Acts 19:8-22 continues the chronicle of Paul’s time in Ephesus – which stretched to nearly 3 years. That’s a long time. We think of Paul as peripatetic, bags packed, covering a lot of ground – which he did. And yet he knew how to stay, and to solidify the fruits of his labor.

As was his custom – and as his theology of the unity of Old and New Testaments and faith in Jesus who was Jewish, like Paul himself! – he began by speaking in the synagogue. After that went poorly, he somehow found a regular teaching venue in “the hall of Tyrannus.” Did he pay a little rent? Was Tyrannus (a scary name!) a convert who offered his assembly hall space? We wish we could visit the place today. Tour guides point to some confusing stones just to the right of the iconic, often-photographed Library of Celsus and say they think it may have been there.

Verse 9 says that Paul “argued” day by day. Sounds a little testy, or like a litigator mounting evidence to a jury. But the verb in question is dialegomenos – and you don’t need to have studied Greek to recognize it implies a “dialogue,” a conversation, batting ideas around, listening, questioning, answering, wondering some more, reflecting. Paul must have been a master of dialogue. How else do you persuade skeptics of something as radically weird and out of the box as Christianity?

And then I smile a little when I read Acts 17’s adjective for those who don’t eventually come around: they are “stubborn.” Luke loves the good news of Jesus’ message so much that he concludes that anybody who doesn’t get it is just plain willful and hard in mind and soul.

Ephesus was the kind of place where a new religion could take hold. The city was a vast marketplace of ideas, religions, and philosophies where citizens were accustomed to hearing new, glitzy, promising notions, and would entertain them as possibilities. No single religion dominated – well, except bowing down to the emperor in political ceremonies!

I wonder if Shakespeare was right (in the Comedy of Errors) about Ephesus: “They say this town is full of cozenage, as, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, soul-killing witches that deform the body, disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, and many such-like liberties of sin.”

And then we have the charming notice that the Ephesians impressed by Paul would snatch up his handkerchiefs and aprons and cling to them for their healing value. F.F. Bruce thinks “handkerchiefs” is a little prissy for the Greek, which probably means “sweat rags.” Paul was working hard daily as a tentmaker, which is messy, wet, sweaty work. So his dirty work cloths were scooped up by those seeking cures. Isn’t the implication that, yes, we know sweat rags don’t have curative powers – but can’t God sometimes use any and everything to draw people not just to a cure but to the ultimate Healer, the one Paul proclaimed? 

   {I think of the prayer shawls our women knit that we distribute at hospitals, or the carved cross my friend Jim whittled for me the day before he died, precious objects that convey tangibly God’s gracious, healing presence. Do you have any objects from any holy friends or family?}