Acts 14:14,15

EXPEDIENCY OR PRINCIPLE

‘Which when the apostles, Barnabas and Paul, heard of, they rent their clothes, and ran in among the people, crying out, and saying, Sirs, why do ye these things?’

Acts 14:14

After healing the lame man, St. Barnabas and St. Paul were to be worshipped as gods by the populace. They refused the homage; they rejected it with horror. Of course they did; how could they do otherwise, how could they commit such a sin against God, against the very principle they were come to teach, as to accept it? How, indeed, except on the principle of expediency?

I. The principle of expediency.—How much they might have gained by accepting it. How, on the principle of seeing good in things evil, they might have recognised in the shout ‘The gods are come down to us in the likeness of men,’ a glimmering idea of the Incarnation; by joining themselves on this broad platform, how they might have conciliated a hearing for the great Christian doctrine. Then again by keeping the people in good humour, how great an influence they might have retained over them, and led them to a willing and pleasant intercourse, nay, even more directly, what influence they might have held over them, and ordered them to receive the new doctrines and practise the new rites of worship. And how easy to argue that there was no sin when they themselves inwardly rejected the worship, or pleaded that it was only accepted by them representatively for the God Whom they served. How easy, in fact, to argue that to do a great right, they might do a little wrong, and without any surrender of the truth in their own hearts might ally themselves with the people, and in the bond of universal brotherhood lead them by means of their own errors to the knowledge and the practice of the truth. The temptation was just to accept for the moment a little offering of homage, and in so doing to win the whole city to their way of thinking.

II. What should be our answer when the strife of tongues is fierce; when the glare of infidelity fixes its glance of hate upon the Cross; when friends seem few, and the faith is assaulted, and men’s hearts wax cold in love, and the voice of popular opinion speaks of universal brotherhood at the expense of the Fatherhood of God, or of general agreement on condition of renouncing everything that is positive enough to make a bulwark or a bond; when we are told we dare not speak of orthodoxy, and that truth is exactly what every one of the millions of men chooses to think it is; when, on the other hand, we are wooed softly to surrender and to retain our popularity at the expense of our principles; when we are told that we shall win more souls by surrendering disputed points; or when within ourselves our own weaknesses beg us not to forfeit our character for liberality and good-nature, not to put before our people, if we are priests, doctrines which are unpalatable, and not to practise, if we are laymen, observances which provoke scorn or dislike, when the temptation is to surrender a little truth that we may gain a great deal in the eyes of men—what must our answer be? The answer in effect of St. Barnabas and St. Paul at Lystra, the answer of our Lord in the wilderness, ‘Get thee behind Me, Satan, for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him only shalt thou serve.’

Rev. G. C. Harris.

Illustration

‘Ignorant of the native dialect, the Apostles did not know what the crowd were saying, and withdrew to their lodging. But meanwhile the startling rumour had spread. Lycaonia was a remote region where still lingered the simple faith in the old mythologies. Giving ready credence to all tales of marvel, and showing intense respect for any who seemed invested with special sacredness, the Lycaonians eagerly accepted the suggestion that they were once more favoured by a visit from the old gods. Before the gate of the town was a Temple of Zeus, their guardian deity. The priest of Zeus rose to the occasion. While the Apostles remained in entire ignorance of his proceedings he had procured bulls and garlands, and now, accompanied by festive crowds, came to the gates to do them sacrifice. St. Paul and St. Barnabas were the last to hear that they were about to be the centres of an idolatrous worship, but when they did hear it they were horror-stricken to an extent which a Gentile could hardly have understood. Rending their garments, they sprang out with loud cries among the multitude, imploring them to believe that they were but ordinary mortals like themselves, and that it was the very object of their mission to turn them from these empty idolatries to the one living and true God.’