Like Peter, Like Apollos: Sermon for Pentecost 2016

Good morning, brothers and sisters! Hallelujah – what a morning! Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire. When we last left the Apostle Paul on his journey, his ministry in Corinth was booming – and all because he obeyed Jesus, as we must, to “speak and not be silent” without being afraid (Acts 18:9). 

After Paul's eighteen-month stint in Corinth, he took Priscilla and Aquila, went to the port, got a ritual haircut for a Nazirite vow – Paul was, after all, a devout and converted Jewish Pharisee – and then Paul went to Ephesus for a short stop (Acts 18:18-19). Those in the synagogue actually asked Paul to stay longer with them – now there's a new twist! – but Paul had elsewhere to be, so he set sail for Caesarea, Antioch, possibly a visit to Jerusalem, and definitely a trip through the Galatian churches. He'll be back to visit Ephesus again later.

But meanwhile, after Paul's left Priscilla and Aquila in Ephesus, another fellow passes through. His name is Apollos – probably short for “Apollonius.” He's a Jewish believer, like Priscilla, Aquila, and Paul. But he comes from Alexandria in Egypt. Excuse me – Apollos wouldn't like me saying that. He might rather have me say, “Alexandria by Egypt.” Alexandrians saw themselves as standing apart from Egypt, the same way – and for similar reasons – we wouldn't say, “Washington DC in Maryland.” Alexandria was a sophisticated place – famous for rhetoric, scholarship, education. What Athens was in memory, Alexandria was today. But speakers in Alexandria weren't calm and dispassionate, the ideal in Athens; no, they were emotional, vigorous, heated.

And our friend Apollos here has a lot going for him. Luke tells us he's eloquent and educated – he's got all the rhetorical training, all the great studies Alexandria can offer – and he's also a Jew with a pretty strong education in the Bible, or what we'd today call the Old Testament. Alexandria had a large Jewish community – maybe it's where Joseph and Jesus took the baby Jesus when they hid from Herod – and they had a style unique to them. 

One clue that suggests to me, and Carl, and Martin Luther that maybe Apollos had something to do with writing Hebrews is that it reads like something out of Alexandria, with lots of allegory and typology and echoes of Middle Platonist philosophy. One of the most famous Jewish teachers, Philo of Alexandria – he's left heaps of writings we still have – had just passed away a few years before Apollos reached Ephesus. For all we know, Apollos could have been a student of Philo's once, or a student of a student. 

 Yet not all was well in Alexandria: the Greeks and Egyptians felt threatened by the Jews, and there was a slaughter when Caligula was emperor, about thirteen years before this story. Apollos would've known; maybe he was even there.

But this educated Jew from Alexandria was also a believer. He was “instructed in the way of the Lord” (Acts 18:25). And we know that doesn't just mean the Old Testament, because from the moment he got to Ephesus, he started acting like Paul, jumping into the synagogue and precisely teaching about Jesus by name (Acts 18:26). How did Apollos get converted? We don't know. Maybe some of the crowd from Pentecost returned home to Alexandria and he learned that way. Maybe missionaries made their way there in the two decades since. 

But somehow, Apollos had gotten John the Baptist's baptism – probably during a pilgrimage to Jerusalem during John's ministry – but nobody ever baptized him into Christ. In fact, there were portions of the story he was still missing in Ephesus. Some preachers have speculated he hadn't heard of the cross and resurrection; he just knew Jesus as the kingdom-teaching Messiah. That seems a little far-fetched to me, but I can't rule it out.

Bottom line is, nobody seems to know what the deal is here. But whatever Apollos did know, he had it right. He just needed more. We always need the full gospel; the mere basics, a diet of milk, isn't enough for us. So Priscilla and Aquilla brought him home for some grub, showed him hospitality in their new house in Ephesus, and filled him in with the rest of the scoop (Acts 18:26). And once they did, watch out! 

Apollos is a powerhouse – evangelism and apologetics and preaching all in one awesome package. In fact, his reputation as a preacher was even better than Paul's. Can you imagine that? There's a reason Apollos is, next to Jesus, literally my favorite person in the Bible. And when he wandered off to Achaia, the province where Athens and Corinth were, he proved a huge help to the believing, grace-filled church (Acts 18:27). And that's because he had the skills needed to totally and thoroughly debunk the Jewish objections to Jesus, and he made an irrefutable case that Jesus was the promised Messiah (Acts 18:28). And like I said, I suspect if you want to know what that looks like, read Hebrews.

But beyond all of that, that's not the most important thing Luke tells us about Apollos. Oh, it's good to know. It's encouraging to hear that there are people like that in the early church. And his intellectual prowess, his training, his obvious skill – those are certainly traits that set him apart from virtually every early Christian except Paul himself. These things all make Apollos stand out. But they aren't what's really important. No, what's really important is this little reference tucked away in verse 25 – in him dwelt the Spirit of God. He doesn't just have skills and education and training; he has the Spirit. But the Spirit uses all those other things he has: his broad knowledge base, and his talents, and his training in rhetoric, and his education in the Scriptures, and his awareness of what Jesus taught, and all of that, the Spirit uses it.

Too often, we're tempted to think that, if we have the Spirit, then doing anything else is pointless. We focus in on those passages that talk about God choosing the weak of the world and announcing the gospel through them so as to shame the strong – and we think that the Spirit and natural talent, or the Spirit and high culture, or the Spirit and education, are somehow alternatives. You can go with one or the other, so pick. 

That kind of defective pietism plays into the anti-intellectual trend in American culture. And, to be honest, our own denomination has some of that in our history. Early Evangelical Association preachers looked down on anybody who went to seminary, thinking that if they got an education from trained theologians, they'd somehow lose the power of the Spirit. It took a lot of effort by faithful, intelligent pastors like William Yost to convince the Powers-That-Be otherwise and open up a school.

But even today, we can find ourselves thinking like that – that somebody untrained is in a way more pure, more in tune with the Spirit, than somebody with natural skills and the training to put them to use. For some pastors even today, for instance, there's no need to research or plan for a sermon, because they just depend on the Spirit to teach them what they need and put words in their mouths. And I remember one of my seminary professors – world-renowned New Testament scholar, and a faithful believer – recounting a conversation with a student with this mindset. And the student says to him, “Professor, I don't need to study this, I don't need to plan, I don't worry about any of that; the Spirit will get things done.” And my professor told the student, “Well, son, I sure wish you'd give the Spirit more to work with!” Ain't that the truth. Well, Apollos did. But, of the two, the more important was that he had the Spirit. The Spirit takes up his skills and puts them to use; it's not an “either/or.”

That's what makes Apollos' situation different from the people next chapter who also only knew the baptism of John. We'll meet them soon – a band of twelve Jews in Ephesus, evidently disciples of John the Baptist, whom Paul has to tell that Jesus is the One Who Was to Come (Acts 19:4). When Paul finds out they're clueless about the Holy Spirit, he has to do a double-take: “Wait, whoa, what kind of baptism did you boys get, anyway? They a little lax down where you're from?” They didn't have a Christian baptism – they weren't baptized into the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ – and so John's baptism wasn't enough. They needed to be baptized as believers, not merely washed as part of John's mission (Acts 19:5). And only then do they get a visit from the Holy Spirit. “When Paul laid his hands on them, the Holy Spirit came on them, and they began speaking in tongues and prophesying” (Acts 19:6). For folks who only know John's baptism, it's no surprise – that baptism was just to get ready, to point the way – but now the Messiah has died and risen and ascended and poured out power, and it's a whole new ballgame, friends.

But then there's Apollos. Luke mentions nothing about anybody baptizing Apollos again. Aquila doesn't do it. Priscilla doesn't do it. Why did they need it, but not him? Well, this is a pretty messy situation – don't get me wrong – but it looks like the reason is that Apollos, unlike them, knows who Jesus is. I mean, even before Priscilla and Aquila get to him, he's accurately teaching things about Jesus. He's preaching the gospel! Or at least some of the gospel. And God has given Apollos the gift of the Holy Spirit. He may just know John's baptism, but do we have a record of Jesus baptizing Peter or Andrew? Andrew was John's disciple first, had been baptized by him. Apollos is like that – he's had John's baptism, and he's learned about Jesus being the Messiah, and he has God's Holy Spirit in him somehow.

In Acts, we sometimes see people who have just water baptism needing to get the gift of the Spirit separately – usually to make a point about the apostles being special. And in Acts, we do on occasion see people who have just the Spirit needing to get baptized into Christ in the water – folks like Cornelius, for instance – and usually it's because unless God acts first in those cases, things aren't going to get done. But Apollos has a water baptism – John's – and the Holy Spirit. 

And so Apollos, “born of water and the Spirit” (John 3:5), is made clean with the holy power of God. Water and Spirit go together somehow – they belong together. Not that you can't get them out of order or a bit jumbled up – it's a crazy world – but no role model in Acts ever had the thought, “Well, I have the one, I guess I don't need the other.” And that's because the Holy Spirit and baptism were promises that went together. It's what God told Israel through Ezekiel years ago:

I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you shall be clean from all your uncleannesses, and from all your idols I will cleanse you. And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules. (Ezekiel 36:25-27)

But Apollos doesn't just have the Spirit. Luke doesn't say the Spirit descended on Apollos, or that Apollos spoke and worked by the Spirit, or that Apollos was filled with the Spirit. All those things are true, but Luke goes further, picks a rare word here. Literally, Luke says that Apollos is “boiling in the Spirit” (Acts 18:25). That's a strong image! It's one thing for a pot to have some water, it's another thing for a pot to be filled to the top, but we have some profound chemistry going on when you crank up the burners and set that thing a-boilin'! But... it's an odd image. I mean, what exactly is Luke saying?

Have you ever really thought about what boiling is? Go ahead, close your eyes, and picture a boiling pot of water on the stove. Mentally put your hand over it; see the steam wisp between your fingers; feel the heat against your palm. Watch the bubbles pop and froth – that thing's going pretty crazy there, isn't it? What is boiling? Here's a definition of boiling for you: “Boiling is the rapid vaporization of a liquid, which occurs when a liquid is heated to its boiling point.” And what's a boiling point? Well, a boiling point is “the temperature at which the vapor pressure of the liquid is equal to the pressure exerted on the liquid by the surrounding atmosphere.” That's boiling.

So first, the liquid has been heated – heated a lot. It isn't just everyday water anymore. It's water with all this kinetic energy, so much energy the molecules are bouncing to and fro, and because they just can't contain themselves, they have to throw off the excess, and you've seen that, you've felt that. And that's what's going on in Apollos. When he has the Spirit making himself known in his life, the energy of God is at work in him. 

And because the energy of God is exciting Apollos's soul, elevating it to a new state, he can't hold it all. The energy of God – the action of God – is so at work in Apollos' life that he knows exactly what Scripture means when it calls God a “consuming fire” (Deuteronomy 4:24), whose wrath “burns hot” (Exodus 32:11), seated in heaven on a throne of “fiery flames” (Daniel 7:9). God is hot! God is more than we can handle! When God comes to work on us, he stirs things up with his heat and gets everything excited! And that energy spills over into Apollos' life.

See, here's another thing about boiling water. It gets so hot, by the time it reaches its boiling point, that any microbes living in it are killed off, rendered inert and dead and unable to hurt us. Because when water is dirty, what it needs is to be boiled, because to be boiled is to be sterilized. Boiling helps to make water clean. And because Apollos is boiling in the Spirit, he's being made clean – he's being sanctified – because anything foreign in him, things like sin and death, are being killed off by the Spirit's heat! 

That's what sanctification is all about. And if it keeps going on, if Apollos boils all up and recondenses, perfectly free from all specks and germs and impurities... well, John Wesley had a name for that: “Christian perfection,” or “entire sanctification.” Whether we reach it in this life or not, God does have it in store for us. But it comes about through boiling in the Spirit.

And then, what else happens when water boils? Remember the definition. When water boils, when it reaches the boiling point, then the vapor pressure matches and rises beyond the ambient atmospheric pressure. In other words, the air pressure holding the water in place gets trumped by the pressure of energetic water molecules trying to get out as vapor, as steam. The pressure inside due to the heat is more than the pressure outside – and so, water versus atmosphere, the water wins! 

And Apollos knows all about that. He's boiling in the Spirit – the pressure in him to live for God, to exercise his spiritual gifts, to think and declare the gospel, is too great to be hemmed in by the pressure of the synagogue, of the world, of his own fleshly inhibitions pressing in on his soul. Nothing can keep his faith, his gospel, his gifts, trapped inside – the pressure is too great – it has to get out, it needs a rapid release, there's no containing Apollos anymore! That's boiling in the Spirit!

And it reminds me of Peter decades before. Now Peter didn't have Apollos' talent, or gifts with rhetoric and oratory, or special education – though before we rush to judgment, Peter was a student of a pretty excellent rabbi for a full three years – he's a graduate of the Seminary of Jesus Christ. But Peter didn't have Apollos' training; his style was probably a lot more simple. But there Peter was, staying in Jerusalem on the Feast of Weeks, the sixth day of the month of Sivan. The wheat harvest was ripe. So was the human harvest. 

In Jewish tradition, Shavuot – the Feast of Weeks – commemorated the gift of the Law to Israel. The Sinai Covenant, the Covenant of Moses, is renewed – Israel thanks God for the gift, renews her oath to follow it. But the problem is, Israel had a heart of stone. She couldn't make good on what she promised at the Feast of Weeks. If she wanted to walk in God's statutes and carefully obey his laws, she couldn't do it without another gift: the gift of God putting his Spirit in her.

And now the Feast of Weeks rolled around again. Pilgrims swarmed the Holy City, each presenting his firstfruits of wheat, barley, grapes, figs, dates, olives, and pomegranates at the temple (Deuteronomy 8:8; 26:1-4). They recounted the story of their deliverance: they were immigrants, foreigners, slaves in Egypt, but God multiplied them in his mercy, and when they were oppressed, they cried out to the LORD and were heard, and he brought them out of Egypt and into “a land flowing with milk and honey,” where there's plenty to go around – but the credit goes not to any farmer in Israel, but to the LORD who grants the growth (Deuteronomy 26:5-10; cf. 1 Corinthians 3:6). Springtime is here; the pilgrims think of the legend that Sinai's heights blossomed when God came down to give the Law.

But this is no ordinary Feast of Weeks this year. It doesn't follow an ordinary Passover. This year, the true Lamb was sacrificed. And this year, God has a greater gift than the Torah to offer. God offers the Spirit. And if the Feast of Weeks remembered how Israel was forged into one nation, a kingdom of priests (Exodus 19:6), this Feast of Weeks – this Pentecost – marks the empowerment of a New Israel to really live as a kingdom of priests and a holy nation (1 Peter 2:9).

The Twelve are clustered with the other followers – the real Israel meeting in secret – the church, the “assembly of the LORD” – in the upper room. And like at Sinai, God comes down bearing a gift – a better gift – the gift of the Spirit! And with tongues of fire, he fills the apostles with the presence and power of God (Acts 2:1-4). The crowds outside are confused, bewildered, amazed; some scoff (Acts 2:5-13) – they don't see the connection. But again, the Spirit gave Peter the same boldness later given to Apollos. And so he declares the gospel (Acts 2:14-36). He reminds the crowd of God's promises to pour out his Spirit during the last days (Acts 2:18; cf. Joel 2:29) and reminds them the prophet Joel said they'd be saved at the Day of the LORD by calling on the name of the LORD (Acts 2:21; cf. Joel 2:32).

Peter explains these must be the last days, because Israel crucified their promised King. God proved Jesus was the King, the Messiah, by attesting him with “mighty works and wonders and signs,” and still he was delivered up and killed (Acts 2:23). But the story isn't done, because the promise of Psalm 16 wasn't for David, it was for Jesus: that the Holy One precious to God wouldn't be left in the grave, wouldn't be abandoned to rot, but would experience the paths of life (Acts 2:27-28; cf. Psalm 16:10-11). 

The crowd knows the news; they were there at Passover; they've heard that Jesus is risen, he's alive, and that's not some weird modern idea; it fits the weave of the Scriptures (Acts 2:29-31). They all are witnesses that God raised Jesus up again, the final proof that he's the priest and king who belongs at God's right hand – Israel's Messiah and Lord, whom Israel crucified (Acts 2:32-36). What a sermon! No wonder the people were sliced deep, right to the heart (Acts 2:37), and ready to hear the call to repent of what they'd done – and all their other sin – and be baptized and receive the same Spirit by whom Peter spoke (Acts 2:38). That's what we remember at Pentecost!

But friends, Pentecost isn't just a day. It isn't merely an annual festival. Pentecost is the history, reality, and destiny of the church of God. A church absent Pentecost is a club. And we have enough clubs. We need new hearts. We need to be the church. And that's exactly who we're called to be! The Spirit that burned in Peter, the Spirit that boiled in Apollos, lives in each believer's new heart, and especially in the believing church. “God's Spirit dwells in you” (1 Corinthians 3:16)! 

That's the promise of Jesus, and anybody who doesn't have the Spirit doesn't belong to him (Romans 8:9). The Spirit is here to unite us with God – to give us access to the Father, through the Son, in one Spirit (Ephesians 2:18). The Spirit is here to supercharge our conscience. The Spirit is here to expose and cast out sin; to bring our earthly darkness into the life of the Light of the World. The Spirit is here to lead us into all truth (John 16:13; cf. Ephesians 3:4-5). The Spirit is here to grow fruit for the harvest (Galatians 5:22).

But most of all, the Spirit of Christ is here to make us the Body of Christ for the mission of Christ (cf. 1 Corinthians 12:13). That's what Pentecost is all about. It's not simply “the birthday of the church.” Pentecost isn't so much the birthday of the church as the explosion of the mission! The Church doesn't have a mission; the Mission has a church! And that's what the Spirit is all about. I mean, why did the Spirit on the apostles make them audible in all the world's languages? Because Abraham's blessing was at last swallowing Babel's curse. The Spirit translates the gospel to every mind and every heart. The nations were being bound together as one humanity in the Spirit (Galatians 3:27-28; Colossians 3:11; Ephesians 2:15).

Why did the Spirit fill Peter? Not just for his personal communion with his beloved Jesus, there there is that. Not just to make him a better person, though there is that. Not just to let him worship with joy, though there is that. But the Spirit filled Peter to make him bold to announce the gospel, not in his own rocky strength, but in God's incomprehensible power! 

The disciple who denied Jesus by a campfire was now fearless to speak the truth – to let loose all Jesus taught him – to confront the crowd with sin and repentance, to offer grace and mercy and love, in the boldness of God. He was filled with the Spirit “of power and love and self-control” (2 Timothy 1:7). Like Micah, Peter could say, “I am filled with power, with the Spirit of the LORD, and with justice and might, to declare to Jacob his transgression and to Israel his sin” (Micah 3:8). Jesus was right: with this gift, Peter really had received power – power to be a witness in Jerusalem and all Judea and Samaria and unto the ends of the earth (Acts 1:8)! 

And why did the Spirit fill Apollos? To drive him to use all that skill and talent and learning in the cause of Christ, to lay out an irrefutable case for the gospel, to strengthen the church for her life of mission! Paul planted, but to keep Corinthian and Ephesian believers from drying up under pressure, Apollos was sent to water (1 Corinthians 3:6).

And if that's what the Spirit was given for then, what do you think the Spirit wants to do with us now? We live in the same story as Peter and Apollos. It's the same Spirit working in us, near to us, present in and among us. And like Peter said, the Spirit is a promise – a promise for everyone the Lord our God calls to himself (Acts 2:39). If you're a believer – if you've repented, been baptized in Christ's name – then rest assured, you are forgiven by grace through faith, you are saved by grace through faith, and you are gifted by grace through faith. You are gifted for your role in the working of the Body of Christ, who is on a mission as the Spirit leads us. 

So rest assured, we have the Spirit. But are we walking in the Spirit? Are we following the Spirit? And, like Apollos, are we boiling? Does the Spirit overflow from this tiny cup of ours. Because we should be boiling! There's only one other time the word crops up in the Bible, and that's in Romans 12. It's one of Paul's exhortations for the church: “Be boiling in the Spirit” (Romans 12:11).

This Pentecost, let's turn aside from anything that hinders. Let's fix our eyes on Jesus, who went up to send the Spirit down. And let's implore him to breathe into us a double measure – like Peter, like Apollos – for the life of the world. May this church be found boiling in the Spirit! “O LORD, revive thy work in the midst of the years” (Habakkuk 3:2). “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit” – that 'Pentecostal power' – “you may abound in hope” (Romans 15:13).

Corinth: "Speak, and Do Not Be Silent": Sermon on Acts 18 for Mother's Day

Good morning, brothers and sisters! When we left Paul last week, he was in Athens, preaching to the Areopagus and introducing them to the God they'd left unknown (Acts 17:23) – the God who, he tells them, made the world (Acts 17:24), and sustains us with “life and breath and everything” (Acts 17:25), and sets the boundaries of human history in space and time (Acts 17:26), and stooped down within our reach (Acts 17:27), and made us in his image so we wouldn't need idols (Acts 17:28-29), and who calls us to repentance and appointed Jesus as our Savior and Judge through his resurrection from the dead (Acts 17:30-31). And we saw in his teaching that idols can't bring heavenly life to earth – nothing we chase can achieve our dreams. But we don't have to chase idols, because God sent Christ to catch us with his love and show us his glory in each other. 

And on that note, Paul bade Athens goodbye – the intellectual capital of ancient Greece – and went to the mighty city Corinth, the Las Vegas of ancient Greece. Plenty of trade, plenty more depravity and vice – let's just say calling a Greek woman a “Corinthian lady” might've gotten you slapped, and that's if she lets you off easy. And yet Corinth is where Paul went next (Acts 18:1).

And in Corinth, we read, Paul, busily at work bearing testimony to the truth he knows, gets reunited with Silas and Timothy (Acts 18:5). Paul writes himself, after all, that the ones who announced the gospel to the Corinthians were “Silvanus and Timothy and I” (2 Corinthians 1:19). 

And you know, there's something I'd kind of like to ask Luke about. I get why he mentions Silas so much. Silas was a pretty impressive fellow. He was prominent among the Jerusalem Christians (Acts 15:22), might have been one of the Seventy Disciples even; he's not just a believer and elder, but he's actually a prophet, has a gift for strengthening and encouraging churches (Acts 15:27), and he's a real part of the action – he shared Paul's imprisonment at Philippi, after all (Acts 16:23). So yeah, Luke, I get why Silas gets so many mentions here.

But what about Timothy? What's he done to deserve all the space he gets? He's just a kid, right? A very young man, at most, surely. Probably in his late teens, would be my guess. Even a decade after this visit to Corinth, the church Timothy pastored was tempted not to take him seriously – because he was so young; that's why Paul had to tell him not to let anybody get away with looking down on him for his youth (1 Timothy 4:12). And surely it didn't help that Timothy was just getting sick all the time – he's got “frequent ailments,” Paul writes (1 Timothy 5:23). Plus, his personality tended toward the introverted side, and he was naturally reserved (1 Corinthians 16:10). Those things together don't exactly spell out our conventional picture of a successful ministry leader, do they? “So why mention Timothy at all?”, I'd like to ask Luke.

But on second thought, I think I do get why Luke takes such notice of Timothy. It's on account of the young man's “sincere faith” (2 Timothy 1:5). He's got a burning love for God. He's got a selfless devotion to the people. He's proven himself (Philippians 2:22). He's got a clear commitment to the mission. And even from the moment Paul met him, Timothy had already earned a solid reputation for good character (Acts 16:2). Paul saw something in him – something that made Paul realize that, as great as Timothy was for the church in Lystra that had started just three years earlier (Acts 14:8-10), Timothy would glorify God all the more out on the open road (Acts 16:3).

It wasn't something that happened to Timothy overnight. It wasn't a radical conversion in his thirties, forties, fifties, sixties. His “sincere faith” didn't begin in him. He was raised with it. And not by his dad. See, Timothy's dad was a pagan, a Greek (Acts 16:1). No, Timothy's “sincere faith” dwelled first in his mother Eunice's heart, and in her mother Lois before her (2 Timothy 1:5). It was they who set an example for self-control, for charity, for worship – they who gently stood him on his feet and taught him to lift up holy hands in prayer, they who showed him the difference God makes in a human life. It was they who saturated Timothy's life with scripture from childhood – from those tender moments he was still small enough to be cradled and rocked in mama's arms (2 Timothy 3:15).

If Timothy were standing here, he'd tell you the impact of a mother's faith – the way, before ever he met his mentor Paul, his mother Eunice raised him on a sound foundation, nurtured him in the love of a godly household. Even with a Greek father who thwarted his mama's desire to see her baby boy circumcised into God's covenant with the Jewish people, Timothy knew what it meant to have Eunice grow a little bubble of spiritual nurture all around him.

Timothy's not here to tell you that in his own words. But I can tell you. Like Timothy, the central parent figures in my life were my mother and my grandmother. Like Timothy, before I – before we – ever new the fullness of faith in Christ, God was at work in my life through a mother's love. Some of the earliest memories I have are of my mom reading to me – oh, there's always been plenty of reading going on – from a little Bible picture book. From childhood she made sure I was acquainted with the Holy Scriptures, which when the time was right proved able to make me “wise for salvation through faith in Jesus Christ” – just like Timothy (2 Timothy 3:15). And when that time came, time to give myself over into the hands of Jesus, who walked with me into the Light of Christ but Mom? So I can tell you what Timothy would tell you: never, ever, ever underestimate the impact a mother can have in raising up and discipling a new generation of sons and daughters of God.

And it's happened all down through the years. From Eunice teaching Timothy from infancy, to the martyrs Perpetua and Felicity leaving their little children behind on earth in good care as they passed with glory through the Gate of Life, to St. Macrina the Elder yielding abundant fruit in her sainted son Basil and five sainted grandchildren, to St. Monica waging unceasing war in prayer for the soul of her wayward and profligate son Augustine, down through centuries to Susanna Wesley preaching the good news and teaching spiritual discipline to her sons John and Charles – and today we see just the same.

Men, women, young, old: if you've had a mother who raised you well in the faith, or even a mother who didn't know Jesus but who shaped you in ways that served you well once you met him yourself, be thankful to God. And mothers of the church, know that not an ounce of your maternal love and care has been wasted in the sight of the Lord. The very shape of the word of God wouldn't be what it is if not for the humble, patient, faithful, courageous witness of mothers like you.

But lest we think that only a Eunice or a Lois can shape a Timothy, this chapter of Acts introduces us first – before Timothy's return – to a couple named Aquila and Priscilla (Acts 18:2). Now, from their names, it's a safe bet the both of them are Roman citizens; and we know they're Jewish followers of Jesus already, just like Paul. They probably aren't his converts; they were probably believers before they met him. 

We know not just from Luke's report but from the Roman historian Suetonius that in 49 AD, the Emperor Claudius was fed up with the clamor on Rome's synagogues – a great hubbub and controversy about somebody some Jews were calling “Chrestus,” he'd heard. And Claudius was sick of it, so he kicked out most non-citizen Jews, maybe whole synagogues – gave 'em the boot from town.

Aquila and Priscilla were ringleaders of the Christ movement – as citizens, they couldn't be exiled without trial, but they refused to abandon their friends by clinging to home's comforts. So into exile they went, too. And by God's providence, these strong, daring believers reached Corinth just in time to meet Paul – to open up their home and even their leatherwork shop to the apostle, to become partners with him in ministry (Acts 18:3; cf. Romans 16:3). 

And the three of them, and Paul's other partners later, were just in time for the nearby Isthmian Games – second only to the Olympics! – in 51 AD. Athletes and spectators came from all over Greece, and there'd be Paul and Aquila and Priscilla and friends, captivating visitors with the gospel of Jesus Christ.

But the focus in this passage isn't really on Aquila. Just as often in the New Testament, it's not Aquila's name that comes first, like you'd expect in a Roman story; it's Priscilla's. Luke portrays her as Aquila's equal as a missionary, teacher, and leader. And while neither Luke nor anybody else tells us the two of them had kids, Priscilla is obviously a spiritual mother wherever she goes (Acts 18:26). She takes the lead in rounding out Apollos' Christian education (Acts 18:26) – we'll hear more about him next week – and seems to take Timothy under her wing after they leave Corinth to lead a house-church in Asia (1 Corinthians 16:19; 2 Timothy 4:19). Priscilla is proof that you don't have to give birth to be a mom – if not by blood, then by the Spirit of God and spiritual nurture.

So by verse five here, Paul's team – Priscilla, Aquila, Silas, Timothy – is busily preaching the gospel “to the Jew first” (Romans 1:16). Even for the “apostle to the Gentiles,” that was Paul's first mission field wherever he went (Romans 11:13). And what's his message for his synagogue ministry? That the one they've been waiting for, the one God promised, the one who would cure Israel of what ails her and set her right with God and achieve her long-awaited destiny – that's Jesus (Acts 18:5)! 

But they don't want to hear that. Some do, sure, but not most. Instead, they throw up walls of resistance. Oh, they want the hope of Israel, but they don't want to hear that it's Jesus. And they don't just attack the message; they attack the messenger. Things turn ugly, and so Paul announces he's through with the Corinthian synagogue – if they don't want to hear the good news, then they can eat the consequences, but he's got a clear conscience. And if they'd rather miss out on Israel's destiny, proving they aren't Abraham's children at all (cf. Romans 9:8), maybe their pagan neighbors would like to get in on it – so he'll go to the Gentiles (Acts 18:6). “Through their trespass, salvation has come to the Gentiles, so as to make Israel jealous” (Romans 11:11). Perhaps Paul's ministry may “somehow make my fellow Jews jealous, and thus save some of them” (Romans 11:14).

And it's probably because of that dream, that vision, that Paul doesn't go far. He may shake out the dust of the synagogue from his clothes, treating it as unclean, but he moves literally next-door – so even if the synagogue kicks out all the Jesus-followers, they'll still have to see them, still have to hear them, still be exposed and enticed (Acts 18:7). And Paul's ministry bears fruit: “Many of the Corinthians hearing Paul believed and were baptized” (Acts 18:8). 

Still, things had gotten ugly. And Paul knows what happens when things turn ugly. He remembers the beating in Philippi – maybe has scars where his open wounds festered all day in the jail. He still hears the shouts of the Thessalonian mob, crying violently for his blood. He's haunted by nightmares of his enemies tracking him down from city to city, stirring up riots and chasing him out. 

And maybe by this point, just like Elijah on the run from Jezebel, Paul's just tired of it. Maybe he's wondering if there isn't a quieter way to evangelize, a less offensive method – don't go to them, let them come to you; don't stir the pot, don't make waves, don't risk alienating your friends and neighbors. Maybe he's thinking of calling it quits or changing his tune.

And that's when he hears it. All's dark, all's quiet – well, quiet as cities ever got – he's tossing and turning on his bed, maybe breaking out in the nightmare-sweats, panting for breath, trying to get back to sleep or else freshly slipped to the bottom of his sleep cycle – and then the Lord comes for him. He has a vision of Jesus. Jesus has a message for Paul: “Fear not, but speak, and do not be silent, for I am with you, and no one will attack you to harm you, for I have many in this city who are my people” (Acts 18:9). Now that's a message! Don't give up, don't give in; don't hold back, don't keep quiet; don't be afraid to tell the good news, tell the good news.

The words sound a lot like Jeremiah, in fact. If Paul was the “apostle to the Gentiles” (Romans 11:13), well, Jeremiah was ordained as a “prophet to the Gentiles” (Jeremiah 1:5) – it's really in there, honest! And when Jeremiah was called, he protested, tried to object to God drafting him like that – said he can't speak well, said he's just a kid like Timothy (Jeremiah 1:6). And God told him to cut the excuses: “Do not say, 'I am only a youth.' For to all to whom I send you, you shall go; and whatever I command you, you shall speak. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, saith the LORD” (Jeremiah 1:7-8). And the Maker of the universe stretched out the hand that shaped the mountains, and touched the young prophet's lips, and filled Jeremiah's mouth with the word of God, mighty to overthrow and build whole kingdoms (Jeremiah 1:9-10).

As years went by, Jeremiah was persecuted, not by pagan Babylonians, but by Pashhur the priest, the chief officer in the temple, who tried to intimidate Jeremiah into silence (Jeremiah 20:1-2). Paul could identify with Jeremiah's lament that God's word was a heavy burden to speak, hard to tell, provoked mockery from everyone (Jeremiah 20:7-8). But, writes Jeremiah, “If I say, 'I won't mention him or speak any more in his name,' in my heart there's a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I'm weary with holding it in, and I can't!” (Jeremiah 20:9). The word of God wants to get out! All because the LORD told him, “Whatever I command you, you shall speak; do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you” (Jeremiah 1:7-8) – the same message, in essence, the Lord Jesus told Paul, just like he'd told Jeremiah centuries before.

The message is for us, just as much as for the prophet and the apostle. Jesus is telling us, “Don't be afraid, but speak and do not be silent.” Now it's true, the Bible also tells us to be “quick to listen and slow to speak” (James 1:19). But there's a difference between being slow and standing still! And those words are a warning against snapping in anger or speaking thoughtlessly (James 1:20, 26) – James' words for a quarrelsome church (James 4:1). But James also said that “whoever brings back a sinner from his wandering will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins” (James 5:20). We shouldn't speak in anger, shouldn't leap ahead of our knowledge – but we should, must, speak the word of God, like Jeremiah and Paul.

We must, must speak the gospel! We must not, not remain forever silent! Maybe you've heard that famous quote by St. Francis of Assisi: “Preach the gospel at all times; if necessary, use words”? As if words are the last resort? Problem is, St. Francis never said that. Not only that, he wouldn't agree with it at all! St. Francis loved speaking the gospel – he loved it so much, he spoke it when no one but birds were around to listen! Loved it so much, he advised his followers to preach “to the advantage and spiritual good of their listeners” in short messages. Loved it so much, during the thick of the Crusades he dared to personally go preach to the Muslim Sultan of Egypt! This phony quote just ain't Franciscan, and it just ain't good advice, either. Better advice: Live out the gospel in your life, and from that life, preach the gospel at all times in words with your life to back those words up.

Friends, it can be hard to speak the gospel in today's age. We know our culture is increasingly Corinthian. More to the point, some of our churches are increasingly resistant like Pashhur, like the Corinthian synagogue. It can be hard to bring up the good news in a natural way. It is not easy to speak the gospel. I get it. I struggle with it myself! Oh sure, from the pulpit it's fine – though if anybody brings a basket of rotten fruit to their pew, I might be in trouble! But out in conversation, yeah, I struggle to speak the gospel. I'd much prefer to be silent – it's more my speed. But when I hold my tongue, I feel that tingling way down in my bones – the word of God itching to break past my locked lips (cf. Jeremiah 20:9).

The gospel isn't meant to be chained within our hearts and minds. The gospel isn't meant to stay buried in our bones. Like Eunice, Priscilla, Jeremiah, and Paul, we have to speak it to pass it on! It's not by words alone that we share it, but it is by words. “How will they call on him in whom they haven't believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they've never heard? And how are they to hear without someone proclaiming it? And how are they to proclaim unless they're sent? … So faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of Christ” spoken by those sent out with good news to tell (Romans 10:14, 17). 

And make no mistake: we're sent. Whether we're younger than Timothy or old enough to be penpals with Jeremiah, we're sent! Whether we're mothers like Eunice, spiritual mothers like Priscilla, fathers like Isaiah, spiritual fathers like Aquila and Paul (cf. 1 Corinthians 4:15), or children and disciples like Timothy – we're sent! 

That truth comes to us from the words of Jesus: “As the Father has sent me, even so I am sending you” (John 20:21). The church is a sent people, a missionary movement, the one holy worldwide and apostolic church; and if we're sent, then we're sent to speak the good news – not just stern judgment like Jeremiah, but also hope “to build and to plant” (Jeremiah 1:10), news of salvation.

With Jesus promising to be with him, Paul keeps speaking. He himself says he did it “in weakness and in fear and much trembling,” but he trusted in “the power of God” that was in the gospel he preached (1 Corinthians 2:3, 5). And because he kept speaking, he stayed for a year and a half in Corinth, finding the people God assured him would listen to the message (Acts 18:10-11). He built up the church in Corinth, demonstrating the gospel with signs and wonders (1 Corinthians 12:12) and sticking to the basics, because the Corinthians weren't ready for more (1 Corinthians 3:2). Paul planted (1 Corinthians 3:6), he laid the foundation (1 Corinthians 3:10), and with the Lord's words on his mind, he later wrote to the Corinthians, “Woe to me if I do not preach the gospel!” (1 Corinthians 9:16).

And because he preached the gospel, not one but two synagogue chiefs became believers – first Crispus (Acts 18:8; cf. 1 Corinthians 1:14), then his replacement Sosthenes (Acts 18:17; cf. 1 Corinthians 1:1) – as well as the synagogue's main bankroller Titius Justus (Acts 18:7). What's more, his preaching set the stage for his trial before the famed governor Lucius Junius Gallio (Acts 18:12-13), the Stoic philosopher Seneca's brother. And while that might seem dangerous, Gallio's refusal to hear the case set a major precedent: the gospel is a question of Jewish law, not Roman – the gospel is a message emerging from Israel's ancient faith – and Christianity merits the same legal protection and tolerance that other versions of Judaism had under Roman law (Acts 18:14-16). For Luke, who wants to show how the gospel is good for Romans and other Gentiles like us, that's key. And all because Paul spoke and didn't keep silent.

Today, there's just as much of a need for us to speak and not keep silent. The Lord yet has many in this place, many who don't yet know him, who are to be called his people (Acts 18:10). So we need to speak, now as much as ever. But we're not called mainly to be cultural critics, or to defend the US Constitution, or to tell the kids to get off our lawns. What we speak is the gospel – of Jesus Christ who lived and died and rose and reigns, of his kingdom without end, of the salvation he gives and the power he pours out, of the promises of God all made 'Yes' in him (2 Corinthians 1:20), of life that we can have to the full (John 10:10) when our lives are hidden with Christ in God (Colossians 3:3). 

The gospel is a “secret and hidden wisdom of God,” but he makes it known “for our glory” (1 Corinthians 2:7)! For Eunice's glory, and Priscilla's glory, and Timothy's glory, and your glory, and your glory, and your neighbors' glory... speak the wisdom of the gospel. It's good news! Too good to keep hush-hush. 

So don't. Speak, and don't be silent. For the Lord Jesus who promised to be with Paul is with us always, too, even to the end of the age (Matthew 28:20; cf. Acts 18:10). Amen.

Athens: Building Bridges: Sermon on Acts 17:16-34

Good morning, brothers and sisters!  Over the last few weeks, we've tracked Paul from Philippi to Thessalonica to Berea... and now, he's left there on his own, sailing into port (Acts 17:15). He knows Athens' reputation – it's the intellectual capital of the world. Paul's hometown of Tarsus was like the little Athens of Cilicia; but this is the big one. A place of pure philosophy, pure knowledge, refined culture. 

So imagine Paul's dismay when he gets there and sees more idols than he's ever seen, with their obscene body parts displayed in broad daylight, with blind superstition ruling the day. No wonder Paul gets so upset (Acts 17:16)! That reputation, and yet all the civilization of Athens couldn't cure the city of idolatry and corruption? These people need what they don't have.

So Paul gets to work – on the Sabbath, preaching in the synagogue, but the rest of the time, he's in the porches around the agora, teaching and discussing with local philosophers (Acts 17:17-18). Some say he's just babbling – that he's got nothing new to say, that he's just recycling bits and scraps of ideas he doesn't even understand. Others say he's got some foreign gods he's trying to pass off. 

Paul catches enough attention that he gets hauled in front of the Areopagus, the ruling council. You know who else in history got taken to the Areopagus for the same reason? Socrates, if the name rings a bell. The Areopagus was responsible for certifying new teachers in the city, and so they want to hear Paul out, find out what his message means and whether it's good for Athenians to hear, whether he has anything to contribute (Acts 17:19-21). And so they make the blessed mistake of actually asking Paul to open his mouth – something Paul was never too reluctant to do!

But before we get to what Paul says, let's pause a moment to think about how he says it. Does Paul lay into them right off the bat? Does he stand around quoting the Bible at them? No! Paul's message is very biblical – the whole shape, even some of the phrases – but he says it in a way that fits who he's talking to. Even though they don't know the Bible in the slightest, he has a message that's just right for them. He uses their kind of language – more philosophy than Bible. He talks about God in a way they mostly recognize. 

He starts his speech the right way, by addressing the “Men of Athens” (Acts 17:22). He says things they can fairly take as a compliment, at least at first. He presents himself as filling a need they know they have: for knowledge of an admittedly unknown god. And for as long as he can, Paul's emphasis is on common ground. Most of what he's saying are things the Stoics, the more popular philosophers there, would have agreed with right off the bat. Ultimately one divine reality responsible for all things? Check! Near to us? Check! Not living in man-made temples? Check! 

Just like preaching from the Old Testament in the synagogue, Paul wants to find common ground with these elite cultured pagans of Athens. So he quotes popular pagan poets to back up his points, and he shows them how their best beliefs, methods, and values lay the ground for the ideas he's come to share.

Paul never compromises his message. There's nothing he says that isn't what Paul really does believe, and what the Bible really does teach. It's shape is thoroughly biblical, even some of the wording bears the Bible's touch. But Paul tells it in a way that, without any compromise, shows that it has relevance here – that the message isn't just for Bible-believing Jews, but for philosophical Greeks. Not just for people like Paul, but for people like Dionysius and Damaris (Acts 17:34). He doesn't have to make it relevant by changing it; but he does choose to reveal it as relevant by telling it the right way. He chooses to build bridges.

You know, too often, we don't even try. Let's face it: by and large, we do not live in a Christian culture. With people of any age, we can't assume that they have a basically biblical worldview already. We can't make the assumption that they understand words like 'sin', 'repent', 'faith', even 'Jesus' the way we do. We can't make the assumption that they share our basic outlook on life at all. We can't assume they share our culture or subculture, that they live lives like ours, that they see the world the way we do. So much of our evangelism falls on deaf ears because it's spoken in words that just don't translate! The longer we've been immersed in our church cultures, the more we get used to speaking 'Christian-ese.' But that's not the primary language of America – if it ever was, it sure ain't now!

If there's one lesson to learn from Acts, it's that the gospel is for everybody. It's for Jews and Greeks and Samaritans and Romans. It's for shepherds and farmers and prison guards and politicians and, yes, even ivory-tower eggheads. (I'm tempted to misquote Paul here by adding the words, “of whom I am chief”!) 

But if we want to share the gospel well – and we absolutely should – then we have to realize that, while the basics are the same, the angle isn't. You want to share the gospel with a farmer? Build bridges with the farmer's world, with the farmer's beliefs and practices and values; translate the message into his language as far as it goes; show how what you've found fits his needs, completes what's unfinished in his life and work. Same goes for evangelism with philosophers – Paul shows the way. 

And the same goes all around here. Build bridges with shopkeepers, with stay-at-home moms, with high school students; with Muslims and atheists and, far more plentiful, a 'post-churched' world of burnt-out people who think they get the gospel but have scarcely scratched the surface. Know what they believe and cherish and do, build on that, speak into that, and drive the story of Jesus over that there bridge!

That's how Paul does things here. That's our model for evangelism. And it does work – maybe not a massive harvest, but the field stays open for labor, and the light comes on in the mind, heart, and soul of one of the hundred or so elite Athenians who run the city – that's a good start! 

But what, exactly, is Paul saying? Does his message have anything to teach us? I think so. Let's start where he starts: he's seen how very religiously obsessed the Athenians are (Acts 17:22). He finds the superstitious style of it distressing – he must be struggling to keep calm, surrounded by all these obscene idols and the way they just disgust him – but he gives credit wherever he can: they're very concerned to know their gods.

And yet, as he's stopped and studied their monuments, he's noticed an altar simply marked, “To an unknown god.” Maybe he learned the backstory in the marketplace from one of his dialogue partners. As the legend goes, a few centuries before, a terrible plague struck Athens. They knew it must be a warning from one of the gods – but which one? Which of their many, many gods was unhappy with them? Who'd they forgotten to invite to the party? So they'd made their way through the list. They made sacrifices to each and every god they had. And still the plague stayed. None of the gods was taking credit! So the philosopher Epimenides, visiting from Crete, had an idea. He led a flock of sheep into the heart of the city and let them loose. Wherever one of them lay down, he built an altar, figuring that some god was lurking around. And he dedicated the altar to whichever god happened to be there, whoever it might be. The altars were marked, “To unknown gods” – it was their way of saying, “Hey, not sure who you are, we haven't been properly introduced, but we're sorry you've been left out – and if this is you, we'd like to reach out and start a relationship. We don't like leaving any bases uncovered.”

Six centuries later, here stands Paul. And Paul turns around and tells them, “Yeah, you're right – you missed one. You may pride yourselves on your knowledge, but at least you know that there's a god you don't know. You've tried to worship him, you've tried to open up a relationship with him – well, he's answering that prayer. I'm about to fill you in, teach you the knowledge you know you lack.” So far, so good – though he might rub them the wrong way a bit when he tells them that the top god, whom they think they know, is the one they've left unknown (Acts 17:23).

This god, the one the Athenians left unknown, the one they forgot and hastily threw in alongside all the familiar names – well, he's “the God who made the world and everything in it” (Acts 17:24). It wasn't a committee job; it isn't divided up into jurisdictions, like in popular Greek myths where Zeus gets the sky, Poseidon gets the sea, Hades gets what's down below, and so on. No, this God is the Creator of all things, and he's Lord of all things. He's got full jurisdiction; he doesn't leave room for Poseidon, for Hades, for any of the jokers on Mount Olympus – or for any of the trendy American gods of Work, of Leisure, of Family, of Bank Account, or the rest, Paul might remind us.

The philosophers have been inching their way toward this Creator God. At their best, they've figured out a fair bit about him – that he exists, that he's transcendent, that he designed all these things around us. But he's still unknown to them. This God “made the world and everything in it,” and “he does not live in temples made by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything” (Acts 17:24-25). He isn't an idol we can store away in a building and keep him there. He isn't a little god we can limit to one specialty, one place, one day of the week or of the year. God does not live in a box we can make or devise. He is not trapped in this church; he is not limited to Sunday; he does not wait around for us before he goes off and gets to work in the world. He gets there before we show up, he sticks around after we stay.

And this God doesn't need us. We don't serve him for his benefit, as though he'd be missing out on something if we left his temple alone – as if he has incentive to bargain with us! Of course, that's often how the Athenians treated their gods. And sometimes, it's how we treat the real one. We think we can bargain with God – “Can I bribe you to do this if I promise this? After all, you need that, don't you?” 

But that's not the way God works. He doesn't need our temples – our big, fancy buildings. That's not where he lives. He doesn't need our money. He doesn't need the service of our hands – or the words of our lips. God does not need you. If he uses you, if he seems to rely on you, it's because he loves you and chooses to involve you. But we can't contribute anything he doesn't already possess, because “he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything” (Acts 17:25).

In fact, God's plans do not depend on the lay of the land. They are not helped or hindered by the way we've shaped the world. Maybe that seems like an odd thing to say. But listen to this: “And he made from one every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth” – so from a single start, he spun out all the diversity we see; no matter where we go, we're meeting people whose start is like ours. The Athenians may have had a myth that their ancestors sprang from the special soil of their homeland, but Paul reminds us that all people – Jews, Greeks, Samaritans; Americans, Russians, Syrians, Nigerians – we all are made of the same stuff, part of the same global tribe. There's nothing about our essence, our nature, our heritage, that makes us worth more than anyone else.

And God “determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place” (Acts 17:26). In other words, you didn't build that; Somebody Else, Somebody Heavenly, made that happen. God isn't just the God of nature; God is the God of history. He drew the atlas. All the borders of all the empires in time and space – God holds it in his hand. He drew it once, he's been redrawing it every since. 

To every people, every nation, he's given time. America didn't gain independence by her own strength; he drew her borders, he let us have this place and time – and what the future sketch will look like, how our boundaries will look and how long our period runs, who can say? He gave the same to the Babylonian and Assyrian Empires in the Old Testament – they thought they ruled by their own strength, that their conquests were their doing, but it was all and only by God's permission and decree. And when their time was up, it was up, and they were held accountable for their arrogance. The same for the Athenians – the Greeks maybe once ruled the world, they could take pride in their heritage, but it wasn't Athena who blessed them; it was the God they forgot to know, the God who'd raised up Athens in her time and given it over to Rome in times since.

God does not depend on the lay of the land; he decides the lay of the land. This system is in his hands. It runs as long as he decides, and then he moves it, changes it, turns it over, however he likes. That's not an endorsement – but it sure does give us hope. The trends of history are not inevitable. God turns them how he pleases, in his time. Every nation, every regime, every trend is on a leash – and so are we and all our ways. 

Some of Paul's dialogue partners, the Epicureans, thought that the gods were so lofty that they couldn't possibly take an interest in how things run all the way down here. But Paul has news for them: the Creator may be exalted enough not to need us, but he's still interested! He still cares!

And, Paul tells us, because he cares, he's actually arranged the course of history – the times and shapes of every people and nation – so that we can fulfill our purpose. And that purpose is “that they should seek God, and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him – yet he is actually not far from each one of us” (Acts 17:27). The image here isn't one of looking around with a flashlight; it's one of a guy stretching out his arms in the dark, shuffling around and feeling for what he's trying to find. 

In our sin, we may have blinded our eyes; we may be grasping in the dark – but we're searching. And because he wants to be found, God chooses to be nearby. He doesn't have to be – he's higher than the highest heavens – but in kindness he always chose to be in our reach, even within reach of the ancient Greeks – and certainly within reach today.

So how can the Athenians accuse Paul of preaching a “new god”? He's talking about the Creator, the one who made the whole universe! What's so new about that? Why do they say he's preaching some “foreign divinity”? This God isn't foreign – he's commemorated as an Unknown God on an altar that was already here, and he's not far away from any place, not even Athens. Paul isn't the one preaching new and foreign gods. The Athenians are the ones who've introduced 'new' and 'foreign' gods! That's what Paul's saying. He's turned the tables on their accusation.

Anybody ever see the movie ...And Justice for All? Came out in '79, starred Al Pacino. Pretty profane film, but there's a well-known scene. Pacino's character gets coerced into defending a corrupt, guilty man – a judge, in fact – and by the end, he can't take it anymore. Let the consequences be what they may, he isn't going to let his client get away with it. So in his defense speech, he tells the whole court that his client belongs in jail, because he's completely guilty. The trial judge reprimands him, tells him he's out of order. And Pacino's character yells back those famous words: “You're out of order! You're out of order. The whole trial is out of order!” 

In so many words, that's what Paul is saying. “You think my god is new, that he's foreign? Your gods are new, your gods are foreign. You're out of order! Your gods are out of order! This whole system is out of order!” And that's the essence of our response today: Those in our culture say that our faith is unsuited for the time, that our God is far removed from the realities of everyday life? No: your time is is what doesn't fit; your so-called everyday life is what you've made far removed from God and from your own selves. Your idols, like the idols of Athens, have just gotten in the way.

After all, what's the point of idols but to make distant gods near? But we never needed idols to have this God near – not now, not in Paul's day, not even in the days of the Athenian plague. The one God – the God who made the world and all its parts, the God who sets times and borders for all nations – he's nothing like an idol (Acts 17:29). How's an idol going to make him closer, when it's got nothing in common with him? He isn't made visible through what shines, like gold and silver poured and pounded into familiar shapes; he's made visible through what lives and moves in him, what reflects him – “for we indeed are his offspring” (Acts 17:28). What on earth most reveals God? Not a statue, not an idol, not a temple planned by architects. But his offspring, those who reflect his life and his motion and who were molded from his image – us.

God isn't seen in idols, but in us. Seventy-four years ago, C. S. Lewis preached a powerful sermon on “The Weight of Glory,” and he remarked that “there are no ordinary people. Nations, cultures, arts, civilization – these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit – immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.” And at the conclusion, Lewis stressed that “next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your senses.” 

Think about that: You don't need an idol to see God, because that's what you have neighbors for. If you want to understand the character of God, if you want to find God close-by, you don't need a statue, or a painting, or a big stained-glass window, or bright lights, or a fog machine... not even the sun and moon and stars. More than in the heavens above or the earth below, more than in any of our best art or literature, you can just turn your attention to Tia. Or Bill. Or Wanda. Or Grace. They – we – are God's offspring, stamped with his image, a living declaration of his nature and character on earth.

So God isn't like things we make, things we shape, things we control. God isn't something shapeable or controllable – he's living, vibrant, stooping into reach not by becoming idolizable but by imprinting himself on human life. You never needed an idol to make God plain; you had each other. The people of Athens had each other – so there was never an excuse for all those statues and shrines. And less so now that God's done one better.

God used to put up with all those things, just bear them. But God is a God who redraws the map. And a few decades before Paul gave this speech, God changed the spiritual geography completely. And in light of what he's done, the way he's made things clearer, drawn even nearer, he wants the Athenians – and us – to turn around, change our minds, learn and know the truth (Acts 17:30). They may have Paul in their judgment-box this day, but there's another day picked out already – and then each and every Areopagite and each and every Athenian and each and every son or daughter of Adam will stand in the box. This message isn't abstract theory, a good dinner conversation or a topic for a thesis paper! It's vital, concrete, personal! It demands a change of life, a change of everything!

God makes, God rules, God cares – and God gave proof of that by doing what the Athenians would never have expected, could barely bear to hear. He picked a Judge, the Judge died, but the Judge lives again! The Greeks thought resurrection impossible; but whether they believe it or not, God raised the Judge from the dead (Acts 17:31). That's why 'Jesus' and 'Resurrection' was all Paul's theme (Acts 17:18). So what, Paul asks the Athenians, will they do now?

And here's where Paul pokes his head out of the pages of the Bible and looks square at us. What will we do now? The kind God stepped near to his creation from the start, coming within reach, making us windows into his character; and what's more, now in these last days he's stepped into our skin and proved himself. He's perfect window and perfect light, all in one – Jesus Christ, the Living Revelation of God. We can't control him, can't domesticate him, can't box him in. And the days when a people could get away with pleading ignorance – well, even the best excuses are two thousand years obsolete.

And yet we still try to confine our religion to temples made with human hands. As if God were limited to the inside of these church walls! As if he wasn't trying to lead us out – drag us out, if he has to – into the world to share the good news and disciple the nations! Still we pretend our service earns us credit. As if we had something he needed! 

Still we chronically stare at gold and silver in stupendous awe and yet yawn at our neighbors, the very image of the God who refuses to stay far away! Still we moan and wail at the changing tides of culture – as if God weren't allotting times and boundaries to every scheme, every people, every nation! And still we clutter our lives with idols, our vain attempts to bring heavenly life to earth. Still we cling to our ways – but our ways lead to the wrong side of the day that's fixed for the verdict. Outside of Christ, outside of the reality of resurrection, our whole system is out of order.

The only hope isn't in any idol. It isn't in the blind groping of the Athenians, or the civic duty of the Areopagites, or the temples and statues of the masses, or the proud heritage of the City of Man. The only hope is to learn from the Judge before Judgment Day – to thank God through him for our life and breath and everything. 

Idols can't bring heavenly life to earth. All the heavenly life we could ever hope for is available when, through the Appointed Savior, we get to know our nearby Maker, we trust his plan, we turn from our ways, and we love our neighbors made in his image and all the world he created. And “this is eternal life: that they know you, the Only True God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent” (John 17:3). What will we do? What... will you do?