You bring some strange things to our ears.
Some in Athens said it to the apostle Paul. Some in America will say it to faithful preachers today. Of course, strange is a relative term. What’s familiar to some is foreign to others — whether in multicultural cities or, even now, in more rural and monolithic places because of the Internet.
More generally, human life in God’s wonderfully wide and detailed world presents us with the challenges of strangeness in the midst of our familiarities. But don’t we grow as various strangenesses become familiar? A strange food might become a new favorite, or a strange person, a new friend. Even as our circle of familiarity expands, maturity involves navigating an endless parade of strangenesses, both for ourselves and in others. So does growing as a Christian, and particularly as a preacher.
Stranger Things at Mars Hill
Paul encountered a matrix of strangenesses when he was brought to Athens in Acts 17. Having enjoyed a string of gospel successes, not without persecution, in the cities of Philippi, Thessalonica, and Berea, he arrived in Athens to wait for his coworkers. This waiting then led to one of his most memorable messages. Can we imagine the apostle waiting around anywhere, especially in a city like Athens, without finding a way to preach about Jesus?
Paul’s celebrated visit to Athens, and its infamous Mars Hill, turns on this concept of strangeness. Now, Paul at Mars Hill received all sorts of fresh attention twenty years ago in conversations about postmodernism and dialogues with the “emerging church.” Without rehearsing those, let’s look from a preacher’s perspective, as Paul navigates five flashpoints in the Athens account. Then we’ll gather up some lessons for preachers today.
1. His spirit is provoked locally.
Paul is supposed to be waiting. He might have buried his attention in some ancient equivalent of an electronic device. He might have sunk himself into reports from faraway parts of the empire. Surely after such challenges (and fruitfulness) in three other cities, he could have used some downtime. He could have laid low and waited in Athens without being emotionally present. Instead, Paul looks up and around. He embraces his setting, his specific locale, with its specific needs. He observes his surroundings and sees a city full of false gods. And it stirs him:
Now while Paul was waiting for them at Athens, his spirit was provoked within him as he saw that the city was full of idols. (Acts 17:16)
We too will do well to attend, like Paul, to the locale in which God has placed us, rather than losing ourselves in distant dramas or the daily pining for something new. Has it ever been easier to fill our limited consciousness with inactionable reports from far, far away, and be provoked by the remote, while ignoring our immediate surroundings?
2. He takes reasonable initiative.
Paul reasons, and does so day after day. He doesn’t react with an outburst, but being righteously provoked, he responds with the measured, mature initiative of daily reason, rather than volatility. He doesn’t pretend to lance it all at once in one diatribe, or force his passions into the wrong places, but he reasons in spaces that welcome a sober-minded approach:
So he reasoned in the synagogue with the Jews and the devout persons, and in the marketplace every day with those who happened to be there. (Acts 17:17)
Far too often, holy provocations devolve into unholy reactions. We do well to follow Paul, and seek holiness, Christlikeness, in both our spirits and in our next steps.
3. Misunderstanding leads to further opportunity.
In the marketplace, Paul converses with two major strands of unbelieving thought (non-Christian hedonists and stoics). Neither the progressives or the unbelieving conservatives had been prepared for Paul’s message. They both find it strange. Yet here in the public square, while some react obstinately, others show an openness to hear more. Surely, Paul does not mean to be simply strange or misunderstood, but when he is, not all is lost. One faithful step leads to another — they invite him to speak again:
Some of the Epicurean and Stoic philosophers also conversed with him. And some said, “What does this babbler wish to say?” Others said, “He seems to be a preacher of foreign divinities”— because he was preaching Jesus and the resurrection. And they took him and brought him to the Areopagus, saying, “May we know what this new teaching is that you are presenting? For you bring some strange things to our ears. We wish to know therefore what these things mean.” Now all the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there would spend their time in nothing except telling or hearing something new. (Acts 17:18–21)
Luke, who compiled the account, plainly is not impressed with this Athenian fixation on news. (Imagine if he saw us today!) He does not commend them for giving so much time and attention to the drivel of daily novelties. Rather, he sets their lust for the ephemeral in contrast with the strange, timeless glories they soon will hear from Paul. His message is indeed news, and yet utterly different than the trivialities and speculations they are accustomed to consuming. They are settling for news; Paul will offer the News.
4. He preaches the familiar and strange.
Would Paul pass up the chance to commend Jesus before a captive audience? Undeterred by being mocked and misunderstood before, he speaks again, and begins by commending his hearers and seeking common ground. He even appeals to their own poets (verse 28). He will not be needlessly strange. He does not delight in simply being provocative. Strange is not his goal. He aims to win them to the risen Christ, and he will leverage familiarity where he can. But as agile as he may be with this approach, he will not adjust the heart of his message — the resurrection of Jesus — even when that was the showstopper before. He may start with the familiar, and quote Greek poets, but he moves inescapably through what he knows they will hear as strange:
So Paul, standing in the midst of the Areopagus, said: “Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious. . . . The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.” (Acts 17:22, 30–31)
5. He knows when to stop.
When the strangeness of resurrection again brings chaos to Athens, Paul doesn’t power through stubbornly. He won’t pretend to do it all in one sermon. He trusts God to give him another day.
What is the response to the message at Mars Hill? Again, some fire insults, but others express intrigue, and soon join him and believe:
Some mocked. But others said, “We will hear you again about this.” So Paul went out from their midst. But some men joined him and believed. (Acts 17:32–34)
Some Insult, Others Inquire
Brother pastors, observe that in and of itself, mocking is no clear reflection of the faithfulness or fruitfulness of preaching Christ. Wise preachers do not take mocking as an indicator of failure, nor as an indicator of success. Twice in Athens some mock Paul, which may seem like a failure compared to his homiletic triumphs elsewhere. However, others say, “We will hear you again.” And then, in the end: “some men joined him and believed.”
In Athens, the message of Jesus and his resurrection landed on the hearers, unavoidably, as strange. But then comes the great divide, both in the marketplace and again at Mars Hill: some insult, others inquire.
Any audience of sufficient size will have its insecure, closeminded types for whom the strange can only be threatening. Surely, some new message can’t be real and true if they, in their brilliance, are not yet aware of it! So, some write it off right away: “What does this babbler wish to say?” Attack the preacher, rather than face down his message.
But others, in the same audience, respond very differently. They may scratch their heads, and not yet understand, but they start asking genuine questions.
Marginalize Mockers
As Christian preachers, we accept the reality up front that proper strangeness in our message both provokes insults in some and intrigue in others. And a preacher like Paul doesn’t let the mockers distract him.
On the one hand, we are not surprised to be mocked. We suspect scoffers will come, and we’re ready to give them a deaf ear. Unbelieving hearers, dead in sin and devoid of the Spirit, do not submit to the gospel of Christ. Indeed, they cannot (Romans 8:7). Of course, our message lands on them as strange, if not appalling, and it remains strange, unless the Spirit opens their eyes. We think it not strange that some think it strange enough to mock.
On the other hand, how foolish it would be to distract ourselves with the mockers. Or to call special attention to the mocking as some great badge of our own faithfulness. Rather, we have the example of Paul at Mars Hill, who, so far as we can tell, wholly overlooks, with a holy disregard, these mockers and concerns himself instead with those asking honest questions.
This second group, these “others,” also initially found the message strange, but they found the strangeness intriguing: “you bring some strange things to our ears. We wish to know therefore what these things mean” (verse 20). The Spirit is at work. Paul hadn’t failed because Christ’s resurrection landed on them as strange, but now he had opportunity, at their invitation, to say what these things mean and press for saving faith.
Strange, Not Strange
For preachers, the reality about strangeness in our preaching is at least twofold. First, to preach the real Christ, and proclaim his resurrection, will mark us off as strangers and exiles in an unbelieving world. Hebrews 11:13 is not just about old-covenant, pre-Christian saints, but also faithful new-covenant believers: they “acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.” We are strangers here, for now, and our message will be heard, unavoidably, by many, as strange.
Still, second, we also soon ask, Who’s really believing the stranger things? The time comes, with even the most secular of people, to ask, like Paul elsewhere, “Why is it thought incredible by any of you that God raises the dead?” (Acts 26:8).
As Christian preachers, we might ask ourselves, Do I avoid or minimize scriptural truths in the pulpit that land as strange on people today? Do I reckon head-scratching and unfamiliar questions to be a sign of failure in my preaching? Or, conversely, do I over-index on the strange, aiming inordinately to provoke, assuring myself that mocking and criticism are sure badges of my faithfulness, and all the while drawing attention to myself and my manliness, rather than to Christ?
Whether in Athens or America, we cannot be faithful without preaching some strange things. Yet these strangenesses — like the Trinity, the incarnation, the resurrection, the ascension — are often the most glorious realities of our message.
Let’s be faithful to our strange and wonderful Scriptures, work like Paul to be familiar where we can, and then gladly, and with great hope, bring some strange things to their ears.
Desiring God