Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere
Acts 17:22-31
TV dramas often tease the introduction of a new character at the end of one episode before writing them more fully into the show in the next episode. For example, the first episode of Mad Men, a show set in the smoke-filled offices of a New York advertising agency in the 1960s, focuses on the personal and professional travails and triumphs of creative director Don Draper. Only in the episode’s final scene, however, late in the evening, after he has left the office and returned to his home in the suburbs (in Ossining!), is it revealed that Draper has a wife and two young children. His relationship with his wife Betty then becomes one of the major story lines of the the first three seasons.
We find a similar dynamic at work in the transition from last week’s reading from Acts 7 to this week’s reading from Acts 17. Last week’s passage, which focused on the martyrdom of Stephen, made passing mention of a figure at whose feet those participating in the stoning lay their coats, presumably so that they might have more freedom of movement to hurl their stones. That figure’s name was Saul.
In today’s reading that Pharisee formerly known as Saul is now the apostle Paul. The former persecutor of Christians now counts himself as one of them. This is a miraculous transformation, for Saul wasn’t merely a passive observer of the persecution of Christians, he himself persecuted them with great zeal. While at the stoning of Stephen Saul merely held the coats, he is said to have approved of Stephen’s killing. Moreover, following Stephen’s death, Saul is described as ravaging the church, going house to house dragging off men and women and committing them to prison.
Now, it must be said that Saul believed that he was doing the right thing. Zealots, especially ones authorized by a religious body or by a government, always do. It was true then, it’s true now. In Saul’s mind he was defending the traditions of Israel and the God of Israel from the blasphemy being spouted by the followers of Jesus. In fact, in his zeal to go after Christians Saul wants to travel beyond the border of Israel to Damascus. It’s while on the road to Damascus that Saul is blinded by a light from heaven and hears the voice of Jesus ask him, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” Thus begins Saul’s conversion.
The full story of Saul’s conversion is told in Acts 9, which we’re not going to read today, but by the point we’re at today in chapter 17, Paul has established himself as an evangelist of the first order. The grass does not grow under Paul’s feet. His passport is covered with stamps from all over the eastern Mediterranean: Antioch, Iconium, Lystra, Derbe, back to Antioch, Jerusalem, Macedonia, Thessalonica, and Beroea. Paul has traveled far and wide proclaiming the name of Jesus. Finally his travels bring him to Athens, the center of Greek philosophy, the home of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle.
Despite the city’s intellectual pedigree, Paul is unimpressed. In fact, as he wanders around Athens he’s distressed to see idols everywhere. Per his usual routine, he first visits the local synagogue and makes the case for Jesus to a Jewish audience. He then goes to the public marketplace to address a larger and more diverse audience. He debates with followers of different philosophical schools of thought. His efforts meet with a mixed reaction. Some are a bit skeptical and ask, “What does this pretentious babbler want to say?” Others are intrigued and want to hear more, so they bring him to an area of the city that served as a public forum.
The Areopagus was a low hill with a plateau at the top that historically had been the meeting place for government councils. In Paul’s day it was a place for the latest philosophical ideas to be put forward and discussed. Try to picture the scene. Paul, a lone stranger, is speaking before a crowd of skeptics about a crucified savior, a concept for which they have no reference and that likely comes across to them as utter foolishness.
Now, I don’t know what your impression of Paul is. We haven’t read from Paul’s letters that many times in the past three years. We will. But Paul was no wallflower. Paul did not leave people wondering where he stood on issues. In his letters he calls out the Corinthians for their sexual immorality and the Galatians for their foolishness, and he wishes that those demanding new believers be circumcised would instead castrate themselves! (And you thought Paul was boring!)
So you might think that Paul, who is already taken aback at the number of idols that litter the city, would rip into the Athenians for their idolatry. But he doesn’t. He’s quite charitable toward them and, in fact, even praises their religiosity. “Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way.” Now, maybe it’s just me, but I hear in that a backhanded compliment because one of the many ways in which the Athenians are religious is in their fondness for idols of wood, stone, and metal. Still, Paul shows remarkable restraint and tolerance. He notes how in his wanderings around the city he found an altar with the inscription, “To an unknown god.”
It’s interesting that the Athenians, who had innumerable gods, would leave room for yet one more…you know, just in case. Paul seizes upon the Athenians’ openness to other gods to declare that this unknown god is the very God that Paul has come to talk to them about—the one God of all creation, the Lord of heaven and earth. This God cannot be found in graven images of gold or silver and doesn’t live in sacred shrines. This God doesn’t need anything from us in order to be appeased—not sacrifices, not offerings, not pilgrimages.
One of the reasons I so enjoy preaching from the Bible is because the stories in it, although at least 2,000 years old, are as current and familiar as today’s newspaper or the latest prestige drama on television. Even though at first glance idol worship may appear to be a relic of the ancient world—something that our enlightened age would never succumb to—we too have our idols, only they’re not made of gold or silver. The idols of the current age—the objects of our devotion and worship—come in various forms and include careerism, consumerism, nationalism, individualism, politics, celebrity, technology, health and beauty, comfort and security, to name only a few.
Our Presbyterian forebear, John Calvin, a theologian of the early 16th century, famously called the human heart “a perpetual idol factory.” In a similar vein he wrote, “Every one of us is, even from [our] mother’s womb, a master craftsman of idols.” (Calvin may have been no fun at parties, but his insight into human nature is spot on). We can’t seem to help but make false gods in our own image. Gods that not only look like us but think like us. Gods that bless our desires. Gods that, because we give shape to them, give us a sense of control.
As is so often the case with the Christian faith, there is an irony at play here. We make idols to put a face on our gods, but the true God has already done that for us in Jesus Christ. What does the face of God look like? The face of God looks like Jesus of Nazareth, who preached good news to the poor, who proclaimed release to the captives, who healed the sick and fed the hungry, who welcomed outcasts and sinners, who embodied God’s grace and love in every breath, word, and gesture, and yet who was rejected and crucified as a criminal.
Of this God who raised Jesus from the dead, you are all offspring, Paul tells the Athenians. You are children of God. Jew and gentile alike. You Athenians, even though you worship gods that you’ve created in your image, were yourselves created in the image of God.
During my one summer working as a chaplain at Regional Medical Center in Trenton, NJ, as I was going about my rounds, I walked into the room of a man who was sitting up in bed. As I approached him he began to moan as if he felt a sudden, sharp pain. Part of me wondered, “Is he faking this just to get out of talking to me?” When he grabbed his abdomen and began writhing, I thought, “This guy is either Daniel-Day Lewis or legitimately in agony.” I offered to go get the nurse. As I headed for the door, he stopped me. “Excuse me” he said. “What do you think of Muslims?”
Without hesitating, I answered, “I believe we’re all God’s children.” And with that, he blessed me, and I went on my way.
We are all God’s children. God is Father and Mother of us all, whether we are from Jerusalem or Athens, whether we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord or do not, whether we vote Democrat, Republican, or neither. But that is not to say, as is so common today, that there are many paths to God and it doesn’t matter which you take as long as you take one. That is not what Paul is saying by any means. Paul has come to Athens to proclaim Jesus Christ. When he first arrives, as he looks around the streets and sees idols everywhere, his heart breaks. He is deeply distressed. I can imagine his feeling overwhelmed by it all. Where even to begin?
But I also believe that Paul remembers how unlikely was his own conversion to the way of Christ. How was it possible that this man who zealously terrorized and persecuted followers of Jesus would become one of them? How could this man who approved of Stephen’s stoning later proclaim Christ as the cornerstone? The answer is that it was impossible…except for the grace of God.
And that goes for all of us. I don’t mean the part about terrorizing and persecuting Christians. I mean that all throughout the Bible, Old Testament and New Testament, we see God working in the most surprising ways: revealing the divine presence not to a powerful empire like Egypt but to a nation of slaves like the Hebrews; taking flesh not as a royal prince born in a palace but as the son of a carpenter born in a manger; selecting as his disciples not the best and the brightest from the big city but fishermen and tax collectors from the countryside; and achieving victory not by conquering his enemies but by being crucified for them, which is to say, for us.
God can and does work through anyone. The young and the not so young. The lifelong Christian and the recent convert. And God can work anywhere. In the pulpit and in the pews. In church sanctuaries and on street corners. In persecuted and persecutor, in Jerusalem and Athens. How, where and through whom is God working today? Like one of my favorite bands, The Who, once sang, anyway, anyhow, anywhere God chooses.