Acts 17:22-31; Psalm 66:7-18; 1 Peter 3:13-22; John 14:15-21
The Rev. Candice B. Frazer
In the early 1940s a young GI wrote to his sister from overseas. He was homesick and weary of the war, though he knew its necessity and importance. Trying hard to overcome a despair that might easily catch him unawares, he spoke of his endearing love for his church and the comfort, hope, and purpose that the stained glass window above the altar afforded him.
The church was St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Selma, AL and the window he described was of four panels depicting events of St. Paul’s life. It’s been years since I’ve read that young GI’s letter, but what I remember was the earnest expression of hope and trust of a young man, far from home, under threat of death and destruction. He didn’t speak to what his experiences might be—not proper reading material for a lady in that age and time—instead he spoke to the foundation of faith that the church had built for him and how that foundation kept him from sinking into the mire of war. His letter described the four panel scenes from St. Paul’s life: Saul the persecutor of Stephen; the conversion of Paul on the road to Damascus; Paul’s preaching in Athens; and the shipwreck of Paul on the Island of Malta.
The young GI pontificated a bit on how sitting in church Sunday after Sunday and gazing upon that window had helped to form him into the Christian man he was now. Persecutions, conversion, and miracles aside, it is the description of the evangelist Paul in the third panel of that window that spoke most deeply to me. That panel shows Paul standing in the midst of a crowd as he gesticulates toward the sky, a scroll draped over his arm. In the background is a sailboat and the unmistakable ruins of the Aeropagus in Athens. St. Paul has a triumphant look as he preaches about resurrection and those around him respond in a variety of ways. One woman appears to have fallen to her knees in praise and worship. A white-headed man with a long beard seems to be listening, but his eyes are cast down and away from the saint as if he is unsure of what he is hearing. A young woman listens intently but with arms crossed—a sure sign of the skepticism that Paul’s preaching met with here in Athens and in so many other places.
The letter the young soldier wrote suggests he saw the war through the eyes of faith—an opportunity to spread Christianity. That purpose seemed to give him hope. Wherever in the world he might be, there was always an opportunity to evangelize. He seemed to realize that not everyone would respond to the gospel in the same way—some would receive it joyfully, others might listen but were hesitant in acknowledging its truth, and then there were those who would outright reject the teachings of Christianity. The window served as a practical experience of the pillars parable of the sower—as the seed was cast upon the ground some of it fell upon thorns or was scattered along a path or birds ate it up and then there was that which found the good soil and took root. This seems to be the experience of Paul in Athens and in many of his stops on his world renowned missionary tour. And this purpose seemed to give the young GI hope.
In the course of Paul’s life, he journeys on three distinct missionary tours. This trip to Athens comes in the midst of the second tour. His arrival there was not intentional. He had been in Thessalonica and things had gone south. Paul and Silas had fled for their lives under the cover of darkness to a town called Berea. But soon the Thessalonians found out where he was and went to the town, forming a mob and creating a lot of trouble for Paul. Paul escaped by boat and the men who were helping him got him as far as Athens.
Athens had once been considered the most renowned city of Ancient Greece. Though past its prime in Paul’s day, it was still an epicenter of philosophy, poetry, theater, and trade. It had historical influence due to its education, culture, and prosperity. And, as Paul so eloquently points out, it allowed for a religious pluralism that was uncommon in its day. The story we hear this morning picks up with Paul waiting for his companions to catch up with him. But his waiting is not a passive one. Instead, he continues his work of evangelism even in this highly epicurean society.
In his daily walks around the city, he noticed all the various idols and began to talk about it with other Jews he had met and anyone who would listen. The people of Athens may have been past their prime in leading the Ancient World, but they still held themselves in great regard. They thought of themselves as intelligent, thoughtful people who didn’t have to check their brains at the door, instead they valued reason, intellect, and rationality. They argued from places of logic not mysticism or, the gods forbid, emotion. Paul quickly understood this and began to reshape his Christian apologetic into a language more inviting for the Greeks. He understood their starting point and tailored his approach to one more akin with what they could hear. Not everyone listened. There were plenty who thought him an idiot—especially when he began to talk about Jesus and the resurrection. But there were also those who were intrigued with his teaching and wanted to hear more. They invited him to make a public presentation at the Aeropagus—the speech we read this morning.
The speech goes pretty well at first. He starts by flattering the Athenians by pointing out how religious they obviously are. They even have an altar inscribed to an unknown god. It is this god that Paul hopes to offer a description for. He describes God as creator—he made the world and all that is in it; as above all—Lord of heaven and earth, the one who gives life to mortals. He places God near them and, using a quote from one of their own poets, establishes them as children of God, “For we too are his offspring.” But this is where Paul’s preaching becomes meddling, he tells them to repent.
Few of us like to be reminded of our need to repent. As soon as we start talking about repentance or sin or ignorance, we stop listening and begin defending. To tell a city that prizes itself on its art and intellect that their idols are simply imaginative and their intelligence is overlooked ignorance does not bode well for Paul or his God. As Paul works toward his rhetorical climax, the reassurance given to all by God’s raising a man from the dead, the Athenians will divide as to their response to Paul. Some will laugh at him and walk off making jokes about him. Others will say, lets talk about this again sometime as we want to hear more. None will profess a faith conversion. There will be no dramatic altar calls that day. Paul leaves and will head to Corinth. But there are a few who will believe. Two, in particular, a white-headed man with a long beard named Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman who has fallen to her knees named Damaris.
Our faith challenges us and it brings us comfort. It challenges us because whenever we think we’ve arrived, whenever we think we know the answer, we soon discover that we don’t—questions and doubts will raise their heads and we will struggle once again to know God and his purposes for us. The comforting thing is that no matter how much we might wrestle with God—at some point we will realize that we actually never let go. Even greater is the discovery that God never lets go of us. The challenge and comfort of God is the complete unknowable knowingness of God.
In some small respect, I think that is what the young GI from St. Paul’s, Selma knew. Far from home on a battlefield in a foreign land amidst a war beyond his control, he realized the challenge and comfort of God. The God he had soaked up as he sat Sunday after peaceful Sunday in a pew staring at a window as a young boy. The God who accompanied him halfway across the world to protect and preserve him and help him to remember his purpose as a young man. The God he wrote about to his sister—not in describing a war she couldn’t understand or a horror she would never be able to appreciate, but a hope and a strength that brought him comfort and her reassurance. That is not a God the Athenians could truly appreciate because it is not a God who can be intellectualized, but it is a God we can have faith in.