Recently I was in Nashville on a little denominational business. I opened my hotel curtains and – Wow! – I saw at the end of a long green field the Parthenon! Well, a replica of the Parthenon, an impressive structure over 100 years old now, with a massive statue of Athena inside.

When Paul arrived in Athens 2000 years ago, the original Parthenon was already nearly 500 years old! The golden age of Pericles and Socrates was long past, and yet the city was still an architectural wonder – and virtually all the grand marble structures had some religious purpose. The classic pantheon of Greek divinities (Zeus, Athena, Hermes) were worshipped in addition to gods imported from various peoples all over the world.

Was there a kind of cultural arrogance in Athens? Its glory days had faded long ago, but the glamor, the veneer of a higher civilization, was still there. Did Paul gawk a bit, like I did the first time I set foot in Athens?

Paul was mortified – but the citizens of Athens must have been puzzled by his mood. They had countless gods, but weren’t all that serious about any of them (except perhaps Dionysus, the god of wine and parties!). What was strange about Paul was not that he was a religious person; Athenians could prove their religiosity by simply pointing to the urban landscape (as we can!). But Paul was zealous, deadly serious – and dared to say his God was the lone true god, and all the others were fakes, zeroes. Theirs was a civil religion that accommodated everyone and offended no one – except Paul!

But the Athenians were intrigued; in fact, like people today, they took special delight in whatever was new, the latest fad, the edgiest novelty. Paul’s Gospel only seemed to be contemporary: his good news was as old as creation itself. His tone was important: he did not condemn, despite his inner feelings. He connected, invited; he established common ground by affirming what he could about their culture while luring them into something richer and more noble. He must somehow, by his body language or with love in his eyes, have communicated to these cultured sophisticates that “God desires those who desire idols” (as Willie Jennings puts it).

It is fascinating to consider his location. At first he “argues” (but the word is the same as our word, “dialogue”: he converses, with give and take) in the agora, the marketplace, the shopping mall of Athens. To consumers making choices among religious options, Paul sells what he has, believing his wares are not only better but the only ones worth buying.

For further discussion, his critics took him to the Areopagus, Mars Hill, the stone court where generals decided whether to go to war or not. Paul came peacefully, and suggested his God wasn’t limited to Athens or any other place or vested interest, but is for all people, everywhere, in every age.

In a way, Acts 17 asks if Christianity is intellectually respectable, as Paul makes his case before the most educated, cultured, philosophically sophisticated people in the world. Paul did his best, but knew he would never win the day on reason alone. Christianity is not unreasonable, but the Gospel embraces far more than reason can begin to grasp. Paul proudly admits that the Christian message is “folly to the wisdom of the world” (1 Corinthians 1:19): a poor peasant, executed but coming back to life? No wonder in the philosophical mecca of Athens, Paul was mocked as a “babbler” (Acts 17:18).

A few Athenians converted. Others couldn’t accept the Gospel message. But notice the word of hope from many of the unconverted: “We will hear you again about this” (verse 32). Can we be faithful, can we articulate the hope that is in us, but with perseverance and patience, and in a way that even skeptics might want to hear us again?