As I mentioned last week, the further and further we get away from Easter, the lectionary begins to move us toward Pentecost, the day we associate with the giving of the Holy Spirit. The focus of the readings shifts from emphasising solely the resurrection of Christ to adding in the presence of the Holy Spirit. Indeed, today we hear readings that clearly speak of the Spirit as a vibrant and active force already at work in people’s lives.
The story from the Book of Acts is plain and simply extraordinary. It is not just a story about Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch — it is a story about the movement of the Holy Spirit that leads a person to baptism and to proclamation of the salvation story. From the first verses of this story, we realise that something unusual is at work here. Peter and John have returned to Jerusalem after having worked in Samaria. We expect to hear that Philip will accompany them or will set out for some other territory. Instead, an angel directs him to take the road from Jerusalem to Gaza, a road that is ‘wilderness’ or ‘desert.’ Rather than being summoned to a promising population centre, Philip is being sent to the middle of nowhere.
A detail ambiguous in the Greek and obscured in our translations makes the angel’s instructions even more astonishing. We hear in the NRSV translation that the angel tells Philip to ‘go toward the south.’ It also can mean to ‘go at noon.’ Most translations go with the easier thing to understand — ‘go south’ — rather than the harder translation — ‘go at noon’ — because travel at noon in the Mideast is perilous for the simple reason that it is inhospitably hot at that hour. That may well be Luke’s point, though, because Philip is placed in a place and time of vulnerability where he might encounter God. Like Paul on his way to Damascus, Philip is out in the midday, sun, a time when no one in their right mind would be out. Equally bizarre, Philip is out in the wilderness, a place where no one lives. Yet Philip travels at God’s request.
What Philip finds out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the day is dazzling and astonishing. He runs across a traveller who defies one’s stereotypes of potential converts. The fact that Luke’s description of this traveller is so detailed makes us once again stop and realise that something extraordinary is in the works. Philip encounters an ‘Ethiopian eunuch, a court official of the Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, in charge of her entire treasury.’ There is a fascination with this man: writers of Luke’s time period spoke of the Ethiopians as handsome and admirable people who came from the far reaches of the world. This particular individual serves with great authority in the queen’s court… but he is also a eunuch, a physical condition that would prevent him from ever becoming a Jewish convert because he is ritually incomplete specimen of the male human being. Yet it is assumed that this man has been to Jerusalem to worship, sympathetic with Jewish practises. These are not inconsequential details. They once again alert us to the possibility of something extraordinary.
The scenario that ensues is vivid. An angel of the Lord tells Philip to go over to the eunuch’s chariot and join him. The eunuch is reading out loud the prophet Isaiah, in particular, the passage about the suffering servant — perhaps someone with whom the eunuch could relate. Philip asks the eunuch a question that is a universal and timeless one: ‘Do you understand what you are reading?’ The eunuch’s answer belies his hunger for knowledge. ‘How can I, unless someone guides me?’ With that invitation, Philip proclaims our salvation story of Jesus in light of the prophets.
One might already deduce that the Holy Spirit is at work here — it is the Spirit that guides — rather, propels — Philip over to join someone whom he undoubtedly would have gone right by otherwise. It is perhaps the Spirit, too, that gives Philip the capacity to tell the story of Jesus. Certainly it is the Spirit who moves within the eunuch’s heart and prompts a response to the story of salvation that Philip has just told.
As the two go on, they pass some water, and the eunuch demands that the chariot stop. The eunuch realises there is nothing to prevent him from being baptised and he asks that Philip to baptise him in the water. Philip does so, and when they come up out of the water, the Spirit snatches Philip away. It is less important here that Philip ends up at Azotus. What matters here is that the eunuch goes on his way rejoicing in the power of the Spirit.
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The comparison between the eunuch and Philip is useful because I think it represents two of the ways that we respond to God’s initiative through the Holy Spirit in our lives. The first response is characterised by the eunuch: the active desire to seek after God and find the Holy Spirit at work in our lives. The Ethiopian is hungry, thirsting for God’s presence, desirous of following God’s commandments. Somehow, deep in the man’s heart, even though he considered by society to be a freak, he realises that God loves absolutely everyone and that somehow God will find him and he will find God. His heart is open to the movement of the Spirit. It is by the grace of the Spirit that he is baptised. Even after his baptism, he remains an active seeker and follower of God, for he goes away rejoicing, undoubtedly now someone else who will tell the story of salvation through Jesus Christ.
Philip represents a lot of the already-baptised. He has received the gifts of the Holy Spirit in baptism, but now his initiative is zilch. He does not exhibit the same inquisitive and hungry heart as the Ethiopian; nor is his faith as energetic. He does what he is told to do, but little more. He does not say ‘no’ outright to the urgings of the Holy Spirit — he follows the angel’s amazing order, it is true, and he answers the eunuch’s questions. But he definitely needs some outside prodding.
Somewhere in between these two extremes is where I suspect most of us land. There are moments of glory when our hearts have been set on fire, burning with the presence of the Holy Spirit; when we are charged up to answer God’s call; when we are starving for more knowledge and insights about our questions of faith; when we are jubilantly telling our faith story in whatever way is most comfortable for us. These moments of intensity are rare but they are possible.
Those intense moments are good to remember for the other times of our faith journey when we obediently do as God calls us to do, but perhaps we answer God’s prodding with lackluster response. We go about our prayer routinely, doing it because we know it is good to do, but we don’t experience any great moments of joy or certitude. We reach out on occasion to the marginalised because the Spirit moves us but the reaching out does not happen on its own accord as an instinctive reflex.
What is crucial, though, in order for us to be aware of the Spirit, no matter where we are, is to have open hearts, a disposition of heart — hearts ready to perceive the nudges of the Spirit, hearts poised to hear the small still voice of God calling us. That is done by being faithful day in and day out to our baptismal vows. If we are steady and faithful to those promises to ourselves, our community and God, the Spirit can then find a place to work in our lives even when we don’t think there is much with which to work.
What is consoling is whether we are in the shoes of the eunuch or of Philip or somewhere in between, the Spirit works in all these moments. The Spirit is always there with us, abiding in us, guiding us, showing us the Way, the Truth, and the Life, that is Christ before us, Christ behind us, Christ around us, Christ within us.
[roses by Mary of the Streets icon, Chapel]
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