In Middlemarch, the classic novel of manners by George Eliot, there's an exchange about the new doctor in town, Dr. Lydgate.

Of course, everyone wants to know just what sort of guy he is.

He’s the second cousin of a rich man—which means he’s from an “important family”—a critical social marker. The fact that he’s a doctor also redounds to his credit. Respectable, you know.

Dorothea Brooke, the idealistic young woman who stands as a sort of nineteenth-century feminist, isn’t impressed. When asked for a description, she says, ”Oh, tallish, dark, clever—talks well—rather a prig, I think."

"I never can make out what you mean by a prig," said Rosamond.

"A fellow who wants to show that he has opinions."

"Why, my dear, doctors must have opinions," said Mrs. Vincy. "What are they there for else?"

"Yes, mother, the opinions they are paid for. But a prig is a fellow who is always making you a present of his opinions."

I don’t know about you, but the #MeToo movement made me acutely aware of what is now a common word that has to do with patronizing men describing something to a woman that she already knows … usually better than he does. Mansplaining.

You know what I’m talking about.

“When a man feels compelled to condescendingly explain something to a woman on a topic that any reasonable person could see she knows more about than he does” is how the Urban Dictionary defines it.

Woman speaking to another woman: “I don’t want to drink too much tonight, I have to work in the morning.”

Man standing near them at the bar: “Actually, if you drink a glass of water and take an ibuprofen before you go to bed, you won’t be hungover.”

Woman: “Thank you for mansplaining, but I’m less concerned with alcohol-induced dehydration and more concerned with getting to bed at a decent hour.” (Urban Dictionary)

A lot of folks apparently thought this was an apt description of Paul—but not just with women. Paul struck just about everyone he came in contact with as mansplainer in chief—convinced he knew more about just about everything than everybody else.

Hard to blame them, isn’t it? I mean, just look at how our passage for this morning develops. At the beginning of chapter 17, Paul heads to Thessalonica after passing through Amphipolis and Apollonia.

What’s the first thing Paul does?

Verse two says, “And Paul went in, as was his custom, and on three Sabbath days argued with them from the scriptures.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but that description of Paul strikes me as an ominous beginning to a rather unflattering story. Paul charges through the Thessalonian synagogue like Tucker Carlson at an ACLU convention.