peshitta, muklē (“bars”) usually refers not to attacking weapons but to defensive barriers; the bars of gates, prisons, or cities that attempt to resist an invader. Several biblical passages speak of God shattering the bars of bronze and cutting through bars of iron. Samson tears away the barred gates of Gaza. In Isaiah and the Psalms, God breaks open barred entrances that cannot withstand Him.

This changes the entire meaning of Matthew 16:18 in Syriac thought.

Instead of imagining the Church as a passive fortress barely surviving attack, the image may actually be reversed. The “bars of Sheol” are not assaulting the Church; rather, Sheol itself cannot withstand the advancing power of Christ and His Church.

This interpretation fits deeply with early Christian theology surrounding Christ’s descent into Sheol after His death. In Syriac and broader early Christian tradition, Christ descends into death itself, breaks open its bars and gates, and liberates humanity from captivity. The Church therefore participates in Christ’s victory over death rather than merely defending itself against attack.

The imagery shifts dramatically:

• the Church is no longer simply a besieged fortress,

• but a living force sharing in Christ’s conquest of death,

• advancing against the kingdom of Sheol,

• breaking its bars,

• and carrying resurrection life into the world.

This interpretation also harmonizes with the Stone imagery from Daniel 2 so beloved by the Syriac Fathers. The Stone cut from the mountain without hands does not merely endure opposition; it strikes the kingdoms of the world, shatters them, and then grows into a mountain filling the earth. Likewise the Church, flowing from Christ the Rock, participates in His eschatological victory.

When Ephrem comments on Matthew 16, he sometimes speaks ambiguously enough that both meanings remain possible. Yet several passages strongly support the victorious interpretation. In one hymn he says the Church “despises death and corruption,” while the Cross “laid Sheol waste by its unconquerable power.” Elsewhere he describes the Church as moving forward in strength while the “bars of Sheol” fail to resist her.

This fits perfectly within Ephrem’s broader theology:

• Christ is the Tower leading humanity upward,

• the Church is the living community gathered into Him,

• the Cross overturns death,

• the Rock gives life-giving water,

• Paradise is reopened,

• and Sheol itself is broken open from within.

In this Syriac vision, the Church is not fundamentally a defensive institution preserving earthly power. It is a resurrection reality participating in Christ’s victory over death, sin, division, and corruption.

And perhaps this raises another profound question: if the earliest Syriac interpretation saw the Church as storming the bars of death alongside the risen Christ, how did later Christianity come to imagine the Church primarily as a fortified earthly institution defending its own authority rather than as a living body carrying resurrection life into the world?

This hymn preserves several verses also found in the well-attested Hymns on Virginity 15. In that earlier authentic hymn the image of the Cross being “set up” already appears, although not in exactly the same position as in the later text preserved by Lamy. Even if the later version is a mixed and expanded compilation whose authorship cannot entirely be proven, certain features within it still strongly suggest an early Syriac origin and possibly even Ephrem’s own hand. One of those features is precisely this shifted reference to the Cross, which fits naturally within Ephrem’s symbolic style.

Because of this, the text may still support the idea that Ephrem understood the “bars of Sheol” not simply as attacking forces, but as barriers being broken open through Christ’s victory.

At this stage, however, Murray concludes that the question cannot be settled with certainty. Some passages seem to support this interpretation, while others do not clearly point in that direction. In addition, several of the most suggestive texts survive only in later or uncertain forms. Even so, the hypothesis continues to hold together remarkably well.

Murray then turns to Ephrem’s descriptions of Christ’s descent into Sheol — the “harrowing of hell.” Ephrem speaks vividly about this theme throughout the Nisibene Hymns. Entire groups of hymns are devoted to Christ, Death, Satan, Resurrection, and dialogues between Death and Satan themselves.

In one powerful passage Death cries out in fear because the dead, raised by Christ, are trampling him at the gates of Sheol:

“Let me run and close the gates of Sheol before that Dead One whose death has despoiled me…The Medicine of Life has entered Sheol and made its dead live.”

Here Christ is portrayed as invading death itself. Only God possesses the true key to the gates of Sheol. Before Christ descended, Sheol felt secure and confident:

“Sheol fondled his treasure, the store of all bodies.His gates and also his bars he made fast in his confidence.”

But Christ overturns this confidence. Death later laments to the risen dead:

“You smote the gates of Sheol and did me injury.”

Even so, Murray notes something surprising: despite Ephrem’s repeated descriptions of Christ plundering Sheol, he does not strongly emphasize the gates and bars themselves. Nor does he clearly connect these passages directly to Matthew 16:18. Even biblical figures like Samson, who later became symbolic types of Christ tearing open the gates of hell, are not used this way by Ephrem. The evidence therefore remains indirect.

Still, later writers influenced by Syriac traditions sometimes combine Matthew 16:18 with Daniel’s Stone prophecy or with Christ’s conquest of death. These parallels suggest that it was entirely possible for Ephrem and the Syriac tradition to understand the Church not merely as defending itself against Sheol, but as sharing in Christ’s victorious advance against death itself.

Murray finally summarizes Ephrem’s extraordinarily rich interpretation of Matthew 16 and the entire Rock symbolism. Christ remains the true Rock and Stone prefigured throughout Scripture and Jewish tradition. The imagery of Christ making Simon into “Rock” is frequently present, though usually less explicit than in Aphraates. Yet Simon’s name Kepha unmistakably functions as more than a personal name. It is a shared symbolic title participating in Christ’s own identity as the Rock.

And perhaps this sheds indirect light on another important question; one concerning Mary Magdalene.

If Syriac Christianity preserved symbolic, layered, and participatory ways of reading Scripture, where titles and figures shared in Christ’s mysteries without being reduced to simplistic moral categories, then we may ask why later Western interpretation moved so strongly toward moral reductionism.

Murray argues that Ephrem was clearly familiar with the idea that names in Scripture often describe a person’s divine role or action rather than merely their nature. He points to an important passage on the Annunciation in Ephrem’s Gospel Commentary where Ephrem reflects on the name “Jesus” itself. Because the name means “Saviour,” Ephrem explains that it refers not simply to Christ’s essence or nature (kyānā), but to His saving actions and works (suryānā). In other words, names like Jesus or Kepha are functional and revelatory titles that express divine activity.

To understand everything Ephrem is doing in his interpretation of Matthew 16:16ff, Murray says we must look across Ephrem’s wider body of writings. In the Gospel Commentary itself, Ephrem appears to connect Peter’s name Kepha less with the idea of Peter being a static institutional foundation and more with the imagery of the “stone of stumbling.” Peter himself briefly becomes such a stumbling stone when he opposes Christ’s suffering and is rebuked with the words, “Get behind me, Satan.”

Even so, Ephrem still subtly hints at Peter’s foundational role through his unusual reading of the verse about the “bars of Sheol.” In Ephrem’s version, the promise appears directed toward Peter personally rather than directly toward the Church. Yet even here the emphasis remains on faith, divine victory, and participation in Christ rather than on institutional supremacy.

Murray shows that Ephrem surrounds Matthew 16 with a whole network of interconnected images:

• Christ as Architect,

• the Church as Tower,

• the House built upon the Rock,

• the contrast between Babel and the true heavenly ascent,

• Noah’s repentance before the Flood,

• the Tabernacle,

• the Cities of Refuge,

• the Tree of Life,

• and Paradise itself.

Humanity’s own attempts to ascend toward heaven are symbolized by Babel — the great human project built through pride and self-reliance. Even the Old Testament institutions, such as the Tabernacle and Cities of Refuge, are ultimately temporary foreshadowings rather than final realities. In contrast, Christ gives humanity the true Tower leading heavenward and the true Tree of Life whose fruit becomes the source of sacramental and spiritual life.

Interestingly, the Temple itself does not play a major role in this particular symbolic network. For Ephrem the Temple most often symbolizes Christ’s own body rather than an institutional church structure.

Murray then revisits the difficult phrase “the bars of Sheol.” After examining the Syriac wording, biblical usage, and linguistic evidence, he concludes that the phrase could just as naturally mean: “the bars of Sheol will not be able to withstand her,” rather than simply “will not prevail against her.”

This would transform the image from passive defense into active victory: the Church (Tower) participating in Christ’s triumph over death itself. Murray cautiously says the evidence for Ephrem fully intending this meaning is not decisive, though several strong arguments support it.

Finally, Murray reflects on the broader doctrinal significance of Aphraates and Ephrem. He intentionally avoids turning their symbolic language into rigid theological systems because their writings are unsystematic, poetic, and reflective rather than scholastic. Both writers clearly possess a high view of bishops and of continuity with the Apostles. They also speak strongly about Peter’s primacy. Yet neither Aphraates nor Ephrem says anything explicit about that primacy being permanently transferred or inherited through a single Roman line.

What is especially striking is that Ephrem clearly knew certain Roman traditions; for example, Peter’s upside-down crucifixion; yet he never develops a doctrine of Roman supremacy or a universal primacy centered in Rome. Neither he nor Aphraates speaks of one bishop ruling over the entire episcopal college.

Murray suggests that this silence profoundly shaped the later Syriac churches. Because Syriac Christianity in Mesopotamia and Persia remained geographically and culturally isolated from the Greco-Roman West, its theology developed differently. Later Syriac churches, such as the Church of the East centered at Seleucia-Ctesiphon and the Jacobite Patriarchate of Antioch, often applied the “Petrine texts” either to their own patriarchs or even more broadly to the whole body of bishops together.

At the same time, these churches showed remarkably little sustained interest in Roman primacy itself. Apart from later conflicts involving figures such as Pope Leo or Pope Celestine, Syriac writers generally say almost nothing; either positively or negatively, about Roman supremacy. Their separation from the West prevented the intense political and theological bitterness that later characterized many other disputes. In fact, Murray notes that this relative distance sometimes later allowed surprisingly friendly relations and even partial reunions between Syriac and Western churches.

What emerges overall is a very different atmosphere from later medieval Western ecclesiology.

In Appendix I, Murray examines the phrase “Firm Rock” (Kepha śarrirta) and argues that by the time of Aphraates it was already an established and recognized title applied both to Christ and to Peter. The earlier evidence, though limited, strongly suggests that this symbolic title existed before Aphraates and formed part of an older Syriac Christian tradition.

The earliest Syriac example appears in the Odes of Solomon 31:11:

“I stood unshaken like a Firm Rock (kepha śarrirta) that is beaten by the waves and endures.”

Here Christ Himself is clearly speaking. The image presents Christ as the immovable Rock standing firm against the assaults of chaos and suffering.

Similar imagery appears elsewhere in the Odes. In one passage the Rock becomes the very foundation upon which the Kingdom is built:

“That the foundation for everything might be thy Rock (kepha); and on it thou didst build thy Kingdom, and thou becamest the dwelling-place of the Saints.”

The exact speaker here is less certain, but the imagery unmistakably points toward the foundation of the Church and God’s dwelling among His people.

Another related expression appears in Ode 11:5:

“I was established upon the Rock of Truth where he had set me up.”

The Syriac word used here for “Rock” differs slightly, echoing more directly the “house upon the rock” imagery from Matthew 7. Yet the word for “Truth” is closely related in meaning to śarrirta (“firm,” “true,” “steadfast”), showing how deeply interconnected these ideas already were in early Syriac spirituality.

Murray then traces the wider background of this title into Greek Christian tradition. A Greek phrase meaning “firm rock” (sterea petra) appears in early Christian writings such as the Epistle of Barnabas, where Isaiah’s prophecy about setting one’s face “like a hard stone” is transformed into a title for Christ Himself. Originally the prophecy referred only to the Servant’s steadfast face, but Christian interpretation expanded the image so that Christ Himself became the Rock.

This same phrase later appears in Eusebius, who says of the Church:

“Her foundation is the inviolable and firm Rock upon which she is built… the Rock was Christ.”

At the same time, another strand of Christian interpretation increasingly applied the Rock imagery directly to Peter. Murray points to an especially striking example in the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies, where Peter himself is called the “firm rock” and “foundation of the Church.”

When these earlier traditions are placed alongside Aphraates’ statements, the pattern becomes clear. Aphraates says that Christ called Simon “Firm Rock,” and elsewhere that Christ “made him a foundation, and called him Kepha, the Building of the Church.” Murray therefore concludes that Aphraates was not inventing this language himself. Rather, he was inheriting an already existing symbolic tradition in which:

• Christ was the original Firm Rock foretold in prophecy,

• Peter shared in that title through Christ,

• and the Church itself was built spiritually upon this revealed mystery.

What is especially important is that this symbolism remains participatory rather than competitive. Peter does not replace Christ as the Rock; rather, Peter receives and shares Christ’s own Rock-like role and function. The title remains fundamentally Christological even when extended to Peter.

This reflects the broader Syriac approach to symbolism:

• Christ is the true Light, yet believers become light;

• Christ is the true Shepherd, yet apostles and bishops shepherd;

• Christ is the true Rock, yet Peter becomes Rock through participation in Him;

• Christ is the true Temple, yet believers become living temples.

The symbolism is therefore organic, mystical, and shared rather than rigidly institutional. Titles flow outward from Christ into His people because the Church participates in His life.

In Appendix II, Murray examines the symbolic title “City of Refuge” or “Place of Refuge” (beyt gawsa) and its connection to Christ and the Church within early Syriac Christianity. Earlier in his study of Ephrem’s interpretation of Matthew 16:18, Murray had already noticed that Ephrem uses “Place of Refuge” as an image connected with the Church. Here he expands that observation by tracing the wider Syriac tradition behind it.

Although Aphraates himself never explicitly uses beyt gawsa as a formal title, the idea appears clearly in other early Syriac writings. In the Acts of Judas Thomas (AJT), Christ is repeatedly addressed as the “Place of Refuge” in litany-like prayers and hymns. Elsewhere in the same work believers are described as coming into Christ’s “Place of Refuge,” language which naturally begins to blur the distinction between Christ Himself and the gathered community sheltered within Him — that is, the Church.

Murray notes that this parallels another Syriac title: “Place of Assembly” (beyt sawba). Sometimes this title refers directly to Christ, while elsewhere believers are described as entering into His “Place of Assembly.” In Syriac symbolism, Christ and the Church are often intertwined in this participatory way. Christ is both the source and the living space into which believers are gathered.

Murray then turns to an even more intriguing source: the Prayer of Asenath, an ancient Jewish or Jewish-Christian work likely composed in Syria sometime between the fourth and fifth centuries. In this story, Asenath; the Egyptian wife of Joseph, undergoes a spiritual transformation and receives a new symbolic name from an angel: “City of Refuge.”

The angel explains that she is given this title because many nations will seek refuge within her and dwell beneath her wings. The imagery immediately suggests a spiritual gathering place for the Gentiles. The symbolism deepens further when Asenath’s maidens are called “seven pillars in the City of Refuge” and daughters of the “Place of Refuge of the elect.”

Although parts of the work may have later Christian additions, the central symbolic idea is already clear: Asenath represents the gathering in of the nations and the conversion of the Gentiles.

This becomes highly significant because both Aphraates and Ephrem explicitly interpret Asenath as a type of the Gentile Church. Aphraates writes that just as Joseph married the daughter of an unclean pagan priest, so Christ took to Himself the Church gathered from the Gentile nations. Ephrem likewise says that Asenath prefigured the Church of the Gentiles who loved the Son of Joseph; Christ Himself.

Murray therefore suggests that by the fourth century there may already have existed a Jewish-Christian midrashic tradition linking Asenath’s title “City of Refuge” directly with the Church. This would explain why Syriac writers could naturally apply the imagery of refuge both to Christ and to the believing community gathered within Him.

The symbolism is deeply consistent with the broader Syriac vision of the Church:

• the Church is not primarily an institution or political structure,

• but a place of shelter, gathering, healing, and divine protection,

• a spiritual refuge where the nations are gathered into Christ.

At the same time, Christ Himself can also be called the “Place of Refuge,” because all protection, life, and salvation ultimately flow from Him. The Church participates in His refuge just as Peter participates in His Rock-ness and believers participate in His divine life.

The imagery also echoes many other Syriac symbols already encountered throughout Murray’s study:

• the Tower leading upward to heaven,

• the Ark preserving life through the Flood,

• the One House,

• Paradise restored,

• the Tree of Life,

• and the living Temple indwelt by God.

All of these images describe the same spiritual reality from different angles: humanity gathered out of exile and death into the life, protection, and indwelling presence of Christ.

In Appendix III, Murray returns to the question of the “bars of Sheol” and explores the older tradition behind this imagery. Earlier in the study he examined what the phrase may have meant in Ephrem’s interpretation of Matthew 16:18, but here he traces the deeper history of the idea that Christ descended into Sheol and shattered its bars.

The central Old Testament texts behind this imagery are Psalm 107:16 and Isaiah 45:2:

“He shattered the doors of bronzeand cut apart the bars of iron.”

These verses became foundational for early Christian reflection on Christ’s descent into death and His victory over Sheol.

One of the earliest examples appears in the Odes of Solomon. In one passage Christ declares:

“I opened the doors that were closed,and I broke apart the iron bars.”

Some scholars understood this primarily as referring to Christ’s descent into Sheol, while others connected it with baptism. Murray notes that the two meanings do not conflict. In early Christianity baptism itself was understood as participation in Christ’s victory over death. Entering the waters of baptism meant entering sacramentally into Christ’s conquest of Sheol.

This becomes important for interpreting Matthew 16:18 in the Syriac tradition. If the “bars of Sheol” imagery already carried associations of Christ breaking death’s prison open, then Tatian’s decision to use “bars” instead of “gates” may have intentionally pointed toward the Church sharing in Christ’s resurrection victory.

Early Christian writings about Christ’s descent into Hades often emphasize not merely escape from death but active conquest. In Melito of Sardis, Christ “tramples Hades,” “binds the strong one,” and raises humanity toward heaven. In texts associated with Hippolytus, Psalm 107:16 is directly connected to this victory over death.

The same imagery develops further in apocryphal accounts such as the Gospel of Bartholomew and especially the Gospel of Nicodemus. In these traditions Hades and Satan panic at Christ’s arrival. They attempt to strengthen the gates and bars of the underworld, yet Christ breaks them apart, binds Satan, grasps Adam by the hand, and leads the righteous upward into Paradise. These texts eventually shaped the classical Christian “Harrowing of Hell” tradition.

Turning back to Syriac Christianity, Murray notes that the Acts of Judas Thomas also describe Christ descending into Sheol, opening its gates, releasing prisoners, and leading them upward. Although these passages do not specifically mention the bars, they clearly participate in the same wider tradition.

The image appears even in Manichaean Syriac-influenced hymns, where Christ’s resurrection is said to have broken the doors and bars of Hades.

Aphraates, too, echoes nearly all the major elements of this tradition. He describes Christ entering Sheol, freeing captives, defeating the evil one, breaking the doors, and shattering the bars. In another passage he compares Christ’s descent into Sheol with Moses dividing the Red Sea:

“Moses cleft the sea and made them pass through;our Saviour cleft Sheol and broke its gates.”

Here the Exodus itself becomes a type of resurrection and liberation from death.

Murray points out that Ephrem likewise describes Christ’s conquest of Sheol throughout the Nisibene Hymns. Yet surprisingly Ephrem rarely emphasizes the bars themselves or explicitly quotes Psalm 107:16. Because of this, the evidence remains inconclusive as to whether Ephrem consciously interpreted Matthew 16:18 through this exact imagery.

Still, the broader tradition strongly supports the possibility that Tatian intentionally chose the phrase “bars of Sheol” to evoke Christ’s triumph over death — a triumph in which the Church participates.

Murray then observes that this interpretation does appear among some later Fathers. Hilary of Poitiers, for example, speaks of the Church founded upon the Rock as dissolving the gates of hell and the barriers of death itself. Leo the Great similarly connects Peter’s faith and the Church with victory over death’s powers.

Murray believes the key that made this interpretation possible was the ancient “Stone” symbolism from Daniel 2; the Stone cut from the mountain without hands that destroys earthly kingdoms and fills the whole earth. Christ the Stone is not passive; He conquers, expands, and transforms the world through His Church.

Questions

• If Jesus spoke Aramaic and the earliest Church flourished in Syriac lands, why are most Christians taught theology almost entirely through Greek and Latin categories?

• Did the West inherit the faith of the Apostles — or reshape it through Roman imperial thinking?

• Why do the Syriac Fathers describe the Church as a living mystery while later Western theology increasingly described it as an institution?

• If Christ is the true Rock, why did later theology focus so heavily on one earthly office?

• Did Peter receive authority — or participate in Christ’s own authority?

• Why do Aphraates and Ephrem never develop the kind of Roman supremacy later claimed in the West?

• If the earliest Syriac Christians knew nothing of papal monarchy, when exactly did that idea emerge?

• Was the Church originally understood more as a communion of divine life than a centralized governing structure?

• Why does Syriac Christianity focus on healing, resurrection, indwelling, and transformation while Western theology often centers on jurisdiction, law, and control?

• Did the Roman Empire eventually recast the faith in its own imperial image rather than the image of Christ?

• If the Church is the Body of Christ, how did it become identified with wealthy, imperial power structures?

• Did translation from Aramaic into Greek and Latin subtly alter how Christians understood Peter, the Church, and authority?

• Why do the Syriac Fathers interpret “the bars of Sheol” as Christ’s victory over death, while later Christianity often turned the Church into a defensive fortress?

• Was the Gospel originally about ascent into divine life; before becoming defined by institutional boundaries?

• If the Church is built of “living stones,” can it truly be reduced to brick, a protected hierarchy, and administration?

• Why do the earliest Eastern Fathers speak more about participation in Christ than submission to Rome?

• Could the Christianity closest to the language of Jesus preserve meanings later lost in translation?

• If the Apostolic faith began in the East, why are Western interpretations so often treated as the default form of Christianity?

• Did Semitic Christianity understand mystery where Greco-Roman Christianity sought definition and control?

• What if the earliest Church understood authority spiritually and symbolically rather than politically and institutionally?

For further Reading see below:

OCP-30-(1964).pdf

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