Part four in a series on evangelism.
In With Boldness With Clarity, we briefly looked at Acts xvii, the sermon Paul preached to the Athenians. Paul started his presentation of the gospel by talking about an altar he had found among the Athenian’s countless idols.
“Then Paul stood in the midst of the Areopagus and said, “Men of Athens, I perceive that in all things you are very religious; for as I was passing through and considering the objects of your worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: To the Unkown God. Therefore, the One whom you worship without knowing, Him I proclaim to you.” (Acts xvii. 22 – 23)
Paul used this altar and its inscription as a tool to preach the gospel in Athens.
Have you ever paused to wonder how an altar, inscribed to an unknown god, came to be there in the first place?
We do not find the answer to this question in the bible, but it is recorded in history!
A Plague, A Philosopher, and an Altar
“Sometime during the sixth century before Christ, in a council chamber on Mars Hill, Athens:
“Tell us, Nicias, what advice has the Pythian oracle sent with you? Why has this plague come upon us? And why did our numerous sacrifices avail nothing?”
Cool eyed Nicias faced the council president squarely. “The priestess declares that our city lies under a terrible curse. A certain god has placed this curse upon us because of King Megacles’ grievous crime of treachery against the followers of Cylon.”
“Yes, yes! I recall that,” said another council member grimly. “Megacles obtained the surrender of Cylon’s followers with a promise of amnesty. Then he promptly violated his own word and slew them! But which god still holds this crime against us? We have offered atoning sacrifices to all the gods!”
“Not so,” replied Nicias. “The priestess says still another god remains unappeased.”
“Who could he be?” The elders asked, eyeing Nicias incredulously.
“That I cannot tell you.” Nicias said. “The oracle herself does not seem to know his name. She said only that…” Nicias paused, surveying the anxious faces of his colleagues. Meanwhile, the tumult of a thousand dirges echoed from the stricken city around them. Nicias continued, “… we must send a ship at once to Knossos, on the island of Crete, and fetch a man named Epimenides here to Athens. The priestess assures me that he will know how to appease that offended god, thus delivering our city.”
“Is there no man of sufficient wisdom here in Athens?” Blurted an indignant elder. “Must we appeal for help to a … a foreigner?”
“If you know a man of sufficient wisdom in Athens, summon him.” Said Nicias. “If not, let us simply do as the oracle commands.”
Cold wind – cold as if chilled by the terror in Athens – swept through the white marble council chamber on Mars Hill. One elder after another pulled his magisterial robe around his shoulders and weighed Nicias’ words.
“Go on our behalf, my friend,” said the president of the council. “Fetch this Epimenides, if he will hear your plea. And if he delivers our city we will reward him.” Other members of council concurred.
The calm – voiced Nicias arose, bowed before the assembly, and left the chamber. Descending Mars Hill, he headed for the harbor at Piraeus, two leagues distant by the Bay of Phaleron. A ship stood at anchor.
Epimenides stepped briskly ashore at Piraeus, followed by Nicias. The two men set out at once for Athens, gradually recovering their “land legs” after the long sea journey from Crete. As they entered the already world famous “city of philosophers,” signs of the plague were everywhere. But Epimenides noticed something else –
“Never have I seen so many gods!” the Cretan exclaimed to his guide, blinking in amazement. Phalanxes of idols lined both sides of the road from Piraeus. Still other gods in their hundreds festooned a rocky escarpment called the Acropolis. A later generation of Athenians would build the Parthenon there.
“How many gods does Athens have?” Epimenides added.
“Several hundred at least!” Nicias replied.
“Several hundred!” Epimendes exclaimed. “Gods must be easier to find here than men!”
“Well said!” Councilman Nicias chuckled. “Who knows how many proverbs men have coined about ‘Athens, the city glutted with gods.’ As well haul rock to a quarry as bring another god to our city!” Nicias stopped in his tracks, pondering his own words. “And yet,” he began thoughtfully, “the Pythian oracle declares that we Athenians have yet another god to reconcile. And you, Epimenides, are to provide the necessary liaison. Apparently, in spite of what I have said, we Athenians still do need another god!” Suddenly Nicias threw back his head and laughed. “For the life of me, Epimenides, I cannot guess who this other god could be. We already ransacked the theologies of many peoples around us, gathering every deity we can possibly transport to our city by cart or by ship!”
“Perhaps that is your problem,” said Epimenides mysteriously. Nicias blinked at Epimenides without comprehension. How he itched for clarification of that final remark. But something in Epimenides’ demeanor hushed him. Moments later they came to an ancient marble floored stoa near the council chamber on Mars Hill. Word of their arrival had already reached the elders of Athens. The council sat waiting.
“Epimenides, we are grateful for your -” began the president of the assembly.
“Learned elders of Athens, there is no need to thank me,” Epimenides interrupted. “Tomorrow at sunrise bring a flock of sheep, a band of stonemasons, and a large supply of stones and mortar to the grassy slope at the foot of this sacred rock. The sheep must all be healthy and of different colours – some white, some black. I will now rest from my journey. Call me at dawn.”
Members of the council exchanged curious glances as Epimenides strode across the stoa to a quiet alcove, pulled his cloak around him for a blanket, and sat down.
The president turned to a junior member of the council. “See that all is done as he commands.”
“The sheep are here,” said the junior member meekly.
Epimenides, tousled and drowsy with sleep, emerged from his resting place and followed the messenger to the grassy slope at the base of Mars Hill. Two flocks – one of black and white sheep and one of councilmen, shepherds, and stonemasons – stood waiting beneath a rising sun. Hundreds of citizens, haggard from another night of nursing the plague – stricken and mourning the dead, climbed the surrounding hillocks and watched in suspense.
“Learned elders,” Epimenides began, “you have already expended great effort in offering sacrifices to your numerous gods, yet all has proved futile. I am now about to offer sacrifices based upon three assumptions rather different from yours. My first assumption…” Every eye was fixed upon the tall Cretan; every ear tuned itself to catch his next word. “…is that there is still another god concerned in the matter of this plague – a god whose name is unknown to us and who is therefore not represented by any idol in your city. Secondly, I am going to assume that this god is great enough – and good enough – to do something about the plague, if only we invoke his help.”
“Invoke a god whose name is unknown?” Blurted an elder. “Is that possible?”
“The third assumption is my answer to your question.” Epimenides countered. “That assumption is a very simple one. Any god great enough and good enough to do something about the plague is probably also great enough and good enough to smile upon us in our ignorance – if we acknowledge our ignorance and call upon him!” Murmurs of approval mingled with the bleating of hungry sheep. Never had the elders of Athens heard this line of reasoning before. But why, they wondered, must the sheep be of different colours?
“Now,” called Epimenides, “prepare to release the sheep upon the sacred slope! Once you have released them, permit each animal to graze where it will. But let a man follow each animal and watch it closely.” Then, looking up to heaven, Epimenides prayed in a very rich and supremely confident voice: “O thou unknown god! Behold the plague afflicting this city! And if indeed you feel compassion to forgive and help us, behold this flock of sheep! Reveal your willingness to respond, I plead, by causing any sheep that pleases you to lie down upon the grass instead of grazing. Choose white if white pleases; black if black delights. And those you choose we sacrifice to you – acknowledging our pitiful ignorance of your name!” Epimenides bowed his head, sat down on the grass and waved a signal to the shepherds guarding the flock. Slowly the shepherds stepped aside. The sheep eagerly spread out across the hillside and began to graze. Epimenides, meanwhile, sat as still as a statue, his eyes to the ground.
“It’s hopeless,” a frowning councilman muttered under his breath. “It’s early morning and I’ve seldom seen a flock so eager to graze. Not a one will choose to rest until its belly is full, and who will then believe ’twas a god that caused it to recline?”
“Epimenides must have chosen this time of day on purpose, then!” Responded Nicias. “Only thus may we know that a sheep which lies down does so by the will of this unknown god and not by its own inclination!” Nicias had hardly finished speaking when a shepherd shouted,
“Look!” Every eye turned to see a choice ram buckle its knees and settle into the grass.
“And here’s another!” Roared a startled councilman, beside himself with wonder. Within minutes a number of choice sheep lay resting on grass too succulent for any hungry herbivore to resist – under normal circumstances!
“If only one rested, we’d have said it must be sick!” The president of the council exclaimed. “But this! This can only be an answer!” Turning with awe filled eyes, he said to Epimenides, “What shall we do now?”
“Separate the sheep that are resting,” the Cretan replied, raising his head for the first time since he had called upon his unknown god, “and mark the place where each one lay. Then let your stone masons build altars – one on each animal’s resting place!” Enthusiastic masons set to work mortaring stones. By late afternoon the mortar was sufficiently hardened. Every altar stood ready for use.
“Which god’s name shall we engrave upon these altars?” Asked an over – eager junior councilman. All heads turned to hear the Cretan’s reply.
“Name?” Replied Epimenides thoughtfully. “The Deity whose help we seek has been pleased to respond to our admission of ignorance. If we now pretend to be knowledgeable by engraving a name when we have not the slightest idea what His name may be, I fear we shall only offend Him!”
“We must not take that chance,” the president of the council agreed. “But surely there must be some appropriate way to …to dedicate each altar before it is used.”
“You are right, learned elder,” Epimenides said with a rare smile. “There is a way. Simply inscribe the words agnosto theo- to an unknown god – upon the side of each altar. Nothing more is necessary.”
The Athenians engraved the words that their Cretan counselor advised. Then they sacrificed each “dedicated” sheep upon the altar marking the spot where that sheep had rested. Night fell. By dawn the next day the plague’s deadly grip upon the city had already loosened. Within a week, the stricken recovered. Athens overflowed with praise to Epimenides’ ‘unknown God’…
Within the passage of time, however, the people of Athens forgot the mercy that this God had bestowed upon them. They returned to the worship of several hundred gods who had proved helpless to remove the curse from their city.”
The Athenians would hear no more of this great and unknown God for several hundred years. Until Paul, invited by the Stoic and Epicurean philosophers, stepped foot on the Areopagus – the meeting place of the Mars Hill council. The very same hill on which Epimenides had prayed for mercy centuries before!
Leave It To God
Epimenides made three deductions: God was good, great and compassionate. Though he did not know Him by name, Epimenides knew something of the character of God. He served Him, in accordance with this knowledge and was successful. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob revealed Himself to Epimenides.
Paul stood in a city crowded with idols, seeking to teach the Athenians about the one, true God. How was he to start? Remarkably, God had a method ready and waiting! Using Paul and an old altar, God revealed Himself to the Athenians.
God used both Paul and Epimenides, a man who didn’t even know His name, as instruments to accomplish His purpose, to bring the gospel to Athens. Likewise, when we share the gospel, we are simply tools in His hand.
As a Christian you are called to “be ready always to give an answer to every man who asketh you a reason for the hope that is in you, with meekness and fear.” (1 Peter iii. 15, KJV), but it is God who prepares the method and each heart.
The Proverbs say, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” (Proverbs iii. 5 -6) This is what Paul did when he preached in Athens. He did not lean on his own understanding but looked instead for God’s direction.
Did Paul Know About Epimendes?
Paul was shown an altar, which God had prepared in advance, and through it he was able to explain the gospel clearly. Did he know how it had gotten there?
There is evidence that, at some point, Paul understood the historical background of the altar to the unknown God. At the very least, we know Paul was familiar with the writings of Epimenides, who was a poet. In fact, Paul quotes his writings in his letter to Titus, “Even one of their own prophets has said, ‘Cretans are always liars, evil brutes, and lazy gluttons.’ This testimony is true. Therefore, rebuke them sharply, so that they will be sound in the faith.” (Titus i.12 -13) He wrote this letter to instruct Timothy in his dealings with the churches on the isle of Crete, where Epimenides was from.
When Paul described Epimenides as “one of their own prophets” he used the Greek word propheetees which is the same word he uses in other scriptures to speak of the old testament prophets of God. By using this address, Paul placed an honour upon Epimenides which would indicate his knowledge of the man’s service to the one, true God. Thus, it is probable that at some point Paul had the privilege to understand the miraculous provision of God in the altar of Athens.
An Ecouragement, As You Go To Share The Gospel
Each of us are messengers of the Most High God, sent to share the good news of what He has done with a dying world. As we go about this mission, we can rest assured that He has gone before us – preparing a way and preparing hearts – just as He did for Paul.
Jesus said to, “Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (Matthew xxviii.19 -20)
With this assurance let’s open our mouths to speak of Him. Knowing He has a perfect plan already prepared.
“Not that we are sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us, but our sufficiency is from God, who has made us sufficient to be ministers of a new covenant,” (2 Corinthians iii. 5-6, ESV)
In Christ
Quiana
*Scripture references in NKJV unless otherwise noted.
*Quotes and Excepts were taken from Don Richardson’s book, Eternity in Their Hearts.
This specific story is largely based upon a tradition recorded as history by Diogenes Laerticus (a Greek author of the third century A.D.) in The Lives of Eminent Philosophers. The basic elements of his account include that Epimenides, a Cretan hero, responded to a request from Athens, which was brought by a man named Nicias. He was asked to advise the city in the matter of a plague. Arriving in Athens, Epimenides obtained a flock of black and white sheep and set them loose on Mars Hill instructing men to follow and mark the places where any lay down. The Athenians offered up any of the sheep that rested in a sacrifice upon unnamed altars created for that purpose. In result the plague lifted from the city.
Other details regarding the cause of the plague were taken from an editor’s footnote in Aristotle’s, The Art of Rhetoric. (found in the Loeb Classical Library, translated by J.H. Freese and published in Cambridge, Massachusetts.) A passage in Plato’s Laws states that a Pythian oracle instructed the Athenians to summon Epimenides.
Diogenes Laerticus did not mention that the words agnosto theo were inscribed on the altars. However, two other ancient writers, Pausanias, in Description of Greece and Philostratus, in Appolonius of Tyana refer to ‘alters of the unknown god’, implying that an inscription to that effect was engraved upon them.