Paul’s Friendliness in Athens
The first time I was at Nebraska’s synod assembly, I remember talking to a pastor who argued that Christianity started going wrong when it first became powerful. Back when it was just house churches, holding their meetings in secret for fear of persecution, but nonetheless joyfully sharing the good news of Jesus Christ, the church was really good. Then it grew and connected with centralized power. I understand why this happened. Obviously, Christians then were experiencing actual persecution, not like what so many modern Christians complain about. Their problem wasn’t that people weren’t wishing them “Merry Christmas.” Their problem was that they were being put to death for refusing to renounce their faith. Of course they would want to gain enough public power to protect themselves and their children from persecution. At the same time, it would be misleading to dismiss the simple organic spread of Christianity. That is to say, we didn’t grow simply because people were making power plays in the halls of the political elite. First and foremost, we grew because people liked the message. In a polytheistic world in which the gods demand regular sacrifice just to keep the wheels on the cart, there is earth-shattering power in hearing stories of miraculous healings that occurred simply because God loves people. Listening to a Christian missionary saying that God loves us and wants to dwell with us in paradise forever would have been amazing in a world filled with chaos, death, and gods who were often indifferent. Christianity spread because the message of a loving God resonates with people.
It continued to spread and gain more and more powerful followers until it had taken the reins of the Roman Empire. Going forward, Christianity was more or less the official religion of Europe. Of course there were long lasting holdouts of Paganism, and Islam gained some ground in Spain and some territories in the east. However, by and large, Christianity dominated life in Europe. Unfortunately, it had grown a lot of muscle in the struggle to survive, and now didn’t have much reason to use that muscle. And we have seen this with other human institutions as well. Something trained to fight in order to survive will continue fighting even when survival isn’t on the line. It has to fight. That’s what it knows how to do. So, the church continued fighting. Sometimes it fought itself. Sometimes it persecuted outsiders. The fighting ranged from local persecution of one group of Christians by another to open war with tens of thousands of people dying.
Today, we don’t see so much open war, but some Christians continue to flex their power against others. This is particularly insidious now, as it isn’t so much a matter of one Christian country fighting a non-Christian country. That would be easy enough to identify and rebuke. Rather, now we have one group of Lutherans who think another group of Lutherans are apostates. We have parents telling their children that the way they act isn’t Christian enough, making them feel unholy and less than. We have Christians who look at people of other religions and say that they are worshiping demons. The fighting spirit and muscle that Christianity developed to survive has changed from the bloodthirsty warrior spirit of the crusades to a petty meanness, feebly harassing people for small differences and thus dividing communities. It is amazing to see how far we have come since Paul’s time in Athens.
Acts 17:16-34 narrates Paul’s time visiting with the Greeks in Athens. While he started in a synagogue and marketplace, it wasn’t long before the curious Athenians invited him to speak at the Areopagus. Once there, he set about preaching to the Athenians in a remarkably respectful way. He says that they are “extremely religious” acknowledging their genuine concern for spiritual matters. He points out an altar he found “to an unknown god” and uses this to fit God into their already existing religious practice. It isn’t so much that this is a new god, they were already worshiping God. They just didn’t know who the “unknown god” was yet. He even references Greek writers to make his argument, using their spiritual and literary language to make his case.
Notice what Paul doesn’t do. He doesn’t say that they are worshiping demons. He doesn’t say that their religion is false and they will burn in Hell if they fail to repent and cling to Jesus alone. He doesn’t say that their religious writings are misleading or outright lies. He doesn't bully, humiliate, or demean them. Paul is incredibly respectful, trying to help them see that God is there for them with love and grace. God has always been there, and God always will be there.
To be clear, I’m not suggesting that no Christians do this today. There are certainly some very faithful Christians who are doing excellent missionary, ecumenical, and interfaith work. However, it would be foolish to ignore how many Christians don’t think and act like this. It would be one thing if we all acknowledged that Paul is correct here—this is the right way to do it—but we don’t all have Paul’s patience and knowledge of other cultures. We aren’t all as confidently persuasive. Unfortunately, I don’t think that is the only problem. I suspect that a lot of Christians today would outright reject this way of talking to other people. They would say it is too weak, too woke, too sensitive, or even that it is playing right into the hands of the devil. Some would say that there is no connection between Christianity and other belief systems that they consider to be evil. There is no way that Christianity can coexist with other religions, with atheism, with scientific materialism, with the LGBT community, with Marxism, with postmodern philosophy, and so on. We have worked for this muscle, for this fighting spirit, we can’t lose little battles now. That would make us look weak.
Hopefully, we can set aside this insecurity for a moment and just imagine. What if we treated others like Paul treated the Athenians in the Areopagus? Imagine a Christian visiting with a group of Muslims and saying, “Your prayers are beautiful. Thank you for offering such wonderful praise to God. I know that you have a lot of respect for Jesus, and that’s great, so do we. We may disagree on exactly who Jesus is, but we can talk about it more. Whether we agree or not, we can all worship our God together.”
We have built up a lot of strength over nearly two millennia, and it is natural for us to be afraid to give up that strength, to show what others may perceive as weakness, openness, and uncertainty. Be that as it may, our story of God’s saving work reminds us that strength is perfected in weakness; submission to death, even death on the cross, is the ultimate act of strength and power. Maybe it is time for us to let go of the muscle and approach people as if we were weak and humble again, building bridges, making connections, and pushing God’s love to the fore, not our own judgment.
