Reading from the Book of Acts of the Apostles

Acts 4:1–12

¹While Peter and John were speaking to the people, the priests, the captain of the temple guard, and the Sadducees arrived., ²dissatisfied with what they were teaching the people and announcing in the person of Jesus the resurrection of the dead. ³They seized them and threw them into prison until the next day, for it was already evening. ⁴However, many of those who had heard this speech believed, and the number of men rose to about five thousand. ⁵The next day, their leaders, the Elders and the Scribes, assembled in Jerusalem, ⁶with Annas, the high priest, Caiaphas, John, Alexander and all those who were of the papal family. ⁷And having brought the Apostles before them, they asked them, «By what power or in whose name did you do this?» ⁸Then Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, said to them: ⁹«Leaders of the people and elders of Israel: if we are asked today about a good deed done to a disabled person, how this man was healed, ¹⁰Know this well, all of you and all the people of Israel: It is by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified and whom God raised from the dead, it is by him that this man stands before you fully healed. ¹¹This Jesus is the stone that you rejected from the building and which has become the cornerstone. ¹²And salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved.»

In those days, after the healing of the lame man, while Peter and John were still speaking to the people, the priests, the captain of the temple guard, and the Sadducees came to them. They were enraged because they were teaching the people and proclaiming in Jesus the resurrection from the dead. They arrested them and put them in custody until the next day, since it was already evening. Now many of those who heard the message believed, numbering about five thousand men. The next day the leaders of the people, the elders, and the teachers of the law met in Jerusalem. Annas the high priest, Caiaphas, John, Alexander, and all the members of the high priests' families were there. They brought Peter and John before them and questioned them, saying, «By what power, in whose name, did you heal this?» Then Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, said to them, «Rulers and elders, we are being questioned today about what we did for a disabled man, and how he was healed. Know this, all of you and all the people of Israel: it is by the name of Jesus of Nazareth, whom you crucified but whom God raised from the dead, that this man stands before you healed. This Jesus is the stone that you builders rejected, which has become the cornerstone. There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved.»

«"In no one else is there salvation": Peter before the Sanhedrin and the proclamation of the only name that saves

How Peter's forced appearance before the high priests became the first great Christian apology for universal salvation in Jesus Christ

There are moments in religious history when an interrogation room transforms into a pulpit. This is precisely what happens in Acts 4, when Peter, arrested for healing a lame man, finds himself facing the priestly elite of Jerusalem. What could have been a surrender becomes a proclamation: «Salvation is found in no one else.» This verse is not only the pivot of this passage; it is one of the densest and most audacious Christological statements in the New Testament. This article is for anyone who wants to understand why this phrase still disturbs us today—and why it liberates us.

We will begin with the historical and literary context of the narrative to grasp its dramatic structure. We will then delve into an analysis of Peter's confession, examining the internal logic of the apostolic discourse. Three thematic axes will then unfold the richness of the text: the Christology of the cornerstone, the question of universal salvation, and the power of the Name in the biblical tradition. A look at the broader Tradition will allow us to understand how the Church Fathers and medieval theologians received this text. Concrete avenues for meditation and a conclusion calling for personal conversion will bring this exploration to a close.

Jerusalem, spring of the year 30: a nascent community under surveillance

To understand the power of Acts 4:1-12, one must picture Jerusalem a few weeks after Pentecost. The city was still reeling from the events of Golgotha. The religious authorities—the chief priests, the elders, the Sadducees—believed they had put an end to the Jesus affair by having him crucified. But now his disciples were walking in the porticoes of the Temple, healing the sick, and above all—an intolerable detail for the Sadducees who denied the resurrection—proclaiming that Jesus had risen from the dead. It was precisely this doctrinal point that triggered the arrest: Luke specifies that the authorities were «outraged» to see Peter and John «proclaiming, in the person of Jesus, the resurrection from the dead.» The resurrection is here the crux of the theological battle.

The literary context is equally important. This passage is part of the grand narrative of the Acts of the Apostles, the second volume of Luke's work. The preceding passage (Acts 3) recounts the spectacular healing of a man lame from birth at the Beautiful Gate of the Temple: Peter tells him, "In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk!" The man leaps, walks, jumps, and praises God. It is this act that provokes the crowd, then Peter's speech under Solomon's Portico, and finally the arrest. Acts 4 is therefore the direct and logical continuation: the healing has taken place, the speech has been given, now comes the trial.

Luke, a meticulous historian and astute theologian, constructs this narrative in three acts: the arrest and its paradoxical effect (approximately 5,000 men become believers despite the repression), the summons before the Sanhedrin (the highest assembly of Jewish authority, including Annas, Caiaphas, and the leading priestly families), and finally, Peter's response, "filled with the Holy Spirit." This last expression is crucial: it echoes Jesus' promise in Luke 12:12—"The Holy Spirit will teach you at that very hour what you should say."«

The liturgical context for this text is the Easter season. In the Roman Catholic lectionary, this passage is proclaimed during Easter week, precisely because it constitutes a meditation on the resurrection as the foundation of salvation. The Easter celebration does not end in itself; it extends out into the world through apostolic preaching. Acts 4 is, in this sense, the first chapter of this unfolding mission.

The rhetorical context must also be noted. Peter appears as the accused; he responds as a prophet. The question posed by the authorities—"By what power, by whose name, did you perform this healing?"—likely called for a cautious, diplomatic response, perhaps even a retraction. Quite the opposite occurs. Peter turns the question into a kerygmatic proclamation: You want to know by what name this man was healed? I will tell you. And that name is the one you crucified.

The first realization this text provokes is this: in the Christian tradition, persecution does not silence the Gospel; it gives it a platform. Peter before the Sanhedrin foreshadows Paul before Agrippa, Ignatius before the lions, and thousands of martyrs who, throughout the centuries, have transformed their ordeal into a profession of faith.

The structure of a perfect kerygmatic discourse

Peter's speech in Acts 4:8-12 is a masterpiece of kerygmatic concision. In barely five verses, he accomplishes what the first Christian preachers employed in each of their addresses: recalling the facts (the crucifixion, the resurrection), revealing their theological meaning (Jesus is the cornerstone), and drawing out the universal soteriological consequence (in no one else is there salvation). The structure is both rigorous and powerful.

First, let's note the address. Peter doesn't shy away from the audience. He names them: "Rulers of the people and elders." This isn't mere formality; it's a rhetorical tactic. By acknowledging their authority, he gains even more prominence by contrasting it with a higher authority: that of God who raised Jesus from the dead. The tension between human and divine authority runs throughout the entire speech.

Then comes the central paradox. Peter reminds us that the healing was accomplished «through the name of Jesus of Nazareth, whom you crucified but whom God raised from the dead.» This «but» is one of the most important in the New Testament. It effects a complete reversal: you thought you had closed the chapter by crucifying Jesus; God reopened it by raising him from the dead. The human act of rejection becomes, through divine initiative, the foundation of salvation. This is the Paschal logic in all its complexity.

The image of the cornerstone, borrowed from Psalm 118:22, reinforces this paradox with striking visual power. In ancient architecture, the cornerstone is the first stone laid, the one upon which the coherence of the entire structure rests. Peter thus quotes a text his listeners know by heart—it is a liturgical psalm—and turns it against them: you are the builders, and you have rejected precisely the stone upon which everything was to rest. The irony is as much theological as it is rhetorical.

Then comes the great assertion: «In no one else is there salvation, for under heaven there is no other name given to mankind by which we must be saved.» This sentence is structured as a reinforced double negative. In Greek, the formulation uses the adverb οὐδεὶς (no other) and the phrase ἐν ἄλλῳ οὐδενί (in no other). The redundancy is not stylistic; it is dogmatic. It aims to exclude any ambiguity.

What is remarkable about this statement is that it is not a declaration of aggressive exclusivism. It arises in the context of a healing. Peter does not initially proclaim an abstract doctrine; he points to a man standing before the tribunal, healed, alive, a bodily witness to what the name of Jesus accomplishes. Soteriology is rooted in concrete experience, in the flesh of this man who could not walk and who now walks. It is a theology of the incarnation to its very core.

The existential implications are immense. If the healing of someone born with a disability manifests the salvation that the name of Jesus brings, then this salvation is not merely eschatological (a promise of life after death); it is already active, already at work, already transformative in the very fabric of human history. The salvation Peter speaks of is holistic: it touches the body, the soul, the community, and history itself.

The Christology of the Cornerstone: A Reversal Brought About by God Himself

The quotation from Psalm 118 placed in Peter's mouth is not a literary embellishment. It is the heart of the Christological argument, and it deserves careful consideration.

Psalm 118 is a hymn of praise linked to the Temple liturgy. In the psalm's original context, the "rejected stone" represents Israel, despised by the nations but made by God himself the foundation of history. Rabbinic tradition had already interpreted this verse in a messianic light, seeing in it the announcement of a being or event that would paradoxically fulfill what humanity had rejected. When Peter quotes this psalm before the Sanhedrin, he therefore performs an exegetical act of rare audacity: he reads Scripture according to a key that the authorities themselves could or should have used, and he shows them that, by rejecting Jesus, they have unwittingly fulfilled the prophecy.

This dynamic of reversal is a structuring element throughout Luke's Christology. What humans reject, God exalts. What death buries, resurrection raises up. The human builder calculates, evaluates, and rejects what seems useless or dangerous. God, however, places the keystone of the entire edifice precisely where the human architect has failed. It is a theology of Providence that does not deny evil but transcends it.

The architectural image of the "cornerstone"—in Greek, γωνίας ἀκρογωνιαῖον—is doubly significant. First, because it applies to someone who was executed as a criminal. In both Roman and Jewish culture of the time, crucifixion was the most shameful death imaginable, reserved for slaves and rebels. To say that this crucified man is the cornerstone of the edifice of universal salvation was an absolute scandal to the audience. Second, because the cornerstone is not decorative: it is functional. It does not merely support the weight of the building; it guarantees its alignment. Without it, the walls would spread apart, the edifice would collapse. In theological terms: without Jesus Christ, the architecture of salvation loses its internal coherence.

There is a lesson here for our time. We live in a culture that values flexible beliefs, a multiplicity of spiritual references, and the construction of one's own religious identity à la carte. None of this is inherently contemptible. But the theology of the cornerstone invites us to a fundamental question: Is there an anchor point that does not depend on my moods, my cultural background, or my miscalculations? Peter answers: yes. And this anchor point has a name.

This Christology also has a profound ecclesial dimension. The Church is not a human association that has adopted Jesus as its figure of reference. It is the edifice built upon the stone that human builders rejected. Its mission is not to gain acceptance at all costs from the powerful of this world, but to point tirelessly toward the one who is the cornerstone of every true human edifice.

Universal salvation and the exclusivity of the name: a fruitful paradox

The phrase "In no one else is there salvation" is undoubtedly one of the most controversial statements in the New Testament in the contemporary context. It offends ecumenical sensibilities, interreligious dialogue, and cultural pluralism. It would be dishonest to avoid it. It would be equally dishonest to reduce it to a posture of triumphalist exclusivism.

To grasp its precise meaning, we must first consider the Greek word used for "salvation": σωτηρία (sōteria). This term is rich and polysemous. It designates both deliverance from immediate danger (such as illness or persecution), health and physical integrity, and eschatological salvation in its fullest sense—definitive communion with God. In the immediate context of Acts 4, the healing of the infirm man is a manifestation of this soteria: Peter uses the same verb "to save" to refer to the man's physical healing (v. 9: "how this man was saved") and to eschatological salvation (v. 12). This is not a coincidence; it is a theological statement.

The salvation Peter speaks of is therefore total. He does not oppose salvation of the body and salvation of the soul, salvation in history and salvation in eternity. It is one and the same reality, initiated now and fulfilled in the fullness of the Kingdom. And this total, unified reality has only one source: the name of Jesus.

But why "the name"? In the Hebrew Bible, a name is not simply a sound. It is the expression of being, of personality, of power. To know someone's name is to enter into a relationship with their deepest reality. To invoke God's name is to place oneself under his authority and his action. When Peter says that "there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved," he means that Jesus is not simply a spiritual guide among others, an admirable figure in a pantheon of sages. He is the locus of God's saving presence in human history, the name in which God gives himself to save.

This statement directly raises the question of our relationship with other religions. Contemporary Catholic theology, particularly since the Second Vatican Council and the Declaration Nostra Aetate, acknowledges that other religious traditions contain "rays of truth" and elements of grace. But it firmly maintains that the salvation accomplished in Jesus Christ is unique, complete, and universal. This is not because other religions are worthless, but because Christ is the center toward which all human aspirations for goodness, truth, and holiness converge.

The paradox is this: it is precisely because salvation is universal that it must have a single source. A salvation that multiplied infinitely into as many versions as there are cultures and religions would no longer be salvation; it would be a dissemination of human desire without a point of convergence. The Christian confession that Jesus is the only Savior is not an assertion of cultural superiority; it is an affirmation of universal love: God willed that all people be saved, and he concentrated in one Person, in one event—the Cross and the Resurrection—the totality of this saving will.

The Power of the Name in Biblical Tradition: From Exodus to Pentecost

To understand why the "name of Jesus" is imbued with such power in Acts 4, we must go back to the great biblical tradition of the divine Name. This is not a Christian novelty; it is the culmination of a theological line that runs throughout the Old Testament.

Let us first recall the foundational scene: in Exodus 3, Moses encounters God in the burning bush and asks him the direct question: «What is your name?» God’s answer is both a revelation and an enigma: «I am who I am.» The divine Name—YHWH, the sacred Tetragrammaton—is fundamentally untranslatable because it designates not one being among others, but Being itself, the source of all being. This name is so holy that Jewish tradition forbids pronouncing it; it is replaced by «Adonai» (the Lord) or simply «HaShem» (the Name).

However, in the Septuagint—the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible used by the early Christians—YHWH is translated as Kyrios, the Lord. And it is precisely this title that Paul applies to Jesus in the hymn to the Philippians: «God exalted him to the highest place and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow» (Philippians 2:9-10). The identification is thus explicit in Pauline theology: the Name of Jesus is the fulfillment and revelation of the divine Name itself. To invoke the name of Jesus is to invoke the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, now revealed in the flesh of Nazareth.

In the context of the Acts of the Apostles, this theology of the Name is operative and concrete. Peter heals the cripple «in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth.» This is not a magic formula; it is an invocation. It means: I place this man and this act under the authority and power of the risen Jesus. The healing is the visible sign of this active presence of the Risen One in the world.

This theology has profound implications for Christian prayer. Praying «in the name of Jesus,» as the Gospels repeatedly invite us to do, is not a liturgical convention. It is an ontological affirmation: I approach God not on the basis of my own merits or personal spiritual capacity, but through the mediation of the One whose Name alone can save me. Christian prayer is intrinsically Christological.

There is also a communal and missionary dimension. The Name of Jesus is not private property. Peter does not heal for himself; he heals for this man, before all the people, at the threshold of the Temple. The Name of Jesus is proclaimed in the public sphere, at the heart of the most powerful religious and political institutions. This is what makes the scene in Acts 4 so emblematic: the appearance before the Sanhedrin is also a public and institutional proclamation. The Church is not invited to whisper the name of Jesus in the privacy of individual consciences; it is invited to proclaim it where the powers of this world exercise their authority.

Finally, we must note the eschatological dimension of the Name. The phrase "under heaven"—in Greek ὑπὸ τὸν οὐρανόν—designates the entirety of human space, all that lies beneath the celestial vault, that is to say, the totality of human history. No geographical space, no culture, no era is excluded from the Name's sphere of influence. Universality is explicitly affirmed: not only for Israel, not only for the Greco-Roman world, but for all of humanity in its entirety, both temporally and geographically.

The tradition of the Fathers and great theologians

When the early Church heard this word

The Church Fathers meditated on this passage with particular intensity, precisely because they themselves lived in contexts of confrontation with political and religious powers. For them, Acts 4 was not a text of the past; it was a mirror in which they recognized their own experience as witnesses of a forbidden Name.

Origen of Alexandria, at the beginning of the 3rd century, saw in the phrase "in no one else but him" the testimony to the universality of the divine Logos. For him, Christ is not foreign to non-Christian cultures; he is the Logos of which every human search for truth and goodness is a part. But this universality of the Logos does not dissolve the particularity of the historical Christ: it is precisely because the Logos became incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth that his salvation is accessible to all. The Incarnation is not a narrowing of the universal; it is its intensification at a specific point in history.

John Chrysostom, whose eloquence earned him the nickname "Golden Mouth," reflected with undisguised admiration on Peter's courage before the Sanhedrin. He saw in it the fulfillment of the Paraclete's promise: the man who had denied Jesus three times on the night of the Passion now stood upright before the same authorities and proclaimed without trembling the name of the One he had denied. For Chrysostom, Peter's transformation was proof by example that the salvation he spoke of was not a theological abstraction but a reality that reshaped the human person from within.

Thomas Aquinas, in his Catena Aurea—a commentary on the Gospels and Acts interwoven with patristic quotations—emphasizes the twofold significance of the term σωτηρία: both bodily healing and eschatological salvation. For Aquinas, this intentional indistinction in Luke reveals that bodily creation and spiritual destiny belong to one and the same order of salvation. Grace does not abolish nature; it restores and elevates it. The healing of the infirm is therefore a sacramental sign: it makes visible an invisible spiritual reality.

In the medieval spiritual tradition, the Rhenish mystics—Meister Eckhart, John Tauler, Henry Suso—meditated on the Name of Jesus as the gateway for the soul into Trinitarian life. The Name is not merely an external invocation; it is an inner space in which the soul gathers itself and finds its true dwelling place. This tradition extends chapter 4 of Acts toward a mysticism of interiority without losing its missionary and public dimension.

Closer to our time, 20th-century theology—particularly that of Karl Barth and Hans Urs von Balthasar—revisited the question of the universality of salvation in Jesus Christ with renewed depth. Barth emphasizes that God's grace in Christ is so sovereign that it precedes any human response. Von Balthasar develops the idea that Christ's descent into hell is a sign of his desire to reach every human being, including those who seem most distant. These two thinkers, while maintaining the singularity of salvation in Christ, refuse to make it an instrument of exclusion: if God wills that all people be saved (1 Tim 2:4), then the particularity of Jesus serves this universality.

Lectio divina

Living "under the Name"«

Seven ways to enter this text

1. Reread the text imagining that you are Pierre. What enabled you to speak with such confidence? The answer is in the text: the Holy Spirit. Before asking yourself what you would say in a difficult situation, ask the Spirit.

2. Identify in your life "the builders who reject stone". What parts of your life have you set aside because they seemed worthless or cumbersome, and which may be exactly where God wants to build something?

3. Meditate on the name of Jesus. Try this week to begin each prayer not with a list of requests, but simply with the Name: «Jesus.» Remain for a few moments in this Name, as in a house. Let it resonate within you.

4. Linking healing and salvation. Is there someone in your circle who is suffering physically, emotionally, or socially? The theology of Acts 4 invites you not to separate the care of the body from prayer for the soul. Act, and pray.

5. Honestly confront the issue of exclusivity. If you feel resistance to the phrase "in no one else but him," take the time to explore it rather than avoid it. Where does this resistance come from? Is it cultural, emotional, or intellectual? Faith doesn't fear questions; it transcends them.

6. Contemplate the image of the rejected stone in your own story. Have there been times in your life when you were rejected, set aside, considered worthless? Peter's text offers a spiritual reinterpretation of these moments: God is working precisely there, in the stone that human builders rejected.

7. Pray for people in positions of authority. The Sanhedrin in Acts 4 represents a form of authority blind to what God accomplishes. Rather than harboring resentment toward the powers that oppose the Gospel, pray for their conversion—as Peter did in effect by proclaiming before them the Name that saves.

When the prison becomes a cathedral

Acts 4:1-12 presents us with a striking picture: two men without formal education, without priestly titles, without institutional authority, stand before the most powerful people in their world and utter a statement that will resonate through twenty centuries of human history: "In no one else is there salvation."«

This text has not aged. It speaks to every era when witnesses of the Gospel are urged to remain silent, to downplay, not to cause a disturbance. It speaks to every era when the temptation is great to reduce salvation to a private, internal, discreet matter. It speaks to every generation that needs to remember that the cornerstone of humanity does not change according to theological trends or cultural pressures.

But this text is also a demanding invitation. It doesn't invite us to a complacent certainty in possessing truth. It invites us to imitate Peter: filled with the Spirit, standing firm in adversity, proclaiming the Name not out of bravado but out of love for those who need to hear that salvation exists for them. The Name of Jesus is not a banner of cultural victory; it is a welcoming place for all who seek.

The conversion this text calls for is twofold: a conversion of the mind, to cease reducing Christ to just one figure among others, and a conversion of the heart, so that the certainty of salvation in him becomes a source of service, mercy, and joyful proclamation. This is the deepest meaning of this concise statement: if salvation is found in him alone, then his grace is sufficient—for you, for me, for those we may have once thought lost.

Practices

• Begin each day by silently invoking the Name of Jesus, before any other thought or activity, as a deliberate act of self-surrender.
• Reread Acts 3–4 in one go, without interruption, to feel the narrative continuity between healing, speech and appearance, and to understand how the mission unfolds in adversity.
• Practicing "lectio divina" on verse 12 alone — «In no one but him is there salvation» — letting each word resonate separately: «No one else»… «Salvation»… «Him»…
• Keeping a Spiritual Journal This week, note the times when you felt the need for an "anchor point": what did you look for, and did you recognize the Name in that search?
• To provide a concrete act of care to a person in distress (a visit, a meal, a listening ear), becoming inwardly aware that this act is done "in the name of Jesus" — that is, as an extension of his care.
• Read or reread Philippians 2:5-11, the great hymn of the Name above all names, in parallel with Acts 4, to perceive how Pauline theology and Lucan theology converge around the same confession.
• Joining or starting an intercessory prayer group for people in positions of authority in your country, your Church, your community, by taking inspiration from the attitude of Peter who proclaims the Name before the powerful without condemning them.

References

1. Acts of the Apostles, chapters 3–4 (Greek text according to the Novum Testamentum Graece, NA28; French liturgical translation from the BFBS/AELF)
2. Psalm 118 (117), v. 22 — «The stone rejected by the builders has become the cornerstone» (liturgical and messianic context)
3. Letter to the Philippians 2:5-11 — The hymn to the Name above all names (Pauline parallel)
4. Origen of Alexandria, Contra Celsum, Book III — On the universality of the Logos and the particularity of the incarnation
5. John Chrysostom, Homilies on the Acts of the Apostles, Homily X — On the courage of Peter and the action of the Spirit
6. Thomas Aquinas, Catena Aurea in Acta Apostolorum — On the double meaning of the σωτηρία in Acts 4:9-12
7. Hans Urs von Balthasar, Glory and the Cross, Volume I (Appearance) — On the singularity and universality of Christological salvation
8. Joseph Ratzinger / Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth, Volume I — On the meaning of the Name and the Christology of the Acts in the continuity of Israel's messianic expectations

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