Witness, Acts 17:22-31

May 29, 2011

Highlands UMC, Denver

Acts 17:16-34

Note: The assigned lectionary text is Acts 17:22-31, but I feel the verses before and after add helpful context to Paul's message, so I included those in the reading as well.

This all took place a long time ago,

in a galaxy far, far away…

Okay, it was actually on this planet,

but sometimes the stories in the Bible
feel so distant from the reality we know
that they might as well have taken place
in a whole other universe. Right?

It’s hard for some of us to imagine a culture
where everyone is religious,
no one has heard of Jesus of Nazareth,
and it was against the law to promote foreign gods.

In today’s reading, I imagine I am not the only one
who struggles with some of Paul’s message:

I am inclined to affirm, not judge,
religious traditions other than my own.

I’m uncomfortable with the idea
that God has planned out the times and places
for all nations –

we live in a world where borders change
and people emigrate all the time,

and nations regularly inflict violence on one another
over the idea that one group has a God-given right
to live in a land that belonged to a different group
for centuries.

And while I agree with Paul that God is not “needy”

or psychologically dependent on human service or praise,

I believe that God is deeply relational,
and that God’s purposes are accomplished
only with human cooperation.

Finally, I’m skeptical about the concept
of an appointed day of judgment,
and frankly, I’m surprised that the only time in this speech
that Paul refers to Jesus
is as the one who will judge humanity

and who has been resurrected as proof of that.

There’s a lot about Paul’s sermon
that doesn’t make much sense to me.

And at the same time,
there are some aspects of this story
that I really appreciate,
and that still ring true
nearly 2000 years later.

First-century Athens is a pluralistic context,
as is true of 21^st-century American society.

People follow many different spiritual paths,
today as then,
and there is room for them to coexist
more or less peacefully.

The people of Athens are intellectually curious,
interested in learning and discussing all the latest ideas.

And they’re spiritual seekers,
open to the likelihood that there is more to the Divine
than has yet been revealed to them,
offering a shrine even to the God they don’t yet know.

They value poets and philosophers,

and Paul acknowledges the wisdom of these writers
who are neither Jewish nor Christ-followers,

but who have nevertheless expressed truths

that Paul affirms as valid theological statements.

I love that God is described as the Creator of all,

“the One who gives everyone life, breath—everything”

and “the One who is not really far from any of us—
the One in whom we live and move and have our being.”

These phrases are among some of the most beautiful, generative, and perhaps some of the most universal claims
that Paul is described as making.

Whole theological systems have emerged from reflection

on the idea that “we live and move and have our being”
in our creating, life-giving God.

It takes a bit of reading between the lines,
but I appreciate that Paul presents the God of Israel
as God of the whole earth.

God is not nationalistic, says Paul,
but above and beyond national boundaries.

And of course,
when Paul quotes an Athenian poet as saying,
‘We too are God’s children,’

what is most striking to me is that word “too.”

We’re used to hearing this idea,
which is repeated many times in the Hebrew Bible.

But to hear the phrasing coming from the lines

of an unknown Greek poet,
responding to who knows what original statement,
there is a sense of defensiveness

or urgency

about being included in the family of God
along with whoever is already sure of their status.

But perhaps what I appreciate most in today’s reading
is Paul’s approach to sharing his faith
with the people of Athens.

First of all, we know he’s not shy.

His boldness in preaching the Gospel

gets him in trouble on several occasions,

and I admire people who are willing to take those kinds of risks

to stand up for what they believe in.

But what’s really striking about this particular sermon,

preached in front of the Council of the Areopagus—

the Latin name of which translates to Mars Hill—

is how carefully he tailors his message

to his audience.

Now, you may know from other readings,
but Paul is a Jew,
a member of the community of Pharisees,
someone well-versed in Jewish law and tradition,

and strictly observant of all that God required.

But when he’s invited—or possibly dragged…

maybe even arrested? we’re not really sure—

and called to give an account of his teaching,
he doesn’t start with Abraham and Moses and Elijah.

He doesn’t start with the passages in Isaiah
that speak of the coming anointed king, the messiah,

who will redeem the people of Israel
and initiate God’s reign on earth.

He starts with the people he’s speaking to,
what he has observed about them,

the spiritual needs and passions
he wants to affirm in them,

and then connects those with the story he knows.

Still, he doesn’t focus in on where he comes from,

but stays with what makes sense to them:

The God who created the world and all that is in it,

the nature of God,

the nearness of God,
the relationship of God to all people,

and finally,
the response that God asks.

The content of what Paul says?

I have to do at least half a dozen theological

and cultural translations in my head
to affirm or agree with most of his message.

But you know what?

He wasn’t speaking to me, to us,

to 21^st century North American Christians

living in a city called Denver.

Paul was a bright man,
and he wrote many wonderful, God-inspired,
Holy-Spirit-led things,
as well as some that seem a little less Spirit-given,

but he was mortal.

He was formed by the time and place in which he lived.
Sure, he learned to adapt,
to “become all things to all people”
in order to share the Gospel with them,

but that just points all the more to the fact

that no single message,

no single messenger,

can effectively communicate in all times and places.

Which is why the Bible is not enough
for introducing people to the God revealed in Jesus Christ.

Now, I know this is going to make some of you
a little uncomfortable,
because this is a church that affirms pluralism,
that does not teach that people must accept Jesus
as their personal Lord and Savior
in order to receive God’s love or mercy.

Stay with me, because I still believe
that there are many paths to God,

and that God is not contained to my religion alone.

But I am also convinced
that we who follow Jesus

are called to bear witness to our faith.

First, let me be clear about what I am not saying:

I am not saying that you need to stand on a street corner
shouting “Repent! Judgment day is coming!”

The Christians who believe everyone else is going to hell
have turned a lot of people off
by telling them just that.

When I was in college,
my campus minister used to say,
“I don’t believe anyone really gets to heaven

just by having the hell scared out of them.”

I am also not saying that you need to go door-to-door,

trying to convert people to Christianity.

That’s called proselytizing,
trying to make people believe the way you do,
and in this neighborhood especially, I’m pretty sure
it would be not just ineffective, but disastrous.

Everyone is on their own spiritual journey,
and while I wouldn’t say that every path is equally valid,
because some are truly harmful,
either to the individual, their family,
women, the environment, or whomever,
but giving the same sales pitch to each person
doesn’t take into account the variations
in their experience, interests, needs,
or readiness for something new.

And I am not saying
that you need to be able to prove anything

or even convince anybody

who doesn’t want to be convinced.

In some of Paul’s letters,

he engages in the practice of apologetics,

a kind of reasoned defense of faith,

usually based on Scripture and logic.

In today’s world, our understanding of science,

psychology, sociology, and history

have changed dramatically from Paul’s time.

There are still many who feel called
to the work of apologetics today,

but I don’t know how much success they have
at reaching those who are not already Christ-followers.

What I am saying
is that if our faith has any meaning for us,

it is worth sharing in some way with others.

When you think about a witness called to testify in court,

they are not asked to prove
a complicated logical argument,

or to scare the jury into submission,

or even to convince the judge of a particular view.

The witness is called to speak about

what they personally have seen and heard:

what they have experienced firsthand.

When you bear witness to your faith,

all you need to do is speak honestly

about what difference a relationship with God
makes in your life.

Why you come to church on Sunday

instead of sleeping in,
or going to brunch with friends,

or hiking in the mountains.

[And I know you sometimes make those other choices too,
but if you show up here at least some of the time,
there must be a reason.]

How you live, the quality of your relationships,
your character and integrity and generosity,
may all testify to something good at work in you—

like St. Francis said, “Preach the Gospel at all times,
and if necessary, use words”—

but if someone asks why you do what you do,
I think it’s helpful to have thought about the question,
to know what the “good news” is to you.

For me, the Gospel first began to make a difference in my life
when I was in high school.

I didn’t attend worship regularly,
preferring to care for the toddlers in the nursery,
but I still considered myself  a Christian,
someone who believed in God and Jesus.

What I particularly remember was one day at school
when I was struggling with some difficult friendships,
feeling betrayed and left out,
suddenly realizing,
“Jesus went through this—on a much bigger scale—
when Judas betrayed him and Peter denied him
and all the disciples fell asleep in the garden,

so he knows what this feels like.”

I wasn’t really raised in the tradition of
“a personal relationship with Jesus,”

turning to Christ in prayer in difficult and joyful times,

so that was kind of where the thought ended,
but it made a difference to me in that moment
to know that I was not alone,
that not only did God care about me in an abstract way,
but that Jesus had actually gone through
what I was going through.

Another time my faith made a difference
was my freshman year in college.
I was already active in the United Methodist campus ministry,
and I attend the United Methodist Student Forum,
a gathering of hundreds of students from across the country,
Memorial Day weekend, fifteen years ago.

I was still very much figuring out what I believed
about many different things,
but I attended a gathering of students
who called themselves “MoSAIC,”

Methodist Students for an All-Inclusive Church.

The focus was on the welcome and affirmation
of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered people,
and though I wasn’t sure yet where I stood on the issue,
I listened to people’s stories
and thought a lot about what I heard.

A few weeks after I returned home for the summer,
the MoSAIC leaders sent out an email
to all who had attended the meeting,
inviting us to further action and involvement.

The email ended with a poem called “Fear,”
by Joy Harjo, a Native American poet,
a poem about giving fear back to those who instilled it,
about not being afraid any more,
about releasing fear and being loved,
about claiming life in all its fullness.

It was a poem I had written a paper on
just that spring semester.
And I experienced that email message
as God nudging me,
whispering to me,
“Give back your fear,
your fear of those who are different from you,
your fear of being wrong,
and join this movement for life and love and justice.”

Now, when you think about “witness,”

maybe you think of the 1986 movie with Harrison Ford,
or the Witness Protection Program.

Both of those suggest that being a witness

carries a certain amount of risk.

And unlike the Witness Protection Program,

we church leaders cannot guarantee
that you will not experience some consequences
of talking about your experience.

Because telling your story,
and how you understand it as part of God’s story,
is a powerful thing—

for you, and for those listening.

Just ask anyone in a 12-step recovery program.

It can help you to know and name who you are.

It can help others to find hope.

It can remind all of us
that we are not alone.

Because while some may see Christianity
as just one more vendor
in the spiritual marketplace,
offering religious goods and services
in competition with other religions,
I believe our faith is more about an invitation to relationship
with the living God revealed in Jesus Christ.

When I think about the dating world,

it can be a good thing to meet and get to know
several different potential partners.
But just as most of us hope for one person
to whom we can commit deeply,
in the same way, choosing one faith tradition
can give us a depth of grounding,
a rootedness, and an intimacy with God
that brings with it a new kind of freedom:

the freedom to trust God for the results of our actions.

So that when we do bear witness to our faith,
when we are open with others
about why we give regularly to the church
and to those who are in need,
when we are clear about why we show up here on Sunday
why we speak out for justice and compassion,
and how our lives are formed
and transformed
by the God revealed in Jesus Christ,
we don’t have to worry
about whether we convince
or convert that person.

We can trust that the One
in whom we live and move and have our being
is also at work in the life of our neighbor,

drawing them ever closer
to the Source and Sustainer of life.

And if this whole question of religion
is more about relationship
than consuming goods and services,
then who shares the message
is as important as what the message is.

I think that’s why those printed evangelism tracts
aren’t particularly effective.

They’re one-size-fits-all.

When we witness to our faith,

we share how our story
is connected to God’s story.

And it makes a difference who we are as the storytellers,

as well as when, where, and to whom we’re speaking.

Knowing the person we’re speaking to,
what they value, where they’ve been,
what they hope and long for,
how they struggle and when they celebrate,
gives us the opportunity to speak more meaningfully
about how they, too, are part of God’s story.

I want to leave you with some words of wisdom

from a nun named Carol Francis Jegen,
of the Sisters of Charity of the Blessed Virgin Mary:

“As a human being, Jesus was limited in many ways.

He lived on this earth in a certain culture
for a certain period of time.

In his great compassionate love
Jesus really needs us to carry on his work
of bringing about the reign of God’s love
in every culture and in every period of history.”

Much of that work requires our actions,
our energy, our resources, our intentionality
and integrity in relationships and labor.

But part of the work
of bringing about the reign of God’s love
is telling what we have seen and heard,

proclaiming this good news,
boldly or humbly,
carefully and meaningfully,
so that others have the opportunity to understand
how their story
is part of God’s story,
and so all may know
what a difference it makes

to draw near and get to know

the Unknown God. 

May it be so for you and for me.

Amen.