8 Europe
The eighth in a series of talks on the Acts of the Apostles at Nedlands Anglican Church 28 April 2024
I cannot cover the whole of Acts in ten talks, so must skip from Pisidian Antioch to the arrival of the mission party on the shores of the Aegean Sea, that divides Europe from Asia. After their first mission in Cyprus and Galatia (the region to which Paul addressed his letter to the Galatians) they returned to the church that sent them out. Controversy broke out over Jews fraternizing with uncircumcised Gentiles, the problem Paul addresses in his letter to the Galatians; a meeting was called in Jerusalem to settle the matter authoritatively. It was established once and for all that circumcision was not a condition of being saved, and that the reason Jesus had reestablished the Davidic kingdom was so that people of all nations would be able to know the Lord.[1] Paul and Barnabas participated in that conference, afterwards returned to Antioch, and some time later resolved on a second major journey west. Barnabas and Paul couldn’t agree on whether to take John Mark with them, and went in different directions, Paul taking another Jerusalem Christian, Silas, presumably to fill the role Mark had abandoned. He travels overland to the region of Galatia, adding Timothy to the party at Lystra. We now come to a curious passage in Acts which opens the way to Europe.
It seems they decided to head for Ephesus, capital of the Roman Province of Asia, but things went haywire. The Holy Spirit forbade them to enter Asia. One of the prophets in the party must have received a message. So they head north, but when they are about to enter the Province of Bithynia the Spirit of Jesus stops them again. There is no other description like this in the Book of Acts, so it is all very mysterious. They bypass Mysia, and so are led, step by step to Troas, and what is so important about Troas? The future author of Acts is there, that’s what’s important. The meander which brought the missionary party to Troas was engineered by God to bring about the meeting of Paul and Luke; this was so hugely important to Luke.
Paul has a vision of a Macedonian man begging him to come over and help them. “Immediately we sought to go on into Macedonia concluding that God had called us to preach the gospel to them.” This is the first time that the author of Acts appears in the story.
We know very little about Luke apart from what we pick up in his Gospel and Acts and a few New Testament letters. He was a Gentile, a physician, and a friend of an important person named Theophilus. He was well-educated, a passionate note-taker, convinced of Paul’s calling to carry the gospel of Jesus to the non-Jewish world, determined to tell his story—part of which he participated in—but reticent to intrude himself on the story except for the occasional “we.”
About A.D.200 some of the Gospels carried short introduction, known as the Anti-Marcionite Prologues. The Prologue to Luke says he was from Syrian Antioch, never married, and died at the age of 84 in Boeotia (Greece).
The party comes to Philippi, which Luke announces as the leading city of the district. Keep in mind that this is Luke’s first experience of mission with Paul.
Gonzales jokes that a man of Macedonia calls them to help, and they find themselves meeting with a group of women.
Proseuche (prayer), is translated here as a place of prayer, but sometimes meant a prayer-house, so some think there was a synagogue there. I think not; Luke would not refer to a meeting with women, if there was a proper synagogue. A meeting of God-fearing women by the river is where the mission in Europe begins. Lydia is a wealthy cloth merchant with a considerable household. She accepts baptism for herself and her household, and then insists the missionaries stay in her home. We have already seen Cornelius’s whole household accepting baptism, and we will see it again. There is a solidarity about a family—even an extended family with servants—that God intends. He is interested in us not just as individuals but as part of our family. Lydia was head of her household, so there was no husband, but there would have been family and slaves.
The second incident Luke remembers from that beginning of the church in Philippi is the exorcism of a slave-girl.
Here is a reminder we are in pagan territory. Lydia provides a halfway house, but here we meet paganism in the raw. Luke tells us this girl had a “python spirit,” which doesn’t mean anything to a modern reader, so translators call it a “spirit of divination.” But the sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi was the place of the famous Delphic Oracle, who was believed to have a python spirit. In Greek mythology the god Apollo had killed a giant python.
The girl told fortunes and earned a lot of money. She is following Paul around, calling to bystanders, “These men are servants of the Most High God, who proclaim to you the way of salvation.” This must have created a stir, which we would think could have assisted the missionaries, but actually it was a nuisance. Paul was capable of doing his own preaching.
I asked in the last talk what Luke and his contemporaries would understand by salvation. For Jews it meant the restoration of the kingdom of David, the liberation of Israel, and a new resurrected world. But Gentiles knew none of this. Uppermost for them was deliverance from evil powers that brought sickness and bad luck. I would guess this girl was genuinely possessed by an evil spirit, and was fascinated by Paul as possessor of a spiritual power beyond her own—much like the possessed man Jesus healed in the synagogue in Capernaum. Paganism affirms the reality of a multitude of gods, and the fear of evil spirits was a reality, but the idea that there was a “Most High God” was widespread. Zeus is sometimes spoken of as though he is the only real god. Paul addressed the spirit and ordered it to leave.
Something must have happened as the girl could no longer earn money. Her owners turned on Paul and Silas and accused them of advocating customs not lawful for Romans. Philippi was a Roman colony, and careful of its compliance with Roman custom. The missionaries are beaten in the Roman way and imprisoned in the local jail.
Here is a scene: midnight in a lightless inner cell. Two badly bruised men, feet in stocks, unable to sleep, singing Christian songs; perhaps there were others in the same cell, listening. Music can encourage us—save us from despair; it can also be a carrier of the gospel message. I’m guessing Luke did not have a great appreciation of music, because he only mentions it here. Music is an important facet of Christian life. Many Africans dont have much, but I never knew an African who didn’t have music.
And suddenly the earth moves. Early Christianity is full of miracles; you can’t get away from it. Of course, in this one there is no breaking of natural law; the area is earthquake prone. I often wonder about this jailer; Luke’s story is too brief; he only tells the bare bones. I have been preaching for sixty years wishing someone would come up to me and say, “What must I do to be saved?” It hasn’t happened yet. But there would have been a backstory. The jailer was likely a slave owned by the city, but he has a family and a house in part of the prison. But who knows what his family life was like: sickness, accident, bereavement, insanity—all are possible, and much more likely in his life than in ours. Who knows what led up to his total breakdown when even the earth under his feet began to shake. His prisoners have gone; as a slave he knows he may face crucifixion. Sometimes suicide is the best way out. But now Paul is shouting, “Don’t do it; we are all here.” And that girl’s cries return to him: “These people are slaves of the Most High God” — that’s Zeus, isn’t it—but these people are Jews; they have their own God, who they say is the only God. They say he created and controls everything—even the earthquake. I wonder did the jailer hear any of the singing. “These people are slaves of the Highest God, declaring a way of salvation.” Salvation! That is exactly what I need. “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” That is a question Luke wishes everyone would ask—and hear the answer: “Believe in the Lord Jesus and you will be saved.” When I wrote this down, I added Christ, because “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ,” is the way we talk. But Paul says, “Believe on the Lord Jesus,” because Christ would mean nothing to a pagan. Lord means a god, in this case the Most High God, and from now on Jesus will be his God, and no other. And once again we see that when the head of the family converts, the whole family and household follows him.
“Believe in the Lord Jesus.” This is Luke’s word to the pagans listening to Acts being read, and look what it means: “he rejoiced with his whole family that he had believed in God.” Who does Luke think Jesus is—really?
Luke is not trying to prove any point about baptism; he just tells it as it happened. But can you see why Anglicans and others have always felt that it is right to baptize our children. There is a natural solidarity that binds us together. When Abraham set out to go to the land God would show him, he did not go alone. His family accompanied him, and when God have him the symbol of circumcision to mark him as belonging to the covenant, all the males in his family, including the servants, took it too. When Lorraine and I were asked to come to South Africa, I put it to the family at the dinner table. “Guys, Mum and I have been asked to go to South Africa. We need to make a family decision. Either we can all go, or Mum and I can go and you kids can go to boarding school, or none of us can go. Think about it; there’s no need to make a rushed decision.” Our eldest son, who was ten, answered at once: “Whatever we do, Dad, we are going to stay together.” And the others agreed. It was quite a moment. Christian families believe together, suffer together, and are blessed together.
Thinking about Luke the man, as I have been attempting, two things stand out. One is the value he puts on families, even though he was a single man and had no children of his own; the second is the deep joy he observed and felt whenever anyone came to know God. “Rejoice in the Lord always,” Paul said to the Philippians. I think Luke knew that joy.
Here then Luke has shared his first memories of working with Paul, and given us a micro-sketch of the beginning of the first church in Europe: a wealthy God-fearing Gentile merchant woman, a clairvoyant slave-girl, the family of the local jailer, and probably Luke himself—because as Paul and his party leave the town, Luke is not with them, and the next time we encounter him is four years later when Paul returns to Philippi and Luke joins him for his journey to Jerusalem.
Paul refuses to slink way. He demands and apology and gets it, and leaves the city without lumbering Lydia and the new church with an association of criminality. The account now changes back to the third person.
Athens
Paul and his party now make their way to Thessalonica. In Thessalonica they taught for some time in the synagogue until the Jews organize an attack, and drag their host before the authorities, charging them with proclaiming another king besides Caesar. Paul leaves town, and we know from the Thessalonian letters, a church is left behind and grows.
In Beroea they have a better reception, until the Thessalonians here of their activities and stir up trouble there too. Once again Paul moves on, this time to Athens.
It is in Athens that Paul delivers his famous speech to the Areopagus Council. We don’t know how typical it was, but at least it does give us an example of how he might have approached pagans—in this case educated, philosophically aware pagans. We have discussed the authenticity of his speech in Pisidian Antioch. It seems to me that even more so here, it is unlikely that the content of his address would have been easily forgotten.
“What does Jerusalem have to do with Athens,” was a slogan of the church in later times. Is there any relationship between philosophy and revelation was the point. The Christian revelation, from Genesis to the book of Revelation is non-speculative. By that I mean, it is not an account of people trying to work things out for themselves; God speaks and makes himself known in an authoritative way. The Greek philosophers had no revelation; they observed and reasoned and tried to figure out the mysteries of the universe in a speculative way. From early times until after the Reformation Christians saw the need for both. God can only be known only as he reveals himself. We call this “special revelation.” But there is much that can be known by observation and reason, particularly about the natural world. Theologians speak of “general revelation”; we are all familiar with the methods of natural science. The physical world can be known by inquiry.
Epicurus is of special interest to us today. N.T. Wright has argued in his recent Gifford Lectures that the predominant world view of the West is Epicurean. Epicurus was an atomist; that is be believed everything was made up of particles, and that the world was accidental and random. He did not disbelieve in the gods; but they were part of the natural order but—and this is the important point—they had no interest in the world of human beings. They had their own interests and were busy with their own affairs, and for the wise it was best to ignore them and get on with the business of life, which is happiness, which is all that makes sense for humans to pursue. That’s about where we are today. You can go to church if you want, but the world has better things to do.
Stoics on the other hand believed there was rationality in the way things worked; there must be some great world soul–they called it the logos. They had no concept of a personal God. Today, you will often hear people say they believe in a higher power, but not a personal God. They are a bit like the Stoics of old; they were impressed by the design of things, but knew nothing of the God who had revealed himself to Israel.
Others are saying that Paul is wanting to introduce foreign deities to the city; they mention Jesus and Anastasis. They have picked up on the fundamentals of Paul’s gospel, but think Anastasis—Resurrection—must be the female consort of Jesus.
Paul is now taken before the Areopagus Council.
“Areopagus” is “Mars Hill,” but it also the name of one of Athen’s governing councils, responsible for matters of religion. It was illegal to introduce worship of a new god into Athens without official permission. If Paul is found to be promoting the worship of a new or foreign god, he could be in trouble. However, Luke’s language does not indicate he was arrested, but neither does it suggest he was just invited for a friendly chat.
So now we hear Paul presenting Christianity to representatives of these two philosophies.
Let us pause a moment here to take in what a momentous moment this is. Paul has already spoken to idol-worshippers in Lystra, but briefly and to the point. Luke could have given us his major speech to pagans there, but has reserved it for now, for Athens, the centre of Greek philosophy and religion. Paul has not chosen this encounter, but he must have been conscious of a very great opportunity and privilege, and of the need to choose his words well. I once heard Hans Kung speaking of an opportunity he had to explain Christianity to the Ayatollah Khomeini and his mullahs, with the Ayatollah’s daughter listening behind a screen. Such opportunities do not come to everyone, nor do they come every day.
The surprising thing about Paul’s speech is that he does not immediately explain that the God he speaks of is the God of the Jews. There were Jews and at least one synagogue in Athens, and the Council was well aware of Jewish ideas and worship. Julius Caesar had granted the Jews the right throughout the empire to practise their monotheistic belief in their own way. So Paul could have easily exonerated himself from introducing foreign gods; Israel’s God was already a legal part of the Athenian religious landscape.
What then is he doing? Of course, if he had simply taken refuge behind the Jew’s legal religion, he wouldn’t have made any friends; they would dismiss what he was saying outright as something foreign they knew and disliked. Instead, he goes to the root of things and engages with their fundamental beliefs.
He begins by complimenting these “men of Athens” for their serious religiosity, and zeros in on the inscription of a shrine he has observed in the city: “To An Unknown God”—Agnosto Theo.This is clever. The God he speaks of is not new in Athens, but he is unknown. Paul wants to get to the root of things and challenge their thinking about God. Because it is easy for those who worship many gods to simply add Jesus as another object of worship. This is common in India, where people often have a favourite god, and why not Jesus? Since the Reformation, Christians in the West have preached the gospel to people who largely share their worldview: there is one personal creator-God. We have been able to focus in immediately on the problem of sin, the remedy God has supplied in his Son, the cross and resurrection, and the need for personal faith. But no longer. The people we meet today have a raft of understandings of reality, and the gospel will be misunderstood, or make no sense, unless it is placed in the context of a true understanding of God and creation.
So now we have a doctrine of God. He is creator of everything in this universe and in the spirit world. Therefore he is Lord. He does not live in temples; nor does he need anything from us, since he is the provider of everything we have. There would be Epicureans and Stoics in his audience who would agree with most of this.
Humankind are one race, all descended from one man, each “nation” allocated a time in history, and a region, with the intention that we should seek him, though he is not far off—for our existence and motion are completely contingent.
Here is the age-old prophetic denunciation of idolatry. God cannot be represented in art. All such attempts are misrepresentations and false. Idolatry is sin. As are the heresies and false spiritualities of our own time.
God has allowed the nations to go their own way, but things have now changed. He has given notice that he will judge the world. People should give up their idolatry and turn to worship and serve the true God. The unknown God is the God who made them. He has now appointed a human judge and given evidence of this by raising him from the dead.
Here is a fascinating statement of the messianic idea—but now the messianic reality. Paul has not spelt it out fully, but brought his audience to the fact of it. As in all the presentations of the gospel in Acts the resurrection is central.
Christianity is not averse to philosophy. God has given us minds, and desires that we seek after him and know our world. But he is known not through human speculation, but through his revelation of himself in what he has done and what he has said. As he will say to the Corinthinians at his next port of call: “Jews seek signs and Greeks wisdom, but we preach a crucified Messiah.”[2]
Some scholars speak of the failure of Paul’s mission in Athens and think it failed because the tried to be philosophical. This is not Luke’s interpretation. In an honest assessment he notes the mockery of some, for whom the idea of resurrection was ridiculous. Death is a one-way street; there is no return from Hades: this was fundamental to Greek thinking. However, one member of the Areopagus Council became a believer, and some other men, and a woman called Damaris. The naming of people suggests their ongoing presence in the church, and a source of information. We know nothing more about the future of the church in Athens. Luke will give us much more about Corinth is southern Greece, and Ephesus in Asia, which we will not have time to cover. Next week I intend to jump forward to Paul’s return to Jerusalem—with Luke—and his subsequent imprisonment.
[1] Acts 15.
[2] ! Corinthians 1.