- Covered In His Dust
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- Acts Chapter 17 (part 2)
"When disciples followed a rabbi, they followed him closely so they would never be out of his sight, never be someplace where they couldn’t hear him speak. They followed him so closely that his sandals often kicked up dust."
May you be covered in His dust.
If this is your first time getting Covered in His Dust, WELCOME!
👉🏽 Read Chapter 17 HERE before reading my notes. If you don’t, my notes won’t make as much sense.
You can access previous notes on Acts and Luke HERE.
No better way to close the day, saints—let’s open the Scriptures.
When we left off in Acts 17, the same Jews who drove Paul out of Thessalonica pursued him to Berea, determined to stop his message from spreading. Fearing for his safety, the believers sent Paul to Athens, but Timothy and Silas stayed behind.
That’s where we’ll pick up today. If you missed it, CLICK HERE for Acts 17 (part 1).
Preaching to a City of Idols.
Athens was treated differently from most cities under Rome. It had a special status—Rome let it govern itself instead of putting it under strict control. The city kept its own laws, government, and way of life. Why? Because Rome admired Athens. They saw it as the center of philosophy, learning, and culture. So instead of ruling it with an iron fist, they gave it more freedom. But that didn’t mean total independence. Athens still had to stay loyal to Rome, and Roman influence was always there.
What was Paul’s first move when he arrived in Athens?
So he reasoned in the synagogue with the Jews and the devout persons, and in the marketplace every day with those who happened to be there.
Paul didn’t waste time. He didn’t hire a tour company to see the sights. He went straight to the synagogue and the marketplace, looking for people to talk to about Jesus.
If that’s not convicting, I don’t know what it.
Athens was like London or San Francisco today—a place full of culture, ideas, and innovation. People would walk its streets, amazed by its history and intellectual energy. But beneath all that, it was spiritually lost, filled with idols and human wisdom that couldn’t satisfy the deepest need—the truth of God.
Paul looked past the majestic buildings, the philosophers, and the culture. He didn’t see a great city—he saw lost souls. He saw everyone walking the streets through eternity’s eyes.
The pride of Athens meets the Truth.
Some of the Epicurean and Stoic philosophers also conversed with him. And some said, “What does this babbler wish to say?” Others said, “He seems to be a preacher of foreign divinities”—because he was preaching Jesus and the resurrection.
The Epicureans had a simple goal—avoid pain, find peace, and enjoy life.
They believed in a quiet, stress-free life surrounded by good friends, simple pleasures, and no unnecessary worries.
They thought everything, including the soul, was just made of tiny particles. When you died, those particles scattered, and that was it.
No afterlife.
No judgment.
No resurrection.
Just.
nothing.
That’s why Paul’s message in Athens was a problem. He didn’t just talk about some new idea—he talked about Jesus, the resurrection, and a God who actually cared.
That went against everything the Epicureans believed. They mocked him, calling him a “babbler.”
The Greek word for "babbler” is σπερμολόγος (spermologos). It literally means "seed picker." It was an insult—like calling someone a scavenger of ideas.
The philosophers in Athens saw Paul as a guy grabbing random thoughts and repeating them without really understanding. To them, he wasn’t a serious thinker, just someone rambling about strange new ideas.
Their thinking didn’t die out in ancient Greece. Epicurean thought laid the foundation for atheism. The whole “just live for today” mindset is nothing new.
The Stoics were the other major group of philosophers Paul ran into in Athens.
What Did the Stoics Believe? Reason Over Emotion. Pain, suffering, hardship—none of it really mattered. What mattered was how you handled it. The goal was to stay calm, unshaken, and in control at all times.
Stoics believed god was everywhere, a divine force that held the universe together. But their god wasn’t personal. It wasn’t someone you could know—just an energy that existed in everything.
The Epicureans lived for pleasure and avoided pain.
The Stoics mastered their emotions and accepted fate.
But neither had hope beyond this life.
Then Paul showed up.
The Areopagus: the courtroom most Christians miss
And they took him and brought him to the Areopagus, saying, “May we know what this new teaching is that you are presenting? For you bring some strange things to our ears. We wish to know therefore what these things mean.” Now all the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there would spend their time in nothing except telling or hearing something new.
Why don’t I remember the Areopagus? Ever. It’s a reminder of how I’ve read the Bible most of my life.
Lazy.
Skimming.
Assuming.
Missing the weight of what’s actually there.
I’ve probably read it 20 times and thought, “Oh, it’s where great ideas were discussed.” And I wouldn’t be far off—except I was.
© Copyright 2016 Andrey Omelyanchuk
Mars Hill, also known as the Areopagus, was a prominent rock outcrop in Athens where important matters were discussed. It was both a physical location and a governing council.
The Areopagus wasn’t just a place for casual philosophical debates. It was more like a governing council—where serious matters were examined.
Originally, it was the most prestigious court in Athens, handling cases of homicide, arson, and other major crimes. By Paul’s time, its focus had shifted. Now, it oversaw matters of religion, morality, and public teaching—ideas that could shape Athenian society.
The great philosopher Socrates was tried and condemned in Athens centuries earlier (399 BC) for introducing new gods and corrupting the youth. His sentence? Death by poison.
Socrates was a thinker, a questioner, a man who challenged the traditions of Athens. He asked hard questions, forcing people to examine what they believed. But that made him dangerous. The leaders of Athens saw him as a threat.
Centuries later, Paul stood before the Areopagus for a similar reason. He was accused of preaching something new, something that challenged the way people thought about God.
Socrates received the death sentence.
Paul was questioned and heard.
Some mocked him.
Others leaned forward, curious.
So Paul, standing in the midst of the Areopagus, said: “Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious. For as I passed along and observed the objects of your worship, I found also an altar with this inscription: ‘To the unknown god.’
What caught Paul’s attention?
Athens was filled with statues, and altars, and idols. Ancient writers even remarked on how many there were. The Roman writer Petronius once said, "It is easier to find a god in Athens than a man."
The Greek word for "full of idols" (κατείδωλον, kateidolon) suggests the city was completely swamped with them.
He stands before them—Athenians, philosophers, thinkers. Some watch with curiosity, others with folded arms, smirking, just waiting for a reason to mock him. The air is thick with skepticism, but a few lean in, drawn by something they can’t quite name.
And then—
You can almost hear him declare:
You have an altar to an unknown God. He is not unknown—He is the Lord of heaven and earth.
What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you.
The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything.
Paul isn’t just giving a sermon. He’s going straight to the front lines of idolatry.
Athens was the heart of Greek philosophy, a place that prided itself on wisdom, debate, and human reasoning. And here comes Paul—not with a new idea, not with another philosophy to add to their collection, but with the truth.
He doesn’t open the Scriptures like he did in the synagogues. He doesn’t talk about Abraham or Moses. That wouldn’t mean anything to them. Instead, he starts where they are.
“You worship what you do not know—let me tell you about Him.”
He builds a bridge. He doesn’t compromise, doesn’t water it down, but he speaks their language. He quotes their poets. He meets them where they are—but he refuses to leave them there.
God doesn’t live in temples. He isn’t served by human hands. He isn’t distant.
He isn’t like the gods of Athens—made of gold, and stone, and human imagination. He is the Creator of…
Everything.
And not only that—He commands all people everywhere to repent.
And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him.
Yet he is actually not far from each one of us, for “‘In him we live and move and have our being’; as even some of your own poets have said, “‘For we are indeed his offspring.’
Paul is quoting two Greek poets
“In him we live and move and have our being” – This is likely from Epimenides of Crete, a 6th-century BC philosopher and poet.
“For we are indeed his offspring” – This comes from Aratus, a 3rd-century BC Stoic poet from Cilicia (the same region Paul was from), specifically from his poem Phaenomena.
You can almost feel the tension rising.
And then comes the moment that divides the room.
The Resurrection: The line in the sand
This is where everything changes.
The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.”
They listen when he talks about God. They’re intrigued when he speaks of creation. But the moment Paul mentions the resurrection—everything shifts.
Because resurrection doesn’t fit in their worldview.
They can tolerate a lot of ideas. But this?
This is different.
This isn’t just another theory to debate. If it’s true, it changes everything.
Some walk away. Some laugh. But others lean in.
“We will hear you again about this.”
Among them is Dionysius the Areopagite, a man of influence. And a woman named Damaris, whose name is now written in the pages of Scripture.
They believed.
And just like that, the gospel broke into the heart of Athens.
Paul wasn't just bold—he was well-read and spoke with precision. He understood his audience. He knew how to engage without compromise.
But in the end, it all came down to this:
Truth isn’t a debate to be won—it’s a King who walked out of the grave.
Repent. Believe. Follow.
What we have in Acts 17 is almost certainly a summarized version of Paul’s speech. Luke, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, recorded the key points, but Paul’s full address was likely much longer.
Think about it—Paul is standing before the Areopagus, addressing some of the most intellectual minds of the ancient world. There’s no way he just spoke for two minutes and walked away. He was explaining the one true God to people steeped in philosophy and idol worship.
Luke does this elsewhere in Acts, too. For example, Stephen’s speech in Acts 7 and Paul’s defense in Acts 22 are likely condensed versions. The biblical writers often recorded the essence of a speech, not necessarily every word.
I loved Chapter 17!
It was incredible—Paul preaching in Athens, reasoning with the philosophers at the Areopagus, and declaring that God doesn’t dwell in temples made by human hands. It’s one of the most powerful moments in the book.
But Acts 18? It doesn’t slow down. Paul arrives in Corinth, one of the most morally corrupt cities in the Roman world. He meets Aquila and Priscilla, who become some of his closest ministry partners. He preaches in the synagogue, faces rejection (again), and boldly declares, “From now on I will go to the Gentiles.”
One Minute Inspiration
I love you,
George
Uncovering Scripture
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George Sisneros is a full-time missionary in Guatemala and the founder of Ordinary Missionaries and the El Rosario Christian Academy for Boys.
He’s been married to his wife, Vonda, for 26 years. He’s a father to nine children, five adopted.
In 2024, George and his wife expanded to Cuba, joining forces with nine pastors committed to transforming lives through the gospel.