Difference between revisions of "Sermon for May 25th, 2014"

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Acts 17:22-34

22Then Paul stood in front of the Areopagus and said, “Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way. 23For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god.’ What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. 24The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, 25nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things. 26From one ancestor he made all nations to inhabit the whole earth, and he allotted the times of their existence and the boundaries of the places where they would live, 27so that they would search for God and perhaps grope for him and find him—though indeed he is not far from each one of us. 28For ‘In him we live and move and have our being’; as even some of your own poets have said, ‘For we too are his offspring.’ 29Since we are God’s offspring, we ought not to think that the deity is like gold, or silver, or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of mortals. 30While God has overlooked the times of human ignorance, now he commands all people everywhere to repent, 31because he has fixed a day on which he will have the world judged in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed, and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.” 32When they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some scoffed; but others said, “We will hear you again about this.” 33At that point Paul left them. 34But some of them joined him and became believers, including Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris, and others with them.

Evangelism in the Land of the Unknown God

It was a dark and stormy night. A Jewish Rabbi, a Hindu Holy Man, and a Christian Televangelist were traveling together in a car. The car broke down, and the three religious men walked through the storm until they came upon a farmhouse. They knocked on the door, and when the farmer answered, they asked if they could stay for the night. The farmer replied, "I only have room for two of you in the farmhouse. One of you will have to sleep in the barn."

The Hindu Holy man offered to sleep in the barn, so the Rabbi and the Televangelist went into the farmhouse. But a few minutes later, there was a knock on the farmhouse door. It was the Hindu Holy man. He said, "I cannot sleep in that barn. There is a cow in the barn, and my religion teaches that cows are sacred." So the Rabbi offers to sleep in the barn instead. But a few minutes later, there is a knock on the door. Of course, it's the Rabbi, who says, "I cannot sleep in that barn. There is a pig in the barn, and my religion teaches that pigs are unclean animals." With a disappointed sigh, the Televangelist says, "Fine. I'll sleep in the barn. I don't mind the pig and the cow."

A few minutes later, there is a knock on the door. The farmer answers the door, and standing there are the pig and the cow. "We cannot sleep in that barn...there is a Televangelist in that barn. We have standards too, you know!"

Today's sermon is about evangelism. It's a scary word that, these days, conjures up images of slick, teary-eyed televangelists asking for money (or begging for forgiveness), or men in suits going door to door with pamphlets, or people standing on street corners with signs proclaiming the end of the world. In Presbyterian circles, Evangelism is almost a taboo subject. Almost.

And yet the word Evangelism comes from the Greek word εὐάγγελος: εὐ (good) + άγγελος (message). This is our human nature: When something good happens in our lives, when a young couple becomes engaged, when a new baby is born, when you finally land that dream job, or that dream house--What's the first thing we do? We pick up the phone and call (or text) someone we love. We post it to Facebook. Some people take out an ad in the New York times! Good news wants to be shared. So if there is nothing about our faith that we feel driven, compelled, excited to share with other people...then why is that? I think there are two possibilities:

First, if the news really isn't very good, if our faith doesn't really touch our lives in some meaningful way, if it's based on things like guilt and duty or social status, or worse, judgment and legalism--if that's the case, we're probably wise not to share it with others. That kind of faith is not good news.

But I think more often than not, we don't share our faith with others--our meaningful, joyful experience of faith--because we're afraid of rejection. Imagine if you shared your good news with someone only to hear, "What an ugly baby!" Or "I can't believe you're going to marry that loser!" Or "That new car you just bought? I had one like that...total piece of junk!" Too much of that and you'd probably think twice before letting people pour cold water all over your joy.

And yet, that is the culture we live in, especially with regards to religious belief. Today there are thousands of belief systems out there, and people are pretty passionate about their choices. To avoid arguments or hurting anyone's feelings, we have developed an unspoken rule that you just don't share things like that. Any one belief system is just as good as any other system, so either they all deserve equal praise, equal sharing, or else none at all.

As fair as that may sound, I'm afraid it doesn't pass the test of basic common sense. There are some pretty messed up belief systems out there that have caused great harm and suffering in the world (including, I'm afraid to say, some pretty warped and distorted versions of Christianity). In a free society, all belief systems (including our own) can and should be judged by the kinds of people and societies they produce, and their underlying ideas should be fair game for public scrutiny, discourse and debate.