“Respondebit tibi Evangelica tuba, Doctor Gentium, vas aureum in toto orbe resplendens.”—JER. Adv.Pelag.Dial. iii. p. 545.
HAVING now traversed Cyprus, “Paul and his company”—to use the expression by which St. Luke so briefly intimates that the whole force of the mission was now identified with one man—weighed anchor from Paphos for Perga in Pamphylia. Whether they chose Perga as their destination in accordance with any preconceived plan, or whether it was a part of “God’s unseen Providence by men nicknamed chance,” we do not know. It was not easy for an ancient traveller to go exactly in what direction he liked, and he was obliged, in the circumscribed navigation of those days, to be guided in his movements by the accident of finding vessels which were bound for particular ports.1 Now between Paphos, the political capital of Cyprus, and Perga, the capital of Pamphylia, there was in that day a constant intercourse, as would probably still be the case between Satalia and the western port of Cyprus but for the dangerous character of the now neglected harbour of Baffa. For Perga, then, the missionaries embarked. They sailed into the deep bight of Attaleia, and up the broad, and in those days navigable, stream of the Cestrus, and anchored under the cliffs, which were crowned by the acropolis of the bright Greek city and the marble pillars of its celebrated Temple of Artemis.
But at Perga they made no stay, and their visit was only marked by a single but disheartening incident. This was the desertion by John Mark of the mission cause; “separating from them, he returned to Jerusalem.” The causes which led him thus to look back after he had put his hand to the plough are not mentioned, but it is evident that to the ardent soul of Paul, at any rate, they appeared blameworthy, for we shall see that he subsequently refused the companionship of one who had shown such deficient resolution.2 It is, however, but too easy to conjecture the mixed motives by which Mark was actuated. He was young. The novelty of the work had worn off. Its hardships, even under the favourable circumstances in Cyprus, had not been slight. His mother was at Jerusalem, perhaps alone, perhaps exposed to persecution. It may be, too, that the young man saw and resented the growing ascendency of Paul over his cousin Barnabas. And besides all this, Mark, bred up in the very bosom of the Church at Jerusalem, may have felt serious misgivings about the tendency of that liberal theology, that broad universalism of proffered admission into the Church, which seemed to throw into the background the immemorial sanctity, not only of the oral but even of the written Law. Such may have been the yearnings, the misgivings, the half–unconscious jealousies and resentments which filled his mind, and whatever may have been the qualms of conscience which might otherwise have troubled his desertion of the sacred task, these excuses and arguments for doing so must have met with a powerful ally in the circumstances which were evidently before them.
For as Mark gazed on the mighty chain of Taurus, and remembered that they were now about to penetrate countries of shifting languages, of unsettled government, of semi–barbarous populations, of strangely mingled worships, the brigand fastnesses of Pamphylians, Selgenses, Pisidians, Lycaonians, Isaurians, Cilicians, Cliti, Homodanenses,3 he may not have been sorry to conceal dislike to the task on which he had entered under the plea of filial duty. At the time his defection must have been to Paul, even more than to Barnabas, a positive misfortune. Barnabas, though he clung to his friend and fellow–labourer with entire whole–heartedness, must yet have missed the genial brightness, the graphic utterance, the quick spirit of observation with which his cousin relieved the sombre absorption of Paul in his immediate purpose; and Paul, who ever loved the personal services of younger companions, must have been a little embittered, as daily worries became more trying in the absence of a vigorous comrade. There must have been in his heart a feeling of indignation against one who forsook them at the very moment when he could least be replaced, and when the difficulties which he could so greatly have lightened began to assume their most formidable shape.
So Mark left them, and the Apostles at once made their way towards the interior. Although we are not told of any synagogue at Perga, yet, since they preached there on their return journey, there must have been some special reason for their now leaving the place. This reason has been found in the probability that they reached the town towards the middle of spring,4 when the entire population of the cities on the plain and sea–coast are in the habit of moving inland to the yailahs, or, as they would be called in Switzerland, “alps,” or mountain pastures, which enable them to escape the fierce and malarious heat of the lower regions.5 It would be useless to preach in Perga at the very time that its main population were deserting it; and any of the numerous caravans or family–migrations, which were filling the roads and passes with mules and camels and herds of cattle, would furnish the Apostles with company and protection. Without such escort it would have been imprudent, if not impossible, for them to make their way by those dangerous roads where it is probable that the snow–drifts still lay in many places, and they might often find the bridges shattered and swept away by the sudden spates of rushing streams.
The few modern travellers who have visited these parts of Asia Minor have furnished us with minute and picturesque descriptions of the abrupt stone–paved ascents; the sarcophagi and sculptured tombs among the projecting rocks; the narrowing valleys through which the rivers descend, and over which frown precipices perforated with many caves; the sudden bursts of magnificent prospect in which you gaze “from the rocky steps of the throne of winter upon the rich and verdant plain of summer, with the blue sea in the distance;” the constant changes of climate; the zones of vegetation through which the traveller ascends; the gleam of numberless cascades caught here and there amid the dark pine groves that clothe the lower slopes; the thickets of pomegranate and oleander that mantle the river–beds; the wild flowers that enamel the grass with their rich inlay; the countless flocks of cattle grazing over pastures whose interminable expanses are only broken by the goat’s–hair huts of the shepherd, made to this day of the same material as that by the manufacture of which St. Paul earned his daily bread. And when the traveller has emerged on the vast central plateau of Asia Minor they describe the enchanting beauty of the fresh and salt water lakes by which the road often runs for miles; the tortoises that sun themselves in the shallow pools; the flights of wild swans which now fill the air with rushing wings, and now “ruffle their pure cold plumes” upon the waters; the storks that stand for hours patiently fishing in the swampy pools. Such must have been the sights which everywhere greeted the eyes of Paul and Barnabas as they made their way from Perga to the Pisidian Antioch. They would have filled a modern missionary with rapture, and the feelings of gratitude and adoration with which a Martyn or a Heber would have “climbed by these sunbeams to the Father of Lights” would have gone far to help them in the endurance of their hard and perilous journeys. Mungo Park, in a touching passage, has described how his soul, fainting within him to the very point of death, was revived by seeing amid the scant herbage of the desert a single tuft of emerald moss, with its delicate filaments and amber spores; and the journals of those whose feet in recent days have been beautiful upon the mountains over which they carried the message of peace, abound in passages delightfully descriptive of the scenes through which they passed, and which they regarded as aisle after aisle in the magnificent temple of the one true God. But, as we have already noticed, of no such feeling is there a single trace in the writings of the Apostle or of his historian. The love of natural scenery, which to moderns is a source of delight so continuous and so intense, was little known to the ancients in general, and in spite of a few poetic exceptions, was known perhaps to the Semites of that age least of all.6 How often did Paul climb the mountain passes of the Taurus; how often had he seen Olympus
“Soaring snow–clad through its native sky;”
how often had he passed on foot by “the great rivers that move like God’s eternity;” how often had his barque furrowed the blue waters of the Ægean, among those
“Sprinkled isles,
Lily on lily, which o’erlace the sea,
And laugh their pride when the light wave lisps Greece!”
But all these scenes of glory and loveliness left no impression upon his mind, or have at least left no trace upon his page.7 We might pity the loss which he thus suffered, and regret the ineffectualness of a source of consolation which would otherwise have been ever at hand, were it not that to St. Paul such consolations were needless. The soul that lived in heaven,8 the thoughts which were full of immortality, the conviction that the Lord was at hand, the yearning for the souls for which Christ died—made up to him for all besides. God would have granted all other consolations had he needed them; but the steps which were ever on the golden streets of the New Jerusalem trod heedlessly over the volcanic soil of a world treasured up with the stores of fire which should hereafter reduce it to ashes.9 The goblet which was full of the new wine of the kingdom of heaven had no room in it for the fruit of the vine of even those earthly pleasures which are of all others the most innocent, the most universal, and the most blest.
Nor must we fail to see that there was an advantage as well as a disadvantage in this absorption. If St. Paul never alludes to the transcendent beauties of the lands through which he travelled, so neither does one word escape him about the recurrent annoyances, the perpetual minor discomforts and vexations of travel. The journals of modern wanderers tell us of the drenching rains, the glaring heats, the terrible fatigues, the incessant publicity, the stings of insects, the blinding storms of dust, the trying changes of season, the scarcity and badness of provisions. But to Paul all these trivial burdens, which often, nevertheless, require more heroism for their patient endurance than those more serious perils which summon up all our fortitude for their conquest or resistance, were as nothing. He felt the tedium and the miseries of travel as little as he cared for its rewards. All these things had no bearing on his main purpose; they belonged to the indifferent things of life.
And so the Apostles made their way up the valley of the Cestrus, passed along the eastern shore of the large and beautiful lake Eyerdir, and after a journey of some forty leagues, which probably occupied about a week, they arrived at the flourishing commercial town of Antioch in Pisidia, or Antiochia Cæsarea. We learn from Strabo that it had been founded by the Magnetes, re–founded by Seleucus, and subsequently made a Roman colony, with free municipal government, by Augustus. The centrality of its position on roads which communicated southwards with Perga and Attaleia, westwards with Apamea, northwards with the great towns of Galatia, and eastwards with Iconium and the Cilician gates, made it a great commercial emporium for the trade of Asia Minor in wood, oil, skins, goat’s hair, and Angola wool. Its true position—for it had long been confused with Ak–sher, the ancient Philomelium—was discovered by Mr. Arundell in 1833.10 Conspicuous among its ruins are the remains of a noble aqueduct, which shows its former importance. Its coins are chiefly remarkable for the prominence given on the one hand to its colonial privileges, and on the other to its very ancient worship of the moon as a masculine divinity under the title of Mēn Archaios. This worship had in former days been very flourishing, and the temple of Mēn had been thronged with Hieroduli, who lived on its estates and revenues. Strabo tells us that, some seventy years before this time, on the death of King Amyntas, to whom Pisidia had been assigned by Mark Antony, this temple had been abolished; but though the worship may have been entirely shorn of its ancient splendour, it probably still lingered among the ignorant and aboriginal population.
But the message of the Apostles was not in the first instance addressed to the native Pisidians, nor to the Greeks, who formed the second stratum of the population, nor to the Romans, who were the latest occupants, but primarily to the Jews who had come thither with the stream of Latin immigration, which secured them equal privileges with the other inhabitants. Doubtless the first care of the Apostles—and this was the work in which Mark might have been specially useful—was to repair to the “strangers’ rooms” attached to the synagogue, and then to find convenient lodgings in the Jews’ quarter, and to provide means of securing a sale for the cilicium, by the weaving of which Paul honourably lived. The trade only occupied his hands, without interrupting either his meditations or his speech, and we may reasonably suppose that not a few of the converts who loved him best, were won rather by the teaching and conversations of the quiet rooms where he sat busily at work, than by the more tumultuous and interrupted harangues in the public synagogues.
But the mission of Paul and Barnabas was not meant for the few alone. They always made a point of visiting the synagogue on the Sabbath Day, and seizing any opportunity that offered itself to address the congregation. The visit to Antioch in Pisidia is rendered interesting by the scenes which led to the first sermon of St. Paul of which the record has been preserved.
The town possessed but a single synagogue, which must, therefore, have been a large one. The arrangements were no doubt almost identical with those which exist in the present day throughout the East. As they entered the low, square, unadorned building, differing from Gentile places of worship by its total absence of interior sculpture, they would see on one side the lattice–work partition, behind which sat a crowd of veiled and silent women. In front of these would be the reader’s desk, and in its immediate neighbourhood, facing the rest of the congregation, those chief seats which Rabbis and Pharisees were so eager to secure. The Kibleh, or sacred direction towards which all prayer was offered, was Jerusalem; and on that side would be the curtain, behind which was the ark containing the sacred rolls.11 Paul, as a former Sanhedrist, and Barnabas, as a Levite, and both of them as men of superior Jewish education, might fairly have claimed to sit in the chairs or benches set apart for the elders. But perhaps they had been told what their Lord had said on the subject, and took their seats among the ordinary worshippers.12
Each as he entered covered his head with his Tallîth, and the prayers began. They were read by the Shelîach, or “angel of the synagogue,”13 who stood among the standing congregation. The language employed was probably Greek. Hebrew had long been to the Jews a learned language, understood only by the few, and in remote places, like Antioch of Pisidia, known possibly to only one or two. In spite of the stiff conservatism of a few Rabbis, the Jews as a nation had the good sense to see that it would be useless to utter prayers unless they were “understanded of the people.”14 After the prayers followed the First Lesson, or Parashah, and this, owing to the sanctity which the Jews attached to the very sounds and letters of Scripture, was read in Hebrew, but was translated or paraphrased verse by verse by the Meturgeman, or interpreter. The Chazzân, or clerk of the synagogue, took the Thorah-roll from the ark, and handed it to the reader. By the side of the reader stood the interpreter, unless he performed that function for himself, as could be easily done, since the Septuagint version was now universally disseminated. After the Parashah, was read the short Haphtarah, or what we should call the Second Lesson, from the Prophets, the translation into the vernacular being given at the end of every three verses. After this followed the Midrash, the exposition or sermon. It was not delivered by one set minister, but, as at the present day any distinguished stranger who happens to be present is asked by way of compliment to read the Thorah, so in those days the Roshha–Kenésethmight ask any one to preach who seemed likely to do so with profit to the worshippers.15
Accordingly on this occasion when the Haphtarah and Parashah were ended, the Batlanîm—the “men of leisure” who managed the affairs of the synagogue, and corresponded to our churchwardens—sent the Chazzânto ask the strangers if they had any word of exhortation to the people. Some rumour that they were preachers of a new and remarkable doctrine must already have spread in the little Jewish community, and it was evidently expected that they would be called upon. Paul instantly accepted the invitation.16 Usually a Jewish preacher sat down during the delivery of his sermon,17 as is freely done by Roman Catholics abroad; but Paul, instead of going to the pulpit, seems merely to have risen in his place, and with uplifted arm and beckoning finger18—in the attitude of one who, however much he may sometimes have been oppressed by nervous hesitancy, is proved by the addresses which have been preserved to us, to have been in moments of emotion and excitement a bold orator—he spoke to the expectant throng.
The sermon in most instances, as in the case of our Lord’s address at Nazareth, would naturally take the form of a Midrashon what the congregation had just heard in one or other of the two lessons. Such seems to have been the line taken by St. Paul in this his first recorded sermon. The occurrence of two words in this brief address, of which one is a most unusual form,19 and the other is employed in a most unusual meaning,20 and the fact that these two words are found respectively in the first of Deuteronomy and the first of Isaiah, combined with the circumstance that the historical part of St. Paul’s sermon turns on the subject alluded to in the first of these chapters, and the promise of free remission is directly suggested by the other, would make it extremely probable that those were the two chapters which he had just heard read. His sermon in fact, or rather the heads of it, which can alone be given in the brief summary of St. Luke,21 is exactly the kind of masterly combination and application of these two Scripture lessons of the day which we should expect from such a preacher. And when turning to the Jewish Lectionary, and bearing in mind its extreme antiquity, we find that these two very lessons are combined as the Parashah and Haphtarah of the same Sabbath, we see an almost convincing proof that those were the two lessons which had been read on that Sabbath Day in the synagogue of Antioch more than 1,800 years ago.22 Here again we find another minute and most unsuspected trace of the close faithfulness of St. Luke’s narrative, as well as an incidental proof that St. Paul spoke in Greek. The latter point, however, hardly needs proof. Greek was at that time the language of the civilised world to an extent far greater than French is the common language of the Continent. It is quite certain that all the Jews would have understood it; it is very doubtful whether more than a few of them would have understood the Pisidian dialect; it is to the last degree improbable that Paul knew anything of Pisidian; and that he suddenly acquired it by the gift of tongues, can only be regarded as an exploded fancy due to an erroneous interpretation.
St. Paul’s sermon is not only interesting as a sign of the more or less extemporaneous tact with which he utilised the scriptural impressions which were last and freshest in the minds of his audience, but far more as a specimen of the facts and arguments which he urged in his first addresses to mixed congregations of Jews and Proselytes. The numerous and exclusively Pauline expressions23 in which it abounds, show that either notes of it must have been preserved by some Antiochene Christian, or that he must himself have furnished an outline of it to St. Luke.24 It is further important as an indication that even at this early period of his career Paul had been led by the Spirit of God, if not to the full comprehension, at least to the germ, of those truths which he afterwards developed with such magnificent force and overwhelming earnestness. The doctrine of justification by faith, and of the inutility of the works of the law to procure remission of sins, lie clearly involved in this brief but striking sermon, which also gives us some insight into Paul’s method of applying Scripture; into his adoption of the current chronology of his nation;25 and, lastly, into the effects which had been produced upon his mind by the speeches he had heard from St. Peter and from St. Stephen. From the latter of these he borrows his use of what may be called the historic method; from the former, the remarkable Messianic argument for the Resurrection which he founds on a passage in the Second Psalm.26
Beginning with a courteous address to the Jews and Proselytes, and bespeaking their earnest attention, he touched first on that providence of God in the history of Israel of which they had just been reminded in the Haphtarah. He had chosen them, had nurtured them in Egypt, had delivered them from its bondage, had carried them like a nursing father in the wilderness, had driven out seven nations of Canaan before them, had governed them by judges for 450 years, and then for forty years, as tradition said, had granted them for their king one whom— with an allusion to his own name and tribe which is inimitably natural—he calls “Saul, the son of Kish, of the tribe of Benjamin.” Then fusing three separate passages of scriptural encomium on David into one general quotation (13–22) he announces the central truth which it was his mission to preach: that, of David’s seed, God had raised up according to His promise One who, as His very name signified, was a Saviour, and to whom the great acknowledged prophet, John the Baptist, had borne direct witness. It was true that the rulers of Jerusalem—and on this painful side of the subject he dwells but lightly—had, less from deliberate wickedness than from ignorance, put Him to death, thereby fulfilling the direct prophecies of Scripture. But—and this was the great fact on which he relied to remove the terrible offence of the Cross—GOD HAD RAISED HIM FROM THE DEAD (23–31). This was an historic objective fact, to which, as a fact tested by their living senses, many could bear witness. And lest they should hesitate about this testimony, he proceeded to show that it was in accordance with all those prophecies which had been for centuries the most inspiring part of their nation’s faith. The Resurrection to which they testified was the highest fulfilment of the Psalm in which God had addressed David as His son. And there were two special passages which foreshadowed this great truth. One was in Isaiah, where the Prophet had promised to God’s true children the holy, the sure, mercies of David; the other was that on which St. Peter had dwelt in his speech at Pentecost—the confident hope expressed in that Michtam or “Golden Psalm”—that God would not leave his soul in hell, or suffer His holy one to see corruption. More must have been involved in that yearning conviction than could possibly affect David himself. He had died, he had seen corruption; but He of the seed of David whom God had raised—of Him alone was it true that His soul was not left in the unseen world, and His flesh had not seen corruption. What they had to preach, then, was forgiveness of sins through Him. In the Mosaic Law—and once more Paul touched but lightly, and in language least likely to cause offence, upon this dangerous ground—remission of sins was not to be found; but there was not only remission, but justification, for all who believed in Jesus. A quotation from Habakkuk formed the striking peroration of a sermon which had been thus weighted with awful truths and startling testimony. It warned them that however startling that testimony might be, yet if they disbelieved it as their fathers had disbelieved the threat of Chaldean retribution, the contempt of insolent derision might be followed by the astonishment of annihilating doom (32–41).27
Thus, from the standpoint of those who heard him— commenting on the passages which had just sounded in their ears—appealing to the prophecies in which they believed—quoting, or alluding to, the Scriptures which they held so sacred—relying on the history to which they clung with such fond affection, and pouring his flood of light on those “dark speeches upon the harp” which had hitherto wanted their true explanation—thus mingling courtesy and warning, the promises of the past and their fulfilment in the present—thus drowning the dark horror which lay in the thought of a crucified Messiah in the dawning light of His resurrection—did St. Paul weave together argument, appeal, and testimony to convince them of the new and mighty hope which he proffered, and to foreshadow that which was so difficult for them to accept—the doing away of the old as that which, having received its divine fulfilment, must now be regarded as ineffectual symbol and obsolete shadow, that in Christ all things might become new.28
It was not surprising that a discourse so powerful should produce a deep effect. Even the Jews were profoundly impressed. As they streamed out of the synagogue, Jew and Gentile alike29 begged that the same topics might be dwelt on in the discourse of the next Sabbath;30 and after the entire breaking up of the congregation, many both of the Jews and of the Proselytes of the Gate followed Paul and Barnabas for the purpose of further inquiry and conversation. Both at that time and during the week the Apostles did all they could to widen the knowledge of these inquirers, and to confirm their nascent faith.31 Meanwhile the tidings of the great sermon spread through the city. On the following Sabbath a vast crowd, of all ranks, nationalities, and classes, thronged the doors of the synagogue. Immediately the haughty exclusiveness of the Jews took the alarm. They were jealous that a single address of this dubious stranger, with his suspicious innovations, should have produced a greater effect than their years of proselytism. They were indignant that one who seemed to have suddenly dropped down among them from the snows of Taurus with an astonishing gospel should, at a touch, thrill every heart with the electric sympathy of love, and achieve more by one message of free salvation than they had achieved in a century by raising a prickly hedge around the exclusive sanctity of their Law. Paul—again the chief speaker—no longer met with attentive and eager listeners; he was interrupted again and again by flat contradiction and injurious taunts.32 At last both the Apostles saw that the time was come to put an end to the scene, and to cease a form of ministration which only led to excited recriminations. Summoning up all their courage—and few acts are more courageous than the unflinching announcement of a most distasteful intention to an infuriated audience—they exclaimed that now they had done their duty, and discharged their consciences towards their own countrymen. They had made to them the offer of eternal life, and that offer had been disdainfully repudiated.33 “Lo! you may be astonished and indignant, but now we turn to the Gentiles. In doing so we do but fulfil the prophecy of Isaiah, who said of our Lord that He was ordained for a Light of the Gentiles, and for salvation to the ends of the earth.”
Gladly and gratefully did the Gentiles welcome the mission which now to them exclusively made free offer of all, and more than all, the blessings of Judaism without its burdens. All who, by the grace of God, decided to range themselves in the ranks of those who desired eternal life34 accepted the faith. More and more widely35 the word of the Lord began to spread. But the Jews were too powerful to be easily defeated. They counted among their proselytes a large number of women, of whom some were of high rank.36 Their commercial ability had also secured them friends among the leading people of the city, who were the municipal Roman authorities. Tolerant of every legalised religion, the Romans had a profound distaste for religious embroilments, and so long as the Jews behaved peaceably, were quite willing to afford them protection. Knowing that all had gone smoothly till these new–comers had appeared, they were readily induced to look on them with dislike, especially since they were viewed with disfavour by the ladies of their families.37 They joined in the clamour against the Apostles, and succeeded in getting them banished out of their boundaries. The Apostles shook off their feet the deep dust of the parched roads in testimony against them,38 and passed on to Iconium, where they would be under a different jurisdiction.39 But the departure did not destroy the infant Church which they had founded. It might have been expected that they would leave gloom and despondency among their discouraged converts; but it was not so. They left behind them the joy of a new hope, the inspiration of a new faith, the outpouring of the Holy Spirit in the hearts of those who had learnt of the heavenly promise.