Jews were no longer welcome. To the Jews, Paul said, "Your blood be upon your own heads. I am clean. From henceforth my mission is to the Gentiles" (Acts 18:6).

Paul asked nothing of the sick and crippled Gentiles who came to hear him preach except that they sit through at least one complete apostolic sermon – which they sometimes did, which also goes to show just how earnestly they wished to be healed: for no one would ever have sat through one of Saint Paul's marathon sermons if all they needed was a cure for the common cold.

The apostle Paul was such a windbag that his Bible lessons would last all day long and into the night, and sometimes into midweek, or until the last auditor packed up and went home. He also interrupted himself with frequent bouts of weeping. Indeed, the weirdest thing about Paul's sermons, after he misplaced "Paul's Proof," is that the apostle often wept copiously, like the Rev. Jimmy Swaggart, only not for the same reason (Acts 20:19, 31).

Those sick Gentiles who survived to the end of the sermon were invited by Paul, with the tears still streaming down his cheeks, to come forward at the altar call; and if the holy Ghost was upon him, Paul on those days, smiling at last through his tears, would pass out miracles like candy. Or at least, I never actually saw him do it, but that's what he said, and I do believe him, that he would often heal people after the sermon was over.

 I remember one Sunday, in Troas, when Paul was preaching in a third floor tenement. As usual, his sermon lasted all day long and into the night, with no sign of relief or breakfast in sight, when there was a sudden, brief, and unscheduled intermission: that's when a young man named Eutychus, who had been sitting in the window to get a little fresh air, dozed off instead, and fell off the sill into the garden (Acts 20:6-8).

Saul's sermon, now in its sixteenth hour, was interrupted by a couple of sisters in Christ who called out the window, "Pssst! Eutychus! Are you okay?" (Acts 20:9).

Eutychus just groaned, face down in the flowers, with his arms and legs stretched out in a big X. The two girls raised their hand and told Paul what had happened (he hadn't seen it, because he had been preaching the need for repentance, and his eyes were still filled with tears).

Paul stopped speaking, dashed out of the room, down the stairs, out the door, and into the garden, to see if the young man was all right.

Eutychus was not all right. He just lay there, moaning.

Paul – who was always a little too theatrical for my taste – lay himself down on top of the youth, as if he wished to be doing the Brokeback Mountain hoochie-koo. Don't get me wrong: the apostle had only the most honourable of intentions: he wished only to say a prayer for the injured boy. But that was the funniest posture for prayer I ever saw (Acts 20:10).

By this time, other Christians had come outside to watch. What they found was poor Eutychus, badly hurt, underneath, face down; and a fat, bald missionary, with a big belly, a big butt, and a big ego, on top.

"Don't trouble yourselves," said Paul to the onlookers, "there's life in him!" (Acts 20:11).

When Paul stood up, Eutychus felt better, almost immediately. "So they carried the young man away, still breathing, and were not a little comforted. But Paul went back upstairs, and broke bread and ate, and talked on and on, for a long while, even until the break of day. He then left town" (Acts 20:12).

– L.