Without dwelling overmuch on introductory niceties, let us consider one of the burning questions of our day. The very urgency of the issue for contemporary humanity compels me to an uncustomary haste and precipitousness. Naturally, you’ve all figured out the subject of this well known controversy: “If Saint Paul were around today, how would he go about interreligious dialogue?”
After much research and reflection, I’ve come up with my original contribution to the conversation on this all-important matter. I call it “the Lystra Thesis,” named after that Lycaonian city where the great Apostle, with Saint Barnabas, entered into genuine dialogue with some truly separated brethren (Acts 14:6-19). The thesis is simple. I postulate that St. Paul would dialogue today exactly as he did then. To illustrate what that means, I quote at length from that great Spanish luminary, Fray Justo Pérez de Urbel y Santiago O.S.B. (St. Paul the Missionary, trans. Paul Barrett, O.F.M., Cap., the Newman Press, 1957, pgs. 135-140).
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Moving toward the southeast, the two friends [Paul and Barnabas] penetrated further into the plains of Lycaonia, a region where Roman influence was less felt and where, since there were no great commercial centers, there were few if any of those Jewish communities which most hindered the preaching of the Gospel. Here the people were simple, poor and uncultured, and among the hills there were wandering groups, half–bandits, half-warriors, who gloried in their turbulent but independent way of life. About thirty miles’ distance from Iconium, there was a small city, Lystra, which was situated at the foot of a high, gloomy mountain, and about forty miles farther to the southeast lay Derbe, built on the shore of a lake. Paul and Barnabas concentrated on these two centers of population and, since no one interfered with their apostolate, they quickly formed a church in each city, from which the news of the Gospel spread to the villages of the shepherds and fishermen in the neighboring countryside. In fact, so great was the fame which the missionaries earned here that they had to hold in check the indiscreet enthusiasm of the crowds.
Among Paul’s most attentive listeners was a cripple who feared God and was eager to learn the truth about Him. One day the Apostle, having spoken to the people, approached this good man, looked fixedly at him and in a loud voice said: “Stand upright on thy feet” Immediately the man, who had never been able to walk, feeling that he was cured, sprang to his feet and began to walk and to leap for joy.
St. Luke, the author of the Acts of the Apostles, is loath to mention miracles, for he wishes to impress upon us that the Gospel is to be approached more through reason than through wonder at prodigies. When the supernatural intervenes, it does so primarily to encourage the preachers of the Faith, to make them see that heaven is confirming their words and that therefore they are not mistaken. On this occasion, the crowd misinterpreted the cure of the cripple, which struck them dumb with amazement and made them imagine that the gods of Olympus had come down to speak with them. When they recovered their voices they broke out in delirious cries: “They are gods! The gods have come down to us in the likeness of men!”
According to their traditions, Zeus and Hermes had travelled through the land, stopping in the huts of the shepherds and deigning to partake of their coarse food. The royal wayfarers, however, sought good will most of all, and therefore they had rewarded with long years of life the devout reception given them by Philemon and Baucis, but had turned Lycaon into a wolf because he had mocked them when he had seen them crossing the country in the pouring rain. Why, then couldn’t the Olympians continue to walk the earth as in bygone ages? And hadn’t the crowd just seen the effects of their sovereign power? “They are gods!” the people kept repeating in their wild enthusiasm, while the most observant of them added: “Zeus and Hermes are once again among us” and all prostrated themselves reverentially in adoration before the missionaries.
In Barnabas’ noble bearing the Lycaonians thought they could perceive the majesty of Zeus, and concluded that the smaller of the two, the healer of ills, the master of persuasive words, dux verbi, energetic, penetrating, boldly daring, with piercing glance and commanding, vigorous appearance, could only be Hermes, the god of health, the swift messenger, the patron of eloquent orators. This was the Oriental concept of divinity, for in the East he who remains solemnly seated without speaking or asking is given pre-eminence and greatest dignity, whereas in the West, the more energetic, the originator of both ideas and actions, is considered the leader. That is why, in the Oriental religions, the father of the gods always appears secluded, far from the world, with which he comes in contact only through his messengers and subordinates. This reaction of the Lycaonians confirms the traditional description of the Apostle of the Gentiles: he was ugly and of medium height, bald, with pale copper-colored skin, aquiline nose, grey beard and blue eyes. But when he began to speak, his voice was so commanding, his glance and bearing so forceful, that he could easily be mistaken for a god.
The joyful shouts of the crowd continued to ring through the streets of Lystra; more people joined in the tumult and the general frenzy increased. Without understanding clearly the meaning of all the hubbub, since the mobs were crying out in their local dialect, Paul and Barnabas took advantage of the confusion to return to their lodgings. But suddenly their way was blocked by a strange procession headed by the priest of Zeus, the guardian deity of the city whose temple was near the principal gate, accompanied by his helpers carrying the instruments of sacrifice —knives, ropes, amphoras and vessels. One acolyte brought the salt, another bore the flour on a silver platter, while a third carried the incense. Everything needed for the sacrifice was there: the sacred choir of cantors, the band of flute-players, and, of course, the victims acceptable to the god, white bulls decked out in flowers and multi-colored ribbons.
When they were confronted with all this strange pomp, the missionaries understood what was happening, and they rushed into the crowd, tearing theft garments as a sign of indignation and endeavoring to avert the sacrilege with all the means at their command. “Men, why are you doing this?” they cried out. “We also are mortals, human beings like you, subject to death and suffering, bringing to you the good news that you should turn from these vain things to the living God who made heaven and earth and the sea and all things that are in them. In the generations that are past he let all the nations follow their own ways; and yet he did not leave himself without testimony, bestowing blessings, giving rains from heaven and fruitful seasons, filling your hearts with food and gladness.” (Cf. Acts 14:14-17.)
In these words St. Paul summed up the proofs of God’s existence which he used when preaching to the pagans. Here, as later when he addressed the Thessalonians, he told the Lycaonians to relinquish their idols and turn to the living God who, though He permitted mankind to wander for a time, did not abandon them completely or forever. The preaching of the Gospel was the beginning of reconciliation between creature and Creator, although the world itself had always been a mute witness to the divine magnificence. St. Paul alludes only passingly to the cosmological argument for the existence of God, and stresses the physical argument which is easily understood by the crowds, since the concept of causality is more concrete and personal in this sphere. The order which reigns in the universe has its own eloquence, but the fatherly solicitude of Providence speaks more appealingly to the mind and heart, for God shows His goodness to us in a thousand ways, making the earth fertile and causing joy to bud in the heart of man by giving him an abundance of crops. That is the testimony to His existence which He gives us, a testimony that shows us His transcendence, His creative power and His benevolent providence.
But all this reasoning could not change the mind of the mob. They were so entrenched in their error that they persisted in giving divine homage to the strangers, and they could not bring themselves to acknowledge that they had been mistaken in their wild assumption that their gods had come again to walk among them. The missionaries almost had to resort to force to make the priest return to his temple with his incense and compel the butchers to lead away the sacrificial victims. Paul finally won the day, but not with. out revealing the profound contempt he felt for pagan mythology and the loathing with which he regarded its rites. His attitude doubtless aroused anger and resentment, for although many of the people may only have laughed at the ludicrous outcome of the affair, the fanatics must have felt humiliated in their deepest convictions. The priest of Zeus, in particular, would not forget the disrespect shown for the sacrifices which brought such prosperity to his temple. It was from this moment on that the popularity of the missionaries began to wane.
Matters became worse with the arrival of certain Jews who had come from Antioch in Pisidia and Iconium for the express purpose of hindering the spread of the Gospel. With their insidious talk they turned the people against Paul and Barnabas, alleging that they were two shameless mockers, two common impostors who deceived simple women and led the populace astray with their magical practices. The troublemakers went on to tell how the missionaries had been at the point of being stoned in Iconium, and how the municipal authorities of Antioch in Pisidia had had to expel them as agitators and undesirables. The mob, always fickle and now in an ugly mood, believed these calumnies, and their idolatry turned into murderous hate directed particularly against the more aggressive of the two preachers. The trouble came to a head one day when the enraged crowd, armed with stones and cudgels, fell upon Paul, reviling him, striking him, dragging him through the streets and, finally, believing him dead, casting him out-of the city. But the Apostle, though beaten into unconsciousness, was not dead. When he revived, he found himself surrounded by a group of disciples who tenderly lifted him up and helped him back into the city. He thought it prudent not to inflame his enemies’ anger again and so the-next day, although he was still badly bruised from the blows of the crowd, he and Barnabas left Lystra for Derbe, forty miles to the southeast.
