April 29
Acts 8:26-40
As I’ve continued recovering from my broken arm, I’ve found myself saying no to fun things that I would ordinarily say yes to. Some things just haven’t been possible, like basketball and bike riding. But other things I think I just said no to because I’ve gotten used to that being the only realistic response. In the past couple weeks, my daughter Maya at various times wanted to make slime, and rock crystals, and plant a garden. And each time, something about the mess and gathering the materials made the projects seem like too much. And lately it hit me that I’ve missed out on a lot of fun moments over the past three months. Moments that I can't get back. Somehow that realization combined with our reading from Acts this morning to bring me back to a piece of a book that caught my attention a while back.
A few months ago I read Between the World and Me, a book written by Ta-Nahesi Coates to his teenage son as an account of his experience living as an African American man in the United States.
Coates, who grew up poor and feeling besieged in Baltimore City, spent some time living in Paris, but had brought his natural wariness from his Baltimore days with him. As he writes, “Even in Paris, I could not shake the old ways, the instinct to watch my back at every pass…” A few weeks in, he became acquainted with a French man who wanted to improve his english and so they met one day to walk and talk. They ended up sharing a bottle of wine and a meal together. But all the time Coates was wondering:
“Was this all some elaborate ritual to get an angle on me? My friend paid and I thanked him. But when we left I made sure he walked out first. He wanted to show me one of those old buildings that seem to be around every corner in that city. And the entire time he was leading me, I was sure he was going to make a quick turn into an alley, where some dudes would be waiting to strip me of … what exactly? But my new friend simply showed me the building, shook my hand, gave me a fine bonne soiree, and walked off into the wide open night. And watching him walk away, I felt that I had missed some part of the experience because of my eyes, because my eyes were made in Baltimore, because my eyes were blindfolded by fear.”
Coates had missed the full experience of joy and friendship and adventure being offered because he was concentrating on the what ifs.
I do that all the time. I bet we all do. Not usually because of fear, necessarily. We miss moments of connection with people around us because we’re caught up on our smartphones. We miss being awed by the beauty of the world because we’re in a hurry to get to the next place. We miss deepening friendships because we’ve already decided what we think that person is like, or what they must think of us. We miss experiencing forgiveness because we’re defensively holding on to old wrongs, or stubbornly holding fast to our rightness. We miss opportunities for joy because we’re afraid of the pain or loss that might eventually accompany it.
We are losing so many moments.
What I love most about our reading from Acts is how Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch make the most of every moment. And I think it’s because they somehow manage to remain open to the third character in this story.
The first two characters are interesting enough.
First, we have Philip. Philip was introduced in the 6th chapter of Acts, when the early church was busting at the seams — and forgetting to take care of some of its widows and orphans — and so the disciples chose 7 men to be deacons. Among them were two names more familiar than the rest — Stephen and Philip. In Acts Chapter 7, pretty new into this deacon work, Stephen was stoned to death and became the first martyr of the church. So here we are, one chapter later, following surviving Deacon Phillip, who remains bravely working for the church and speaking out for Jesus despite his colleague’s recent and fairly horrific death.
And then, of course, our second character is the Ethiopian eunuch. He is not named, but we know a lot about him. He is very powerful — a court official of the queen of Ethiopia, in charge of her entire treasury. He is very rich — he rides a chariot and has in his possession a scroll of the prophet Isaiah, a treasure in those days. He is very educated — handling finances for an important African nation and able to read. And, perhaps most importantly for our story, he is very much a eunuch — he has been castrated so that he would be fit to attend female royalty. And so, despite his power, wealth and education, due to his castration, he is an outsider, both in his country and in the Jewish tradition. He is just returning from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, where he would not have been allowed into worship in the temple because as Deuteronomy states, “No one whose testicles are crushed or whose penis is cut off shall be admitted to the assembly of the Lord.”
(You never know what you might find in the Bible.)
And then there is the mysterious third character, who is easy to gloss over in this reading, and also very easy to miss in our own lives, but without whom we wouldn’t have a story. Depending on the translation, the third character is called “an angel of the Lord”, “the Spirit”, “a messenger of the Lord”, “the Holy Spirit”, “the Spirit of God”, “Ruach" (which means breath of God). Whatever we call it, this character is involved in the story every step of the way.
This is who originally told Philip to head south on the road from Jerusalem to Gaza. A wilderness road to nowhere-worth-going. Philip must have wondered what possible reason there could be to start walking that dusty and dangerous path. And you can easily imagine how this story might have gone differently if Philip had pushed aside that voice that told him to get up and go, and instead, more reasonably and comfortably, stayed in the city with the rest of the disciples, doing the work of feeding widows as assigned. But that isn’t what happened. Instead, as we are succinctly told, Philip “got up and went.”
And so Philip just happens to be in the right place at the right time, because who should come rolling along but the eunuch, who seems to have been following his own stirring from God to visit Jerusalem. And again Philip hears that voice, as the Spirit instructs him to “go over to this chariot and join it.” A strange request — at best embarrassing and presumptuous, and at worst dangerous. And again, you can easily imagine lots of possible responses from Philip that would have changed the course of this story. Philip could have said, “I don’t know him.” Or “I don’t want to know him.” Or “I don’t know what to say to that person who is richer/smarter/more powerful than me.” Or “I’d rather go talk to this person over here that is my religion/sexuality/race.”
But instead of any of that, without question, Philip runs up to the chariot.
And that is where the relationship starts between the two of them, as Philip hears the eunuch reading those familiar words from the prophet Isaiah and their conversation begins. Philip shares his good news. And maybe because of what Philip says, or maybe because of Philip’s openness to him, or maybe because the eunuch also feels the stirrings of the spirit, the eunuch points to a puddle of water and asks, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?”
Now, talk about a leading question. I’m guessing all kinds of things must have flashed through Philip’s mind. All kinds of reasons why this man - this foreigner - this African - this sexually unclean eunuch - this newcomer to the faith - should not be included in the baptism of Jesus. But none of these thoughts cross Philip’s mouth. I’ve got to believe that even though that third character isn’t mentioned in this little piece, Philip’s familiarity with the Spirit, his prior discernment and following that inner voice, is what allows Philip to act now without any hesitation or excuse. Philip commands the chariot to stop, and almost before we know it, the eunuch is baptized and becomes the first African Christian, and is perhaps responsible for the spread of Christianity to that part of the globe. Off he goes on his way rejoicing, feeling more included, more seen, more loved than ever before.
I wonder how often that third character of the Spirit calls us? Maybe to a place we never expected - some wilderness road of our own. Or to some piece of work that we didn’t know we had gifts or passion for. Or to some person that might need our companionship or our help. How often are we asked to enlarge our vision of the world, or our acceptance of the people around us? How often are we invited to share our own good news, or to be open to the good news of another?
And how often do we miss that voice, that stirring, that third character? How often does our blindness or our hard heart or our fear or our assumptions stop us from listening, acting and rejoicing?
Philip and the eunuch both took God up in each moment before them and it changed everything.
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, a theologian and civil rights icon, said once, “In every moment something sacred is at stake.” I wonder how we can be more open to the sacred possibility of every moment? Amen.
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