The Lutheran Hour
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"The Unknown God"
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Text: Acts 17: 22-23
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Epidemic! No matter the century, no matter the country, the word epidemic means fear. In any age, in any language, an epidemic brings terror and tragedy, horror and hopelessness, anxiety, apprehension, loss, loneliness, dread, dismay, and discouragement. If we, by God’s grace, as much as through the miracles of modern medicine and the advent of antibiotics, have been spared the catastrophic calamities of an epidemic, we still understand what it means: epidemic means death.
Today’s resurrection message of The Lutheran Hour comes to you from Athens, the site of a great epidemic. The epidemic which has brought us to this ancient Greek city happened about 2,500 years ago. Still, if we shut our ears to the sounds of modern day traffic and close our eyes to the vendors selling souvenirs that were made in Taiwan, it is not difficult to feel the fear that filled the Athenians as they dealt with the epidemic which had brought slaughter to their city. No doubt, the most able men of medicine had been consulted; but when the doctors were found to be helpless, unable to offer either explanation or medication, the people concluded they had, somehow, in someway, offended one of their many deities.
But which god had they offended? Quite literally, Athens had more statues of idols than it had people. It was a daunting duty for the city fathers to locate, and then placate, an angry god. Still, no price would be too high if they could end the plague; and doing something is always better than doing nothing. Sadly, after all their searching and all their sacrificing, no answer was found. The plague kept coming. That’s when, in desperation, Athens brought in a consultant from Cyprus, a poet by the name of Epimenides. Epimenides came to the brilliant conclusion that the regular gods of Athens were not upset.
Better, he figured out that the god who had sent the plague was some unknown deity. Best of all, Epimenides suggested a plan which, he thought, might bring the plague to an end. “Do it!” said the people of Athens, “Do whatever’s necessary.” This is what Epimenides did: he brought together a herd of sheep; kept them away from food until they were famished. Then he turned those sheep lose in a green pasture, a pasture somewhere right near to where I am standing. As expected, most of the sheep started to graze, but a few of them did something unpredictable, illogical. They wandered for a bit and then they lay down. Wherever a sheep lay down, an altar to agnosto theo, an altar to the unknown god was quickly put up and the sheep was sacrificed upon it. Silly? Of course! Still, the plague stopped and the people gave thanks to their still unidentified, unknown god. They gave thanks and then they pretty much forgot about him, or her.
They forgot, because it’s perfectly normal for people to forget. People do it all the time. In difficulty, in need, facing the unknown, people make promises to God. Then, after the time of trial is over, they look toward heaven and say, “You know, God, I was just kidding.” Well, the Greeks forgot. They, like us, were very busy people. They had things to do. On a personal level, they, like us, had fortunes to make, retirements to plan for, and children to raise. On a civic level, they, like us, had buildings to build – the most famous, the wonderful Parthenon, is just a stone’s throw from here. They had poems to write, plays to put on, arts to exhibit. Art: at one time 30,000 statues of various gods beautified this city. The really good ones were put up right here. On a national level, they, like us, had wars to fight, democracy to invent, Olympic games to prepare for, and crises to confront. Philosophically and spiritually they, like us, tried to make sense out of this world. Sometimes they did well; other times, like when they suggested to Socrates that hemlock might be a good after-breakfast drink, they did very badly, indeed. Through it all, for half-a-thousand years, the altar to the unknown God stood ignored and disregarded.
All of what I’ve shared with you might have remained a forgotten footnote to history if it had not been for the arrival of a tourist who came to this ancient center of philosophy, literature, science, and art. The traveler’s name was Paul, and at first he did what every tourist has done: he took in the sites. He would have taken in the great gold and ivory statue of Athena which was worshipped in the Parthenon; he couldn’t avoid seeing the sculptures of Zeus and the other deities of Olympus. He would have been impressed by the intensity of the people’s desire to seek God, and saddened by their inability to ever find Him. Maybe he heard the children of Athens running through the streets, singing out a poem: “Eeenie-meenie-miney-mo, makes no difference where you go; every god will do just fine; maybe yours or maybe mine. Each of them is just the same; change the statue, change the name.”
As Paul, the tourist wandered, he might have checked out the great university, or stopped at the flourishing schools of the philosophers. There he could have listened to the Epicureans who believed that the gods didn’t care about them; who believed that right now, right here was all that life has to offer. Paul might have found these folks quite intriguing as they, like so many in our age, denied God, and dedicated themselves to the glorious task of grabbing all the gusto they could. Possibly Paul walked over and heard the serious stoics who were convinced that the gods resided in everything and everybody, and occupied themselves with micromanaging the universe. Although the stoics also rejected the idea of an afterlife, they thought that since the here and now is all we’re going to get, we ought to be totally, socially, morally, and ethically responsible. Responsible, that’s a good word for the stoics. If they had been around today – and they are – they would have taken a stand against fur coats and for ozone; they would have campaigned to save the seals and get rid of pesticides, insecticides, atomic energy, and the internal combustion engine.
As Paul walked and wandered the streets of Athens, he found himself confronted by contrasts. “How,” he wondered, “is it possible for a place that searches for truth to be so filled with falsehood; how is it possible for people who long for wisdom to be so blinded by lies; how can it be that personal preference has pushed aside God’s certainty?” Finally, unable to contain himself any longer, Paul went to the marketplace – that marketplace still stands, it’s right over there. In these public places Paul began to preach. He spoke of how humanity had fallen into sin, and how God, the true God, the one God, the only God had, in mercy, decided to save us. He told how God, by sending His Son into the world to take our place, did for us what we could not do for ourselves. Paul talked about how Jesus Christ, in the far away Judean town of Bethlehem, was born of a virgin. He spoke of how Jesus, the true God and true man lived His entire life, rejecting every temptation, and fulfilling every one of God’s laws. Paul told of how Jesus, rather than being honored, was hated; was rejected rather than respected. He told how Jesus was betrayed, beaten, and murdered. “All of this,” Paul might have explained, “was part of God’s plan so that all who believe on Jesus as their Savior from sin, might be forgiven of these sins.”
Now I say Paul might have said this, and might have said that. We don’t know exactly what Paul said, we do know that his words caused enough interest, enough of a stir, that the most brilliant brains of Athens, the philosophical supermen of the community, invited him to come and give a command performance for them. Gladly, Paul accepted the invitation. And so they came here, right here to this spot where I am standing now. Before he began, Paul would have surveyed the faces, organized his thoughts, and then, like a lawyer speaking to the Supreme Court for the first time, he began. His words were chosen carefully. Athenian law did not allow him to introduce a new god, a foreign god, into the community’s rogue’s gallery of deities. Of course, Paul had no intention of doing anything as small and as simple as that. That’s because he had every intention of bringing before this august body, the story of the living Savior who would replace every deity in the city.
Carefully, concisely, clearly, he spoke about one of the existing gods of Athens. Paul talked about an altar he had spotted during one of his walks, an altar that had been built hundreds of years before. He talked about an altar which the people of Athens, during a plague, had built to the Unknown God, an altar that had been dedicated with the sacrifice of a sheep. Now, with the wisdom given to him by the Holy Spirit, Paul used that altar to speak to the leaders of Athens about the saving sacrifice which had been made by Jesus, the Lamb of God. He talked about the Lamb whose life was sacrificed to save us from the plagues of sin and Satan, the disease of death.
Speaking to the few who were there that day, as well as the millions who are listening to The Lutheran Hour today, Paul said: “Today I am going to reveal to you God which up until this very moment, you have thought to be unknown and unknowable.” Paul began at the beginning of history with God creating the heavens and the earth. The Greeks offered no objection to this. After all, had not Aristotle, using simple logic, said the same? If simple things like houses don’t build themselves, but have to have a builder; if watches and car engines don’t just happen into being, but have to have a maker, isn’t it obvious that an infinitely complex universe needs an all-powerful Creator?
With that hurdle crossed, Paul continued with an evaluation of humanity: “This Supreme, all powerful, all knowing, perfect God is not happy with the things we have thought, said and done wrong. God is not pleased with the mess we have made of things and the evil that runs our lives. God is not delighted with us, and He will, someday, judge us. He is not going to shut His eyes to our sin. He is not going to pretend we are innocent. God is going to judge us.” No audience, not Greek, not you, not me, can deny the upcoming judgment. You may, like the Epicureans prefer to think that God is going to turn a blind eye to what you have done. Like the stoics, you may want to think that God will be pleased if you have done good, tried hard, and were sincere in your beliefs. No matter what you prefer to think, there will come a time of divine reckoning. A perfect God is going to judge you by His holy standard and you will be found wanting. You can’t hide from it; you can’t stop it; and worst of all, as hard as you try, you can’t survive it. None of us – none of us on our own will survive the inevitable, inescapable Day of Judgment.
But thanks be to God this Resurrection Sunday, we are not alone; we are not on our own. If this day you are convinced that God – if there is a God – is unknowable; if you believe that finding the right divinity to help you is nothing more than a cosmic game of Russian roulette; if you have convinced yourself that you are better than others, and therefore good enough for God; if you have come to accept the world’s view that God doesn’t care, I have good news for you. You can be sure, certain, positive that Jesus Christ, and Jesus Christ alone, is the Savior you need to face what used to be the final dark Day of Judgment. If you hear nothing else that I say, hear this: the dark Day of Judgment is most certainly coming, but through the impenetrable darkness which is human sin and sorrow, God’s Son, Jesus Christ, the Light of the world, also comes. Once He came as the sacrificial lamb who was slaughtered to bring an end to the epidemics of sin, death, and Satan; someday He will come to bring judgment; but this day He comes to offer forgiveness and life eternal to all who will be turned to Him and with repentant hearts, acknowledge Him as Savior. Jesus Christ is, and always will be, the only person who can offer, does offer, forgiveness to sinful human souls. Jesus Christ alone has the only name which can save.
When Paul’s audience heard those words, they sat up a little straighter, listened a little harder. They, like many of you, thought: “Those are pretty strong words, Paul, debatable words, fightin’ words; you can’t say stuff like that without proof.” I agree. And it’s unassailable, impregnable, irrefutable proof that what I am saying is true. I point to that which has been, and always will be, the factual foundation for the faith for all who would be saved: Jesus Christ has come forth from his grave. Doubters and deniers, skeptics and scoffers of every age must deal with this truth: Jesus Christ has physically, visibly, eternally risen from the dead.
The skeptical Greek audience that first heard Paul talk about Jesus’ resurrection did not deny it with pitiful and pathetic objections that are the marks of our age. They did not say, “Well, maybe Jesus just fainted from loss of blood and later revived in the tomb.” They knew that the Roman execution squads were most thorough. When the Romans said someone was dead, that person was dead. Nor did they say espouse the ridiculous notion that the place of Jesus’ burial was lost and His mourners went to the wrong grave. That mistake, they knew, could have been easily corrected. Nor did they think that Jesus’ body had been stolen by His disciples. The Greeks knew the tenacity and thoroughness of the Jewish leaders. If Jesus’ body could have been found, the priests would have found it.
The Greeks did not argue with Paul. They offered no rebuttal. Instead, they did what people have always done. The book of Acts, the seventeenth chapter records their three reactions. It says first: “When they heard about the resurrection of the dead, some sneered.” I’ve seen that sneer cross the face of people, who, in ignorance, and without investigation, dismiss the claim of Christ’s resurrection. I have seen the sneer of the skeptics who say: “Christians are foolish to trust such a fairy tale” or, “You must be personally weak and psychologically feeble to need such a crutch.” Perhaps we are.
But know this: your sneer does not put Christ back into His tomb; your smirk does not deny His physical resurrection; your scoffing does not rob believers of their living Lord; and your condescending smile will not stop Him from returning on Judgment Day. To you I say: Take a look. Today, while God gives you the time, while you are able, take a serious look into Jesus’ empty tomb. I challenge you to stop smirking and with an open mind investigate Christianity’s claim of the resurrection. If you are right and end up being completely convinced of the rightness of your position, fine. You have lost nothing but some time. But, if Scripture is right and Jesus has risen from the grave, then you will have been given the Savior and the salvation He has won.
It is possible that you, like the second group of Athenians who heard Paul speak of the resurrection are saying, “Interesting idea. I’ll have to hear more about it – someday.” To you I say, “Is your immortal soul of such little consequence that you can procrastinate? Are you sure, are you absolutely sure, that when Resurrection Sunday comes next spring that you will be here to hear about Jesus love? Is your life so certain that nothing can threaten it or end it? Are your tomorrows so set that nothing can change them?” Speaking only from the law of averages, and not with any gift of prophecy, the truth is this: some of you who are listening to my voice today, will not be able to do so next Sunday. Something will have happened and some procrastinating listeners who are alive and well today, by this time next week, will have breathed their last, been embalmed, mourned, and will lie in their grave. Today is the day that Jesus comes. Today is the day when the living Lord wishes to live in your heart. Do not say, “I have the time; I will hear of this another day.” Your days, my friend, are numbered.
Be joined, while time remains, with that third group of Athenians who heard what Paul had to say, and with a Spirit-convicted heart, were turned to faith in the Savior. In Greece, this Lord’s day, their spiritual descendents, believers in Jesus Christ, still greet each other with the ancient words remembering His resurrection victory: “Kristos anestee.” Other believers reply with the equally ancient “Aleethos anestee.” Do you need a translation? I am glad to give it: Christ is risen! He is risen, indeed! This Resurrection Day, the unknown God reveals Himself. Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Behold the Lamb who has given Himself to stop the sickness of sin. Behold the Lamb of God who offered Himself to stop the plague of Satan. Behold the Lamb of God who has sacrificed Himself so the disease of death might be ended. By His blood, the plague of damnation is done. Christ is risen! He is risen, indeed! Amen.
Music selections for this program:
“A Mighty Fortress” arranged by John Leavitt. Concordia Publishing House/SESAC
“Christ Is Risen! Alleluia!” by Mark Shepperd. MorningStar Music Publishers
“This Joyful Eastertide” From Richly Blessed by Carl Christian Honore (© Carl Christian Honore) Used by permission
“This Joyful Eastertide” by Jan Bender. Concordia Publishing House/SESAC
“Christ Jesus Lay in Death’s Strong Bands” by Kevin Hildebrand. Concordia Publishing House/SESAC
“Christ Is Arisen, Alleluia” by James Kosnik. Concordia Publishing House/SESAC