Acts 8:26–40 and Saint John 15:1–8
Several years ago, I was asked to serve on the board of a Campus Ministry at the prestigious University on the North Shore.
Because their congregation was made up exclusively of college and graduate students who were incurring enormous debt to get an education the ministry was always scrounging for money. So, as with most board meetings, the conversation was more about money than ministry and I got to thinking about people I knew.
There was a Lutheran church on the south side of town and another on the north side leaving people in the center of town with no place to worship anyplace near what was called the “ministry center.”
I thought about the young couple who had twins under the age of three who weren’t particularly faithful not because they didn’t want to come to church but because even if they started getting ready for church at 8 A.M. by the time they got their children dressed, ready, strapped into their car seats, removed from the car seats because one of them had to go to the bathroom, and stopped them from fussing the only worship they could attend was the 5 P.M. “last chance mass” at Saint Monica’s.
What if we told them there was a “ministry center” with preaching and a full Eucharist every Sunday that they could walk to and would welcome them?
I thought about the older person with the broken hip who might have lived three doors away and who couldn’t drive yet but who could hobble over? Wouldn’t it be great to reach out to them?
I thought about how good it would be for the students to worship and fellowship with people who were not like them.
When I spoke my thoughts aloud the pastor’s response was (And how I wish I was making this up!): “As long as they are not weirdos, it’s okay.”
I thought she was kidding and said: “Hey! Hey! I’m a weirdo and I resent that remark.” The lack of laughter told me that she was not joking in the least.
I was reminded of the classic comment made by Dawn French who played Geraldine Granger in “The Vicar of Dibley” when one of her usually strange parish council meetings went completely off the rails. “I see,” said the ever-patient vicar, “that the last bus from Looneyville has finally arrived.”
Apparently, in some places, people who might need the Gospel must live up to some arbitrary standard that we are creating on the fly before they can join the fellowship. They are welcome so long as they are not “weird.” A stipulation that would exclude not only me but almost everybody I know or would choose to be associated with.
And it probably would exclude the two central characters in today’s reading from the Book of Acts. They both must have thought the other just a little on the weird side.
We would never suspect that the place of the meeting would be a good location for a biblical discussion. Did you hear the word? Did you hear the word where this little tet-a-tet took place. It was in Gaza!
And we may be wondering, can anything good come out of Gaza? A place of distrust, one attack after another, Palestinian versus Israelis, Israelis versus Palestinian, that in the last few weeks have bled over to our college campuses. Gaza is a place where truces never last, anger and retribution rage to the point where now it has been reduced to rubble and refugees.
In this land of violence, it would be weird to listen in on a civil conversation between a Greek-speaking Jew from the Holy Land and a dark-skinned African from Ethiopia.
But here we are and there they are so even though it may feel a little weird it would be well for us to listen in.
Our entire knowledge of Ethiopia may be centered around two images. The famine of the 1980's and the opera “Aida” where the title character is an Ethiopian Princess who is imprisoned by her captures in Egypt. Both images lead us to a land of mystery, intrigue, and, in the case of the opera, ill-fated romance.
The Ethiopian in the chariot is a mix of contradictions. He has an important role and exalted title but he is still and outcast. He may be the Secretary of the Treasury to his queen but he is still, because of the labels put on him by his sexuality, an outcast who “does not conform to the rules set by standard boundaries.”
He is powerless yet powerful, strange yet impressive, ignorant yet knowledgeable. He—indeed even as inscribed on his own body—projects a sense of liminality. That doesn’t mean he is by definition oppressed or an object of pity. It means he might represent surprise, subversion, and expanse.1
He also is a stunning example of how the gospel can help us expand our boundaries and limitations.
Out of the corner of his eye Philip sees someone reading from a scroll of the Prophet Isaiah. The biggest surprise for Philip is that some guy, riding in a chariot, had enough dough to own his very own scroll. Owning your own scroll and racing along in a chariot meant you were super wealthy and a very intriguing character.
Philip races up to him and asks him a question: ““Do you understand what you are reading?”2 The good thing for Philip is that the guy is from Ethiopia and not Chicago. A Chicagoen would have answered, “What’s it to you? Mind your own business! Go away!”
Instead, this very polite man says, in effect, “No. Can you help me?”
Philip, in a really weird moment, steps over the countless boundaries of race, and orientation, clan, and faction and simply tells him about Jesus. So powerful is his witness that the man responds by saying: “Look, here is some water; is there any reason why I should not be baptized now?”3
Well, we might hem-and-haw at this question. “The Church’s historic, embarrassing reply has been plenty of things. “4
Ahh, church order. Church order can think of countless reasons for this sacrament to be withheld. “Isn’t this all a little sudden?” we rational Westerners might ask. “Have you thought about this?” Or, in some traditions, “Are you really willing to walk ‘the saw-dust trail’ and accept Jesus as your Lord and Saviour?” “Do you really want to do this?” “Don’t worry if you’d like to think about this awhile,” in the words that Billy Graham used to conclude every campaign for Christ, “the busses will wait! The busses will wait!”
Neither Philip nor his newfound friend and brother wait a second, or a nano-second. They’re in the river, using who knows what kind of appropriate or inappropriate baptismal formula. Dunking, sprinkling, splashing? They get the job done. Philip disappears and, we are told, the Ethiopian leader, “went on his way rejoicing.”5
Suddenly, the one who wants to be included is included. The foreigners are in; the eunuchs are in. The church’s boundaries are being muddied on the banks of some unknown body of water...jarring us beyond “our comfort zone. Beyond our regulations. Beyond our worshiping of texts over people. Beyond our understanding. Beyond our racism. Beyond our classism. Beyond our control.”
Suddenly, the one who wants to be included is included. The foreigners are in; the eunuchs are in. The church’s boundaries are being muddied on the banks of some unknown body of water...jarring us beyond “our comfort zone. Beyond our regulations. Beyond our worshiping of texts over people. Beyond our understanding. Beyond our racism. Beyond our classism. Beyond our control.6
As a former pastor of mine said once to her congregation on Michigan Avenue’s Magnificent Mile:
God takes our boundaries; God takes our stereotypes; God takes our rules; God takes our expectations; God takes all of that and often God looks at ... it and says, No. I don’t have favorites. Your limits, your litmus tests, your fears—none of that limits me. I embrace whom I embrace and guess what, God says, I have got really long arms.7
Luke reminds us that the Gospel is about new possibilities for everyone! No one is outside of God’s grace. No one is outside of God’s love. No one is outside of the embrace of the Gospel! Jesus was always going to reaching out to the ones on the outside to bring them in. Jesus was always breaking social expectations to make clear that he cared and wouldn’t ever stop caring.
For me, my fellow weirdos, and weirdo Wanna-Be's the idea that Christ has long enough arms to reach across any artificial barriers that might be created is good news. The idea that Christ cares and will never stop caring is amazing news.
For all of you who have ever felt excluded in any way the idea that we have all been embraced by God’s love is good news too.
It is nothing less than the good news of the Gospel of Jesus Christ that is meant for everybody, even weirdos.
________________
1. F. Scott Spencer, “Commentary on Acts 8:26-40,” Working Preacher, April 10, 2024, https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fifth-sunday-of-easter-2/commentary-on-acts-826-40-5.
2. Acts 8:30b. (NRSVUE) [NRSVUE=The New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition]
3. Acts 8:36. (PHILLIPS) [PHILLIPS=J. B. Phillips, The New Testament in Modern English (London, ENG: Collins, 2009)]
4. James C. Howell, “‘What Can We Say April 28? Easter 5,’” James Howell’s Weekly Preaching Notions, accessed April 27, 2024.
5. Acts 8:39d. (NRSVUE)
6. Andrew Foster Conners, “‘Get Up and Go,’” A Sermon for Every Sunday, May 3, 2015, https://asermonforeverysunday.com/tag/andrew-foster-connors/page/2/.
7. Shannon J. Kershner, "Hindering" Sermon preached at The Fourth Presbyterian Church, Chicago, April 24, 2016. http://www.fourthchurch.org/sermons/2016/042416.htm
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