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Creekside Church
Sermon of May 9, 1999
"Opening the
World's Mind"
Acts
17:22-31
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Rev. David
Bibbee
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When
I drive by an elementary school playground at recess, I wonder
what the children are playing. It takes me back to my recess
days and the games my peers and I played. You could always
count on the big 3-football, basketball and baseball. In the
spring the girls jumped rope and the guys played marbles.
There was tag, double-tag, hide-and-seek, sardines, and a
game that may have only been played in our town called, "cooties."
But did any of you ever play, "I doubt it?" It was a simple
sort of game in which you sat in a circle and took turns making
statements. The object was deciding whether the statement
was true or false. If you thought it wasn't true, you would
say, "I doubt it." If you contested a true statement, it cost
you a point. If the speaker managed to bluff everyone with
a false statement, it cost everyone a point.
Whether or not you've played
"I doubt it," chances are you have experienced something
like it by virtue of being a Christian in a world which
doesn't understand Christianity, and finds nothing convincing
about its claims. It was a response the apostle Paul had
grown accustomed to. As he put it, his message was a stumbling
block to the Jews and absolute foolishness to the Gentiles.
And in our text today, Paul is preaching in a place to a
people which would require every ounce of rhetoric and reason
he possessed.
During this century another
theologian named Paul faced a similar challenge. Paul Tillich
sought to present Christianity to those he called Christianity's
"cultured despisers"; people who enthroned intellect and
reason and considered religion in general and Christ in
particular pointless at worst and insignificant at best.
Paul went to Athens, the center
of Greco-Roman culture-the cradle of the world's great philosophers
and philosophies. The citizens of Athens were constantly
curious and open to entertaining different ideas. Demosthenese,
a great thinker of that day, criticized the Athenians for
constantly wanting to hear the latest news and failing to
guard their liberties. Athens was a university town. Everywhere
you went there was a debate, a lecture or seminar on whatever
idea was hot at the time. It would have been fitting to
erect a sign at the city limits with the words, "Idols R
Us." Idols and altars were everywhere erected to every known
deity, and just in case they missed any, there was even
one for an unknown god.
In Acts 17 we find Paul in
the city of Athens surrounded by the intelligencia, ready
to deliver a masterfully crafted message. Paul was schooled
in rhetoric and he began by employing a hook that every
student of rhetoric knows. If you want the audience eating
out of your hand, you must flatter them first. Bond with
them. "Distinguished and enlightened people of Athens, I
perceive that in every way you are very religious." Heads
nodded. "Among all your beautiful statuary I saw an altar
with the inscription to an unknown god. Ladies and gentlemen,
I know you are seekers, and I have what you seek. I know
the name of the unknown god. They began taking notes.
He spoke their language and
referred to the God whose handiwork was manifest in the
beauties and intricacies of creation. When he said God couldn't
be contained in any way shape or form, he earned points
with the Epicureans who believed God was totally self-sufficient.
He roused the interest of the Stoics by emphasizing the
unity of humanity. "In him we live and move and have our
being," Paul said, then he linked this with a quote from
a Stoic poet named Aratus who wrote, "We are indeed his
offspring."
So far so good. Having established
points in common, he then narrowed his message. What previously
had been unknown, is now known. The culmination of God's
revelation was from a Jew named Jesus who was crucified,
resurrected, and whose life has become the standard by which
the world will be judged. There was a momentary silence,
then the learned, scholarly crowd broke out laughing. He
had them, then he lost them."
Some laughed all the way back
to their cubicles in the university library. Some said,
"We'll sleep on it. Maybe we'll hear you again sometime."
Just a little handful of folks responded, including a man
and woman named Dionysius and Dmaris. That's it. Mighty
slim pickings for such a super sermon. It's hard for the
Christian faith to take root where people pride themselves
in their intellectual dexterity. It would be a long, long
time until a church appeared in Athens.
There is not much difference
between first century Athenians and our twentieth century
culture. Contemporary Athenians take pride in their knowledge
and open-mindedness. Some of you might remember what you
were like early in your college years. You found new ideas.
You tested the validity of old ones. You adopted a new language
and gained just enough knowledge to be dangerous. I remember
going back to my home church half way through my freshmen
year, eager to share the profound insights I had acquired.
In an adult Sunday school class I would tantalize folk's
minds with little profundities like, "We say that God is
love, but can't we also say that love is God?" One of the
wise members told me not to worry. I would get over my affliction
in about 6 years.
The world we live in leaves
almost no room for the Lord we believe in. Who needs the
Lord in a world that runs on facts and figures and flow
charts. This is the information age, you know. There is
no problem that science and technology can't eventually
solve. Who needs mystery when we have answers for everything?
But what about a standard higher than our own? What about
a spiritual reality? What about God? What about Jesus? What
about Easter and a life that conquers death? We have the
right to ask, "Is there a reality that can't be dissected
in anatomy class, detected by a microscope or telescope,
or found in the periodic table of elements?
Is there anything beyond ourselves
that's worthy of worship? "I worship nature," I've heard
some people say. "You do? I think nature is wonderful, too,
but I have yet to speak with a bass who told me the purpose
of my life." "I have faith in the human spirit." I've heard
people say. But the human spirit doesn't exactly have a
great record, and given the recent events in Littleton,
Colorado and Kosovo, I'm not inclined to get very excited
about the human spirit. "I believe in the power of reason,"
I've heard people say. They believe in science. They believe
in Wall Street and the almighty dollar. They believe in
plastics and a chicken in every pot and that when you're
dead you're dead, and nothing exists until it's proven to
exist, we're told. There's nothing beyond the material reality.
It's interesting that Christians
are portrayed in the media as shortsighted, narrow-minded,
ignorant, pious, puritanical, prejudiced, and judgmental,
not to mention self-righteous. But who's calling who closed-minded.
The grandfather of one of the surgeons with whom Twig works
had a Honda motor scooter business out east. Back in the
sixties he was approached by Honda executives who said they
were going to manufacture automobiles. They wanted to know
if he would like to have the first franchise in the Unites
States. He declined and chose to continue selling scooters.
"No one will buy a car with the name Honda on it," he said.
It's the wise person who leaves
room in life for what can't be seen. When he said the unknown
god was a Jew, crucified and resurrected, and that whether
they believed it or not the journey of life is toward Jesus
who would judge the world with righteousness, they put their
pencils in their pockets and had a good laugh. Only a tiny
fraction believed. It's always been this way. That's why
Jesus said we are in the world like salt and light and a
little leaven in the loaf.
Joseph Campbell said, "There
is always something beyond the obvious." Our world is too
smart for it's own good. It revolves around the facts as
it sees them. Christianity isn't founded on facts. We have
been formed by a person who has shown us something beyond
the obvious. Walter Cronkite used to end each evening CBS
newscast with these words, "And that's the way it is." But
appearances are deceiving. The way it really is, is this.
One solitary life has changed everything. Therefore we live
in a different way. We are schooled by a Master who has
given us a new language, a new set of values, and a new
way of living not based upon fact but faith that the kingdoms
of this world are the kingdoms of our Lord and his Christ.
We are placed in a world that
is a prisoner to doubt. We've been planted to do what we
can to open the minds of the citizens of Athens.
In her book, Amazing Grace,
Kathleen Norris talks about belief. She says that when people
ask, "What do you believe?" They are really asking, "What
do you think?" Into the realm of thought, doubt comes. If
belief is only a matter of what we think, we will have doubts
and intellectual frustration because there are claims in
Christianity which don't make intellectual sense. But Norris
points out that the Greek root of belief simply means, "to
give one's heart to." If you want to know what a person
believes, ask where the heart is. Where the treasure is,
there your heart is also.
Our job is not to coerce those
who doubt and dismiss what we believe. That's the Holy Spirit's
task, not ours. Our calling is to give over our hearts to
what the intellect can never grasp, and trust the outcomes
to God. It's the wise person who always leaves room for
what can't be seen. With this in mind, let me leave you
with something from Madeleine L'Engle:
She turns toward me and reaches
for me. "I'm scared, I'm scared," she says. I put my arms
around her and hold her. I hold her as I held my children
when they were small and afraid in the night. I hold her
as she, once upon a time and long ago, held me. And I say
the same words, the classic, maternal, instinctive words
of reassurance, "Don't be afraid, I'm here, it's all right."
My mother says to me again, "Something's wrong. I'm scared.
I'm scared." I cradle her and repeat, "It's all right.
"What's all right? What am
I promising her? I'm scared too. I don't know what will
happen when my husband goes to the neurologist. I don't
know what's going to happen to my mother. I don't know what
the message may be the next time the phone rings. What's
all right? How can I say it? But I do. I hold her close
and kiss her and murmer, "It's all right mother. It's all
right."
"I mean these words. I don't
understand them, but I mean them. Perhaps one day I will
find out what I mean. They are implicit in the way I live-they
stand behind everything I do. I may never find with my intellectual
self what I mean, but if I am given enough glimpses perhaps
these will add up to enough so that my heart will understand.
It does not; not yet, but I know it's all right."
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