Sixth Sunday Of Easter
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VIII, Cycle A
Object:
Theme For The Day
Paul's sermon on the Areopagus, drawing attention to those who revere "An Unknown God," is a model for sharing faith with unchurched people today.
First Lesson
Acts 17:22-31
Paul Speaks In The Areopagus
Paul is in Athens, a city he has found "full of idols" (17:16). Having built a reputation for himself, speaking in synagogues and debating with Epicurean and Stoic philosophers, he now receives an invitation from a group of the city's leading intellectuals to come to the Areopagus and teach about Christianity (v. 19). The Areopagus was a low hill, in the shadow of the Acropolis. At its summit was an outdoor gathering place with stone benches that were used by a legal council of ancient origin. This is the big time. Paul, representative of the religion du jour, has this one opportunity to teach the city's elite about Jesus Christ. His sermon is a masterpiece of contextual theology and classical rhetoric. Others, in the past, have disparaged him as "a proclaimer of foreign divinities" (v. 18). Now, he is determined to present an argument the Athenians will understand, from the standpoint of their own culture. There was, in Athens, a minor shrine "to an unknown god." Its altar was a place for those who wanted to make sacrifices in order to be sure "all the bases were covered." Such people were uncomfortable with the possibility that there could be some anonymous, overlooked deity -- who rated no temple on the Acropolis, but whose ill will could still wreak havoc in human lives. Seizing upon this obscure altar as a teaching tool, Paul claims it is dedicated to none other than the God of Israel (v. 23). Yet, Paul goes on, this is no minor, household divinity, but the one creator of heaven and earth (v. 24). So immensely powerful is this God that "he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things" (v. 25). This is the God "in whom we live and move and have our being" -- a saying thought to have originated with the sixth-century BCE. Cretan philosopher, Epimenides (v. 28a). Paul quotes a second saying from another pagan thinker, the third-century BCE poet, Aratus, who said, "For we too are his offspring" (v. 28b). By using these two quotations, Paul establishes that "the unknown God" is both transcendent and immanent, caring for human beings as beloved children. Now he closes his intellectual trap. If this is true of God, he concludes, then why should we think such a deity would reside in a statue made of gold, silver, or stone? (v. 29). This same God soon intends to judge the world for its idolatry and impiety, through a certain man he has sent, whom he has raised from the dead (verses 30-31). Paul's reception that day is respectful, but not overwhelming. He gains a small group of converts, two of whom -- "Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris" -- are named (v. 33). The "unknown God" is alive and well today in modern American culture. This God thrives in the hearts of people who say, as Dwight D. Eisenhower is purported to have declared, "Religion is a good thing, and I don't care what religion it is." It lives on in the hearts of those whose approach to matters of faith is "it couldn't hurt." It finds a home in the hearts of those who boast, "I'm spiritual, but not religious." It is time, Paul says, for such eclectic practitioners of faith to come home.
New Testament Lesson
1 Peter 3:13-22
Advice For Living In A Hostile Culture
The author has been advising Christians who have been the recipients of abuse, "Do not repay evil for evil... but... repay with a blessing" (3:9). He goes on to give advice about how to live peaceably within a hostile culture. People are not inclined to harm those who do good, he says (v. 13). Yet, even if harm should come to you, and you are made to "suffer for doing what is right, you are blessed" (v. 14). Worship Christ quietly, in your hearts, if need be, and -- if directly challenged -- "Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence" (verses 15-16). If you keep a clear conscience, it is likely that even your abusers will be put to shame, once others realize the strength of your character (v. 16b). Take comfort in the fact that Christ himself suffered in this way, and God has exalted him, making him "alive in the Spirit" (v. 18). Now comes a verse that is the likely source of the line in the Apostles' Creed, "He descended into hell." This same Jesus also "went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison" -- that faithful remnant who have been awaiting redemption, ever since the days of the Patriarchs (verses 19-20). Baptism, which separates you from them, is more than just a bath. It is "an appeal to God for a good conscience, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ" (v. 21).
The Gospel
John 14:15-21
Jesus Promises The Holy Spirit
Jesus' farewell discourse continues where last week's gospel lesson left off. He has been comforting his worried disciples, teaching them that he is going to prepare a place for them. Now, he reveals that God is going to give them a gift: the Holy Spirit, "the Advocate" (v. 16). This legal term (parakletos) denotes someone who comes alongside to mediate, intercede, or help. The Holy Spirit is, in other words, our defense attorney. The fallen world is not capable of receiving this "Spirit of truth." Jesus' followers already know this Spirit, because he "abides" (meno) with them. This concept of abiding is a rich one, in John -- one that occurs frequently throughout Jesus' various discourses. Its simplest meaning is to remain or stay, but it also has connotations of living or dwelling, imparting a sense of stability or peace. Speaking as a parent would address a frightened child, Jesus continues, "I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you" (v. 18). Jesus' disciples will continue to "see" him (sense his presence), even though the world may consider him dead and gone. "Because I live, you also will live" (v. 19). On Ascension Day, when the church commemorates Jesus' physical departure from the earth; these sayings from John are his parting words, intended to impart comfort and strength.
Preaching Possibilities
"Then Paul stood in front of the Areopagus and said, 'Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way.' " So begins today's reading from the book of Acts. The story is set in the city of Athens: in particular, on the prominent hill known as the Areopagus. The hill took its name from Ares, Greek god of war -- reflecting the fact that here was a city where many gods were worshiped.
"I see how extremely religious you are in every way." That judgment would have come easily to any visitor to ancient Athens, for Athens was a city of temples. The most famous, of course, was the Parthenon, whose pillared ruins still stand on Athens' highest hill, the Acropolis -- a symbol of enduring civilization. Standing on the Areopagus, the second-highest hill, Paul could have swept his hand in a broad gesture, indicating the Parthenon looming above, and a host of lesser temples scattered below.
How "extremely religious" is ancient Athens -- if by "religious" you mean a vast, spiritual supermarket offering a multitude of choices. There are temples dedicated to the gods and goddesses of the classical Pantheon: Zeus, Apollo, Artemis -- and the city's patron herself, the mighty Athena. There are also temples dedicated to newer gods: Mithras, the warrior-god out of Persia, beloved of the Roman army; and the holy couple Isis and Osiris, out of Egypt.
Paul has noticed, also, another temple, stuck in an out-of-the way place. It's a temple whose simple altar bears the inscription, "To an Unknown God." We don't know much about this temple, but it may very well be a practical way of hedging one's spiritual bets. Go to your favorite temple and sacrifice to Apollo or Aphrodite, but don't forget to leave a little something for the Unknown God -- just to cover all the bases.
Paul uses this temple to an Unknown God as a rhetorical entree into the hearts and minds of the Athenian people. In every other city he's visited, he's started his preaching at the synagogue, building up a core of supporters among the Jews -- and especially among the outer circle of Gentiles curious about Judaism -- but here in Athens, he's facing an entirely different audience. Athens is the big time. It's Broadway, not dinner-theater. It's the major league, not the minors. Yes, there are Jewish synagogues in Athens, but they play a much smaller role than in the Greek cities scattered throughout the distant provinces. Here, Paul must grapple with a sophisticated and cynical culture -- a culture that believes, in matters of religion, it has seen it all.
Paul identifies and zeroes in on the weak point in Athenian religious life. He finds the chink in the armor, and there he inserts his rhetorical dagger. It's the Temple to the Unknown God -- that symbol of religious insecurity and fear. It's not the sort of temple Athenians boast of having visited. It's probably on a back street, out of the general flow of pedestrian traffic. But everyone knows where it is. Everyone's visited there -- when they have reached the end of their rope, and feel they have nowhere else to turn.
"What therefore you worship as unknown," says Paul, "this I proclaim to you." That aching emptiness in your heart, O Athenians, can only be filled by one deity: The one God who created heaven and earth, and whose Son, Jesus, I serve! You know my God by different names -- or even, sometimes, by no name -- but this God is no creature of human imagination. This God is as real as you are.
The results of Paul's preaching that day are mixed. As the book of Acts tells it, "When they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some scoffed; but others said, 'We will hear you again about this.' At that point Paul left them. But some of them joined him and became believers, including Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris, and others with them" (Acts 17:32-34).
What do you suppose Paul would say if he showed up not on the Areopagus in ancient Athens, but in Times Square? What if he undertook his teaching not on the brow of a Greek hill surrounded by temples, but rather inside a Starbucks, handing out mocha lattes all round?
"Americans, I see how extremely religious you are, in every way," Paul might begin. But instead of speaking of temples to unknown gods, he might say something like this: "I have observed how many of you are fond of saying, 'I'm spiritual, but not religious.' I'm aware how increasing numbers of you never cross the threshold of a church or synagogue or even a mosque, but spend hours browsing religious books at Barnes and Noble. Many of you wear crosses around your necks, but hardly know why: You finger them in moments of fear or anxiety and feel vaguely comforted. You sit at home, channel-surf-ing the televangelists and religious talk shows, hoping to glean some spiritual comfort; but you never linger long enough to submit yourselves to their teachings. You have an insistent curiosity about things religious, and vow that one day you will do something about it. But somehow you never find the time. You just never find the time."
As we in the leadership of mainline Protestant churches look out and see our membership numbers thinning, we've begun to question where all those people have gone. Certain conservative pressure groups within our denominations are perpetually whining that our people have grown disillusioned with liberal theology and social activism and have fled to more conservative churches -- but study after study has proven that is not the case. Where a great many people have gone -- those whose parents and grandparents were once active in churches in the 1950s -- is to the "spiritual, but not religious" category. If we think about it -- if we think of friends and neighbors and members of our extended family who just don't practice the faith anymore -- we will begin to put some names and faces on those statistics.
We shouldn't complain, though. It's not all bad. Every public-opinion poll indicates that Americans are among the most spiritually curious people on earth. Church attendance may be down across the country, but sales of religious books are up. Those who compile internet statistics report that a surprisingly large number of web hits take place on religious sites. In choosing among political candidates on the right or the left, large majorities of Americans believe it's important that our leaders demonstrate some religious commitment. When a religious phenomenon breaks out in the news media -- be it Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ, or the latest pronouncement by the pope -- Americans follow these stories with tremendous interest. Were Paul alive today, he'd see the American religious landscape not as a bleak desert but rather as a wild and fertile wilderness waiting to be cultivated.
So, what kind of message would he bring to our culture today? What would be the gist of his sermon on Times Square? What would Paul say to all those quiet-but-intense spiritual seekers, sipping from their Starbucks cups?
His message would be positive. He wouldn't scold -- because many of these people feel wounded already by criticism and judgment from religious types. One young man from Spain stated this clearly a few years ago as he responded to the choice of Cardinal Ratzinger as the new Pope Benedict XVI. This young, disillusioned Catholic told an Associated Press reporter in Saint Peter's Square: "All he knows how to do is condemn, condemn, condemn."
We don't hear Paul condemning anyone or anything on the Areopagus. What he does, instead, is to look deep into the Athenian psyche and find there a tiny, but fertile seed of spiritual curiosity. That seed he waters with an engaging personal warmth, affirming everything about it that is good and faithful. It's an approach that produces results, as the book of Acts bears witness: both immediately in the case of Dionysius and Damaris (who become Christians); and later on, in the case of those who walk away saying, "We will hear you again about this."
Who is it who's going to bring the gospel to the burgeoning ranks of spiritual seekers in our American culture? It's not likely to be any preacher-type -- because those spiritual-but-not-religious people tend to distrust most everything that comes out of the institutional church. No, the messengers who are best-equipped to deliver this word of invitation are they, the laity -- the people of God who walk through the doors of the church at the end of a Sunday morning, right out into the workaday world. It is they who already have the ears of their friends and family and coworkers. It is they who can respond to their tremendous curiosity and spiritual hunger. It is they who can offer them a word of hope, as Paul did: "What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you."
Prayer For The Day
You, O God, are Lord of all people:
those who call upon your name
and those who do not know you.
Yet, we know you have created us of common clay,
and that your greatest desire
is that all your children turn to you
in adoration and praise.
Help us, through patient listening
and faithful speaking
to enter into those precious encounters
where heart meets heart:
that you, too, may be there in the meeting.
In the name of Jesus we pray. Amen.
To Illustrate
It's not easy to share faith with unchurched people. There are real fears connected with bringing a conversation around to matters of faith. What are the two topics we're never supposed to mention at a dinner party? Politics and religion!
Now, why is that? Probably because those subjects are seen as divisive by nature. Mention politics, and before you know it, the question quickly becomes, "Whose side are you on?" Mention religion, and it's very often a similar outcome. The difference, in the case of religion, is that it doesn't need to be that way -- although it can be, if we handle it badly. Just follow Paul's example on the Areopagus. Begin by listening, and do it deeply -- for we all love to be listened to. Affirm everything you hear that's positive -- even if it's a weak, watered-down worship of an unknown God. Then speak personally, from the heart, sharing from your own experience. Share the ways that, for you, God is no longer unknown but has become real in your life.
***
D.T. Niles, the missionary bishop who did so much to advance the cause of Christianity in India, came up with a well-known definition of evangelism. He probably wasn't the first to say it, but he made it famous in our day. Niles said, "Evangelism is one beggar telling another beggar where to find food." When you look at it that way -- from one beggar to another -- you realize there can be no superiority in sharing the good news, no psychological arm-twisting, no pressure. Just an invitation to enjoy something truly good -- one that, if offered honestly and humbly, is certain to be appreciated.
***
Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, pioneer in the psychology of death and dying, tells the story in one of her books of a very ordinary person who sowed hope everywhere she went. Dr. Kübler-Ross was visiting terminally ill patients in a hospital, interviewing them and noting their general outlook on life. In one ward in particular, there seemed to be certain patients who were relentlessly sunny, upbeat, and positive about their condition -- even if the medical charts showed their prospects for long life to be very slim indeed.
After much investigation, Kübler-Ross managed to identify the single common denominator, the one factor all these patients shared in common. It was one particular cleaning lady.
"What are you doing with my patients?" Kübler-Ross demanded to know, once she caught up with her.
"I talk with them," the cleaning lady replied, simply. "I tell them two of my own babies have died on my lap. I know Jesus Christ. I'm not afraid of death. I tell them you don't have to be afraid."
In all her years of medical school, Dr. Kübler-Ross had never learned that sort of therapy. It's not the sort of thing you can teach in a classroom, anyway. Even if you taught the medical students to memorize those words and to parrot them back when needed, they wouldn't carry the ring of authenticity. In going in and sharing herself with those patients, that cleaning lady did nothing less than to make of her own life-story an evangelistic message. She was simply reporting what she had heard and seen, on what had worked for her, that's all.
***
Dr. Laura Schlessinger, the radio psychologist, had a call one day from a young woman who was debating about having a baby shower for her pregnant sister-in-law. The woman and her brother were Jewish, but her brother had married a Methodist woman. The thing that made the woman hesitate about the baby shower was an ancient Jewish superstition about not having baby showers until after the baby was born. But it was only a superstition and there was nothing in Jewish law prohibiting a pre-birth baby shower. And besides, as a Methodist, the sister-in-law didn't share that heritage anyway.
Dr. Laura asked the woman if she and her brother practiced their religion and the woman said no. Then Dr. Laura asked just the right question: Why are you enthralled and concerned about superstition but not about religion? They had substituted an idol for the real thing.
-- Laura Schlessinger and Stewart Vogel, The Ten Commandments: The Significance of God's Laws in Everyday Life (Harper, 1999), p. 35
***
Danish theologian Søren Kierkegaard once said, "It would seem very strange that Christianity should have come into the world just to receive an explanation."
The certainty of faith is more about trusting a person than knowing facts.
***
Mark Buchanan, a Baptist pastor from British Columbia, writes about an encounter he had with a young philosophy student who was attending a wedding at which he had just officiated. The man came up to him after the ceremony and asked him if he really believed all that religious language he had just used in the church. Mark insisted that he did.
Then the young man replied, "I tried your religion for a while, and I found it's just a burden to carry. You know what I've figured out? Life justifies living. Life is its own reward and explanation. I don't need some pie-in-the-sky mirage to keep me going. This life has enough pleasure and mystery and adventure in it not to need anything else to account for it. Life justifies living."
Mark then went on to tell him about two people he knew. The first one was Richard, a junkie and a former male prostitute who was dying of AIDS: "Richard was 44, looked sixty, and had been living on the streets since he was twelve.... The last time I saw Richard was on a gray, rainy day. I bought him a bus ticket and put him on the bus. He... was hoping he could go home to die. Richard and I sat in my car waiting for the bus. The rain drummed heavy on the hood and made the windshield opaque, and inside the car the windows steamed up with our breath. Richard was weeping, weeping and shaking. Almost incoherent, he sputtered, 'I wish I'd never been born. My whole life has been a mistake. My whole life has been a misery.' "
The second one was Ernie, an up-and-coming businessman, who with his wife adopted four children, three from Africa and one from Mexico. The day the fourth adoption came through, he learned he had multiple sclerosis: "Two months ago I sat with Ernie. One of his children is selling drugs in Vancouver and is wanted by the police. Another is in a reform school in Oregon, and if he steps out of line even once, he goes to jail. Ernie is now in his early forties. His once powerful and agile body is twisted, rigid, spasmodic, rawboned. His speech is so shattered that it takes me at least three tries to understand the simplest utterance. It takes him half an hour to eat half a sandwich and after every bite he nearly chokes."
Yes, I'm thinking about Richard and Ernie. And I have a question about your philosophy. "How exactly do I explain to them that life justifies living?"
The young philosophy student had no response. He said he'd have to think about it and get back to me. I gave him my address and asked him to write me when he came up with something. I never heard from him.
Because life does not justify living.
Eternity does.
-- Mark Buchanan, Things Unseen (Multnomah, 2002)
Paul's sermon on the Areopagus, drawing attention to those who revere "An Unknown God," is a model for sharing faith with unchurched people today.
First Lesson
Acts 17:22-31
Paul Speaks In The Areopagus
Paul is in Athens, a city he has found "full of idols" (17:16). Having built a reputation for himself, speaking in synagogues and debating with Epicurean and Stoic philosophers, he now receives an invitation from a group of the city's leading intellectuals to come to the Areopagus and teach about Christianity (v. 19). The Areopagus was a low hill, in the shadow of the Acropolis. At its summit was an outdoor gathering place with stone benches that were used by a legal council of ancient origin. This is the big time. Paul, representative of the religion du jour, has this one opportunity to teach the city's elite about Jesus Christ. His sermon is a masterpiece of contextual theology and classical rhetoric. Others, in the past, have disparaged him as "a proclaimer of foreign divinities" (v. 18). Now, he is determined to present an argument the Athenians will understand, from the standpoint of their own culture. There was, in Athens, a minor shrine "to an unknown god." Its altar was a place for those who wanted to make sacrifices in order to be sure "all the bases were covered." Such people were uncomfortable with the possibility that there could be some anonymous, overlooked deity -- who rated no temple on the Acropolis, but whose ill will could still wreak havoc in human lives. Seizing upon this obscure altar as a teaching tool, Paul claims it is dedicated to none other than the God of Israel (v. 23). Yet, Paul goes on, this is no minor, household divinity, but the one creator of heaven and earth (v. 24). So immensely powerful is this God that "he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things" (v. 25). This is the God "in whom we live and move and have our being" -- a saying thought to have originated with the sixth-century BCE. Cretan philosopher, Epimenides (v. 28a). Paul quotes a second saying from another pagan thinker, the third-century BCE poet, Aratus, who said, "For we too are his offspring" (v. 28b). By using these two quotations, Paul establishes that "the unknown God" is both transcendent and immanent, caring for human beings as beloved children. Now he closes his intellectual trap. If this is true of God, he concludes, then why should we think such a deity would reside in a statue made of gold, silver, or stone? (v. 29). This same God soon intends to judge the world for its idolatry and impiety, through a certain man he has sent, whom he has raised from the dead (verses 30-31). Paul's reception that day is respectful, but not overwhelming. He gains a small group of converts, two of whom -- "Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris" -- are named (v. 33). The "unknown God" is alive and well today in modern American culture. This God thrives in the hearts of people who say, as Dwight D. Eisenhower is purported to have declared, "Religion is a good thing, and I don't care what religion it is." It lives on in the hearts of those whose approach to matters of faith is "it couldn't hurt." It finds a home in the hearts of those who boast, "I'm spiritual, but not religious." It is time, Paul says, for such eclectic practitioners of faith to come home.
New Testament Lesson
1 Peter 3:13-22
Advice For Living In A Hostile Culture
The author has been advising Christians who have been the recipients of abuse, "Do not repay evil for evil... but... repay with a blessing" (3:9). He goes on to give advice about how to live peaceably within a hostile culture. People are not inclined to harm those who do good, he says (v. 13). Yet, even if harm should come to you, and you are made to "suffer for doing what is right, you are blessed" (v. 14). Worship Christ quietly, in your hearts, if need be, and -- if directly challenged -- "Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence" (verses 15-16). If you keep a clear conscience, it is likely that even your abusers will be put to shame, once others realize the strength of your character (v. 16b). Take comfort in the fact that Christ himself suffered in this way, and God has exalted him, making him "alive in the Spirit" (v. 18). Now comes a verse that is the likely source of the line in the Apostles' Creed, "He descended into hell." This same Jesus also "went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison" -- that faithful remnant who have been awaiting redemption, ever since the days of the Patriarchs (verses 19-20). Baptism, which separates you from them, is more than just a bath. It is "an appeal to God for a good conscience, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ" (v. 21).
The Gospel
John 14:15-21
Jesus Promises The Holy Spirit
Jesus' farewell discourse continues where last week's gospel lesson left off. He has been comforting his worried disciples, teaching them that he is going to prepare a place for them. Now, he reveals that God is going to give them a gift: the Holy Spirit, "the Advocate" (v. 16). This legal term (parakletos) denotes someone who comes alongside to mediate, intercede, or help. The Holy Spirit is, in other words, our defense attorney. The fallen world is not capable of receiving this "Spirit of truth." Jesus' followers already know this Spirit, because he "abides" (meno) with them. This concept of abiding is a rich one, in John -- one that occurs frequently throughout Jesus' various discourses. Its simplest meaning is to remain or stay, but it also has connotations of living or dwelling, imparting a sense of stability or peace. Speaking as a parent would address a frightened child, Jesus continues, "I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you" (v. 18). Jesus' disciples will continue to "see" him (sense his presence), even though the world may consider him dead and gone. "Because I live, you also will live" (v. 19). On Ascension Day, when the church commemorates Jesus' physical departure from the earth; these sayings from John are his parting words, intended to impart comfort and strength.
Preaching Possibilities
"Then Paul stood in front of the Areopagus and said, 'Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way.' " So begins today's reading from the book of Acts. The story is set in the city of Athens: in particular, on the prominent hill known as the Areopagus. The hill took its name from Ares, Greek god of war -- reflecting the fact that here was a city where many gods were worshiped.
"I see how extremely religious you are in every way." That judgment would have come easily to any visitor to ancient Athens, for Athens was a city of temples. The most famous, of course, was the Parthenon, whose pillared ruins still stand on Athens' highest hill, the Acropolis -- a symbol of enduring civilization. Standing on the Areopagus, the second-highest hill, Paul could have swept his hand in a broad gesture, indicating the Parthenon looming above, and a host of lesser temples scattered below.
How "extremely religious" is ancient Athens -- if by "religious" you mean a vast, spiritual supermarket offering a multitude of choices. There are temples dedicated to the gods and goddesses of the classical Pantheon: Zeus, Apollo, Artemis -- and the city's patron herself, the mighty Athena. There are also temples dedicated to newer gods: Mithras, the warrior-god out of Persia, beloved of the Roman army; and the holy couple Isis and Osiris, out of Egypt.
Paul has noticed, also, another temple, stuck in an out-of-the way place. It's a temple whose simple altar bears the inscription, "To an Unknown God." We don't know much about this temple, but it may very well be a practical way of hedging one's spiritual bets. Go to your favorite temple and sacrifice to Apollo or Aphrodite, but don't forget to leave a little something for the Unknown God -- just to cover all the bases.
Paul uses this temple to an Unknown God as a rhetorical entree into the hearts and minds of the Athenian people. In every other city he's visited, he's started his preaching at the synagogue, building up a core of supporters among the Jews -- and especially among the outer circle of Gentiles curious about Judaism -- but here in Athens, he's facing an entirely different audience. Athens is the big time. It's Broadway, not dinner-theater. It's the major league, not the minors. Yes, there are Jewish synagogues in Athens, but they play a much smaller role than in the Greek cities scattered throughout the distant provinces. Here, Paul must grapple with a sophisticated and cynical culture -- a culture that believes, in matters of religion, it has seen it all.
Paul identifies and zeroes in on the weak point in Athenian religious life. He finds the chink in the armor, and there he inserts his rhetorical dagger. It's the Temple to the Unknown God -- that symbol of religious insecurity and fear. It's not the sort of temple Athenians boast of having visited. It's probably on a back street, out of the general flow of pedestrian traffic. But everyone knows where it is. Everyone's visited there -- when they have reached the end of their rope, and feel they have nowhere else to turn.
"What therefore you worship as unknown," says Paul, "this I proclaim to you." That aching emptiness in your heart, O Athenians, can only be filled by one deity: The one God who created heaven and earth, and whose Son, Jesus, I serve! You know my God by different names -- or even, sometimes, by no name -- but this God is no creature of human imagination. This God is as real as you are.
The results of Paul's preaching that day are mixed. As the book of Acts tells it, "When they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some scoffed; but others said, 'We will hear you again about this.' At that point Paul left them. But some of them joined him and became believers, including Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris, and others with them" (Acts 17:32-34).
What do you suppose Paul would say if he showed up not on the Areopagus in ancient Athens, but in Times Square? What if he undertook his teaching not on the brow of a Greek hill surrounded by temples, but rather inside a Starbucks, handing out mocha lattes all round?
"Americans, I see how extremely religious you are, in every way," Paul might begin. But instead of speaking of temples to unknown gods, he might say something like this: "I have observed how many of you are fond of saying, 'I'm spiritual, but not religious.' I'm aware how increasing numbers of you never cross the threshold of a church or synagogue or even a mosque, but spend hours browsing religious books at Barnes and Noble. Many of you wear crosses around your necks, but hardly know why: You finger them in moments of fear or anxiety and feel vaguely comforted. You sit at home, channel-surf-ing the televangelists and religious talk shows, hoping to glean some spiritual comfort; but you never linger long enough to submit yourselves to their teachings. You have an insistent curiosity about things religious, and vow that one day you will do something about it. But somehow you never find the time. You just never find the time."
As we in the leadership of mainline Protestant churches look out and see our membership numbers thinning, we've begun to question where all those people have gone. Certain conservative pressure groups within our denominations are perpetually whining that our people have grown disillusioned with liberal theology and social activism and have fled to more conservative churches -- but study after study has proven that is not the case. Where a great many people have gone -- those whose parents and grandparents were once active in churches in the 1950s -- is to the "spiritual, but not religious" category. If we think about it -- if we think of friends and neighbors and members of our extended family who just don't practice the faith anymore -- we will begin to put some names and faces on those statistics.
We shouldn't complain, though. It's not all bad. Every public-opinion poll indicates that Americans are among the most spiritually curious people on earth. Church attendance may be down across the country, but sales of religious books are up. Those who compile internet statistics report that a surprisingly large number of web hits take place on religious sites. In choosing among political candidates on the right or the left, large majorities of Americans believe it's important that our leaders demonstrate some religious commitment. When a religious phenomenon breaks out in the news media -- be it Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ, or the latest pronouncement by the pope -- Americans follow these stories with tremendous interest. Were Paul alive today, he'd see the American religious landscape not as a bleak desert but rather as a wild and fertile wilderness waiting to be cultivated.
So, what kind of message would he bring to our culture today? What would be the gist of his sermon on Times Square? What would Paul say to all those quiet-but-intense spiritual seekers, sipping from their Starbucks cups?
His message would be positive. He wouldn't scold -- because many of these people feel wounded already by criticism and judgment from religious types. One young man from Spain stated this clearly a few years ago as he responded to the choice of Cardinal Ratzinger as the new Pope Benedict XVI. This young, disillusioned Catholic told an Associated Press reporter in Saint Peter's Square: "All he knows how to do is condemn, condemn, condemn."
We don't hear Paul condemning anyone or anything on the Areopagus. What he does, instead, is to look deep into the Athenian psyche and find there a tiny, but fertile seed of spiritual curiosity. That seed he waters with an engaging personal warmth, affirming everything about it that is good and faithful. It's an approach that produces results, as the book of Acts bears witness: both immediately in the case of Dionysius and Damaris (who become Christians); and later on, in the case of those who walk away saying, "We will hear you again about this."
Who is it who's going to bring the gospel to the burgeoning ranks of spiritual seekers in our American culture? It's not likely to be any preacher-type -- because those spiritual-but-not-religious people tend to distrust most everything that comes out of the institutional church. No, the messengers who are best-equipped to deliver this word of invitation are they, the laity -- the people of God who walk through the doors of the church at the end of a Sunday morning, right out into the workaday world. It is they who already have the ears of their friends and family and coworkers. It is they who can respond to their tremendous curiosity and spiritual hunger. It is they who can offer them a word of hope, as Paul did: "What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you."
Prayer For The Day
You, O God, are Lord of all people:
those who call upon your name
and those who do not know you.
Yet, we know you have created us of common clay,
and that your greatest desire
is that all your children turn to you
in adoration and praise.
Help us, through patient listening
and faithful speaking
to enter into those precious encounters
where heart meets heart:
that you, too, may be there in the meeting.
In the name of Jesus we pray. Amen.
To Illustrate
It's not easy to share faith with unchurched people. There are real fears connected with bringing a conversation around to matters of faith. What are the two topics we're never supposed to mention at a dinner party? Politics and religion!
Now, why is that? Probably because those subjects are seen as divisive by nature. Mention politics, and before you know it, the question quickly becomes, "Whose side are you on?" Mention religion, and it's very often a similar outcome. The difference, in the case of religion, is that it doesn't need to be that way -- although it can be, if we handle it badly. Just follow Paul's example on the Areopagus. Begin by listening, and do it deeply -- for we all love to be listened to. Affirm everything you hear that's positive -- even if it's a weak, watered-down worship of an unknown God. Then speak personally, from the heart, sharing from your own experience. Share the ways that, for you, God is no longer unknown but has become real in your life.
***
D.T. Niles, the missionary bishop who did so much to advance the cause of Christianity in India, came up with a well-known definition of evangelism. He probably wasn't the first to say it, but he made it famous in our day. Niles said, "Evangelism is one beggar telling another beggar where to find food." When you look at it that way -- from one beggar to another -- you realize there can be no superiority in sharing the good news, no psychological arm-twisting, no pressure. Just an invitation to enjoy something truly good -- one that, if offered honestly and humbly, is certain to be appreciated.
***
Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, pioneer in the psychology of death and dying, tells the story in one of her books of a very ordinary person who sowed hope everywhere she went. Dr. Kübler-Ross was visiting terminally ill patients in a hospital, interviewing them and noting their general outlook on life. In one ward in particular, there seemed to be certain patients who were relentlessly sunny, upbeat, and positive about their condition -- even if the medical charts showed their prospects for long life to be very slim indeed.
After much investigation, Kübler-Ross managed to identify the single common denominator, the one factor all these patients shared in common. It was one particular cleaning lady.
"What are you doing with my patients?" Kübler-Ross demanded to know, once she caught up with her.
"I talk with them," the cleaning lady replied, simply. "I tell them two of my own babies have died on my lap. I know Jesus Christ. I'm not afraid of death. I tell them you don't have to be afraid."
In all her years of medical school, Dr. Kübler-Ross had never learned that sort of therapy. It's not the sort of thing you can teach in a classroom, anyway. Even if you taught the medical students to memorize those words and to parrot them back when needed, they wouldn't carry the ring of authenticity. In going in and sharing herself with those patients, that cleaning lady did nothing less than to make of her own life-story an evangelistic message. She was simply reporting what she had heard and seen, on what had worked for her, that's all.
***
Dr. Laura Schlessinger, the radio psychologist, had a call one day from a young woman who was debating about having a baby shower for her pregnant sister-in-law. The woman and her brother were Jewish, but her brother had married a Methodist woman. The thing that made the woman hesitate about the baby shower was an ancient Jewish superstition about not having baby showers until after the baby was born. But it was only a superstition and there was nothing in Jewish law prohibiting a pre-birth baby shower. And besides, as a Methodist, the sister-in-law didn't share that heritage anyway.
Dr. Laura asked the woman if she and her brother practiced their religion and the woman said no. Then Dr. Laura asked just the right question: Why are you enthralled and concerned about superstition but not about religion? They had substituted an idol for the real thing.
-- Laura Schlessinger and Stewart Vogel, The Ten Commandments: The Significance of God's Laws in Everyday Life (Harper, 1999), p. 35
***
Danish theologian Søren Kierkegaard once said, "It would seem very strange that Christianity should have come into the world just to receive an explanation."
The certainty of faith is more about trusting a person than knowing facts.
***
Mark Buchanan, a Baptist pastor from British Columbia, writes about an encounter he had with a young philosophy student who was attending a wedding at which he had just officiated. The man came up to him after the ceremony and asked him if he really believed all that religious language he had just used in the church. Mark insisted that he did.
Then the young man replied, "I tried your religion for a while, and I found it's just a burden to carry. You know what I've figured out? Life justifies living. Life is its own reward and explanation. I don't need some pie-in-the-sky mirage to keep me going. This life has enough pleasure and mystery and adventure in it not to need anything else to account for it. Life justifies living."
Mark then went on to tell him about two people he knew. The first one was Richard, a junkie and a former male prostitute who was dying of AIDS: "Richard was 44, looked sixty, and had been living on the streets since he was twelve.... The last time I saw Richard was on a gray, rainy day. I bought him a bus ticket and put him on the bus. He... was hoping he could go home to die. Richard and I sat in my car waiting for the bus. The rain drummed heavy on the hood and made the windshield opaque, and inside the car the windows steamed up with our breath. Richard was weeping, weeping and shaking. Almost incoherent, he sputtered, 'I wish I'd never been born. My whole life has been a mistake. My whole life has been a misery.' "
The second one was Ernie, an up-and-coming businessman, who with his wife adopted four children, three from Africa and one from Mexico. The day the fourth adoption came through, he learned he had multiple sclerosis: "Two months ago I sat with Ernie. One of his children is selling drugs in Vancouver and is wanted by the police. Another is in a reform school in Oregon, and if he steps out of line even once, he goes to jail. Ernie is now in his early forties. His once powerful and agile body is twisted, rigid, spasmodic, rawboned. His speech is so shattered that it takes me at least three tries to understand the simplest utterance. It takes him half an hour to eat half a sandwich and after every bite he nearly chokes."
Yes, I'm thinking about Richard and Ernie. And I have a question about your philosophy. "How exactly do I explain to them that life justifies living?"
The young philosophy student had no response. He said he'd have to think about it and get back to me. I gave him my address and asked him to write me when he came up with something. I never heard from him.
Because life does not justify living.
Eternity does.
-- Mark Buchanan, Things Unseen (Multnomah, 2002)
