Acts 8:26-40
The main character in our story today is so different from us that it can be hard for us to relate.
We are not positive about his religion. He was possibly a Gentile, given the demographics of his geographic location. But since he traveled all the way to Jerusalem to worship, many scholars believe he was a Jew. He was an Ethiopian and a court official, in charge of the queen’s treasury. As such, he had money and power, influence and status. His opinion was requested; his favor was sought. And yet, few people envied him because of his other primary identifying characteristic. He was a eunuch.
We have limited knowledge of eunuchs in New Testament times. Most scholars agree that they were castrated males, and so they were usually trusted with the wives and daughters of royalty, as well as in other court capacities. But we’re unclear how they became eunuchs – by accident or disease or from birth. We’re unclear if eunuchs were made court officials because they were eunuchs, or if people chosen to serve as court officials were “made eunuchs” for the role.
This particular man had traveled many miles, from Ethiopia to Jerusalem, to worship – at least 500 miles, maybe 1000. Even by chariot, the journey would have taken many days.
What is startling, however, is that this man was not even allowed in the temple. The Book of Deuteronomy forbids anyone who has been castrated to enter the temple. So this Ethiopian traveled a minimum of 500 miles to worship at a temple he wasn’t even allowed to enter. If he was a devout Jew, he would have known the law, especially one that related to his condition in life.
Why did he do it? Did he come to see for himself? Did he come hoping it would be different?
Or was his desire to worship so strong that he just came anyway? – thinking that at least he could be near the temple, thinking maybe he could stand outside and hear the prayers, thinking maybe his pilgrimage would make him worthy.
Or what if he snuck in? That would have been difficult because, with his dark skin and fine clothes and the chariot double-parked out front, I think he would have stood out a bit. I’ve never heard of there being bouncers, so I guess it’s possible that he snuck in just to participate in the community, just to pretend for a moment that he was allowed. But even if he did, he knew they wouldn’t welcome him if they knew who he really was.
Or maybe he didn’t know this rule before he came 500 miles – and he had just learned that he wasn’t welcome in the temple. Maybe he came expecting to be welcomed, only to encounter the law that locked him out.
So he was riding home after his pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and he was sitting in his chariot reading from the scroll of Isaiah. We don’t know how he got such a rare and valuable object, but he was reading it when he came across these words:
He was led like a sheep to the slaughter, and as a lamb before the shearer is silent, so he did not open his mouth. In his humiliation he was deprived of justice. Who can speak of his descendants? For his life was taken from the earth.
Of course this man would be drawn to these words. After having just been excluded from the temple because he is a eunuch, he would be drawn to the story of someone else who had no descendants, someone else who was deprived of justice.
When Philip appeared and offered to help interpret the scripture, the Ethiopian asked, “About whom does the prophet say this, about himself or someone else?” I wonder if he was asking, “Is Isaiah talking about himself, or is he talking about me?”
Philip used the scripture to tell the Ethiopian about Jesus. I wish I knew what Philip said because it must’ve been one heck of a sermon! Through Philip’s explanation, the Ethiopian heard something for which he had been longing – that all are welcome. No matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey….
Although Philip was interpreting Isaiah 53, what he evidently was offering the Ethiopian is the fulfillment of the prophecy found three chapters later, in Isaiah 56:
Let not the foreigner who has joined himself to the LORD say, “The Lord will surely separate me from the Lord’s people.” Nor let the eunuch say, “Behold, I am a dry tree.” For thus says the Lord, “To the eunuchs who keep My sabbaths, and choose what pleases Me, And hold fast My covenant, To them I will give in My house and within My walls a memorial, And a name better than that of sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name . . . And make them joyful in my house of prayer; . . . For my house will be called a house of prayer for all the peoples.”
Isaiah prophesied of this day, and when the Ethiopian heard Philip’s words, he discovered the fulfillment of that prophecy.
I need to pause here to clarify that I’m not labeling Judaism “bad” for its exclusion and Christianity “good” for its inclusion: First, Philip was not converting the Ethiopian to Christianity – it didn’t exist yet. Second, the Christian church has done plenty excluding of its own.
But this particular man- this Ethiopian eunuch who had just experienced exclusion – in that moment experienced hope. He asked Philip, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?”
It is a wonderful question. What is to prevent me? What is to prevent me from following Christ? What is to prevent me from faith? What is to prevent me from joining the community?
Well, if we’re talking about the church today, there is plenty.
Many people are prevented from coming to church by distance – not geographical distance in most cases, but cultural distance. For too many years, too many churches hid behind stained glass windows and bully pulpits, arguing minutia instead of engaging in ministry. We picked the wrong battles until we were tilting at windmills that we, ourselves, had built.
Over the years the church has said:
you’re not welcome because you’re divorced;
you’re not welcome because you’re not married;
you’re not welcome because you’re in an interracial marriage;
you’re not welcome because you don’t know how to dress;
you’re not welcome because you’re not like me.
One of the biggest problems of the contemporary church is that we offer a pound of prevention and if people do finally get here, we offer an ounce of cure.
So what we have done is create distance between the church and those who need it. The church may be just around the corner, but to some folks it may feel like a journey of 500 miles.
What is to prevent them? Religion that is irrelevant to real life.
There is one good way to show the world that our faith is relevant to our lives: by actually allowing it to change our lives. We need to show that our faith has the power of transformation by actually allowing it to transform us – our attitudes and actions, our social life and our politics.
I believe in the separation of church and state. What I don’t believe in is the separation of moral values and public policy. What I don’t believe in is separating our faith into this little box over here and not allowing it to mix with the rest of life. What I don’t believe in is holding our religion in one hand and our politics in the other, and not letting the left hand know what the right hand is doing. We must allow our religion to be relevant to our whole lives if we are to eliminate the distance between the church and where people actually live.
But it’s not all about the church. Our ministry is not all about drawing people to church. Our ministry, our calling, is to lead people into abundant life …
life that is not limited by location or occupation;
life that is not bound by brutality or futility;
life that is not restricted by race or place on the socioeconomic scale.
This week my heart has wept for the people of Baltimore, just as it did for the people of Ferguson last fall. We have seen violence erupt out of the volcano of hatred and injustice. I am opposed to the violence, and I do not condone what a relatively small group of people have done in terms of looting and property damage. But I am even more opposed to the violence against their souls that has brought them to such a place. What is to prevent them from abundant life?
What is to prevent them from receiving a baptism of grace? A society that teaches them every day that they are of little value. A system that gives them a greater chance of going to jail than going to college. A culture that demonstrates at every turn that hope is futile. What is to prevent them? So many things I cannot even articulate. So perhaps the question for us is:
What is to prevent us from challenging the system?
What is to prevent us from changing the world?