Background: Acts 8:26-40; Isaiah 53:7; John 3:16
Like many children who attend “big” church, Josiah sat each week during the sermon with a pad and pencil. Idly drawing pictures. Working a few math problems. And listening…far more than he seemed to be…to the sermon being preached.
Over the months, I saw him stop what he was doing on more than one occasion, his ears perking up at a particular point being made. Often, that moment of interest became the subject of probing questions asked to patient and understanding parents. An intelligent young boy, Josiah was hungry for answers.
My grandson toyed with his faith commitment for more than a year. His parents always stopping what they were doing to hear his conversation and let his mind and heart work toward his own decision.
We delighted in Josiah’s decision to accept Christ as savior two weeks ago and celebrated his baptism with him last Sunday, a special moment observed on his eighth birthday. We sat near the back of the worship center, but we could still notice the radiant smile that rose from the baptismal water. I would blame my teary response on allergies, but I don’t think you’d believe me.
This week, that moment reminded me of another new believer in the Bible, who came up from the water rejoicing.
In the days after the Holy Spirit came upon the believers, the early church began to grow in numbers. As it grew, the religious authorities began to crack down on those who professed a faith in the crucified and resurrected Jesus. The persecution caused hardship and misery.
Philip was one of the chosen. A servant and minister. One of seven deacons selected by the 12 to take care of the widows and those in need within the church. After Stephen, one of the seven, was stoned by the zealous Pharisees, many in the early church left Jerusalem, scattered here and there to avoid the coming persecution. Philip went north into Samaria. He preached boldly, leading many to Christ.
In the middle of his ministry in Samaria, Philip felt convicted by the spirit to head south, along the desert road toward the Mediterranean coast. Without knowing why, Philip obediently followed that call.
At the same time, a man from Ethiopia, a Gentile convert to Judaism, spent time in worship at the Temple. He’s described in scripture as a eunuch…and, yes, it means what you think it means. We also know he was a government official, a treasurer in the court of the queen. Trustworthy. Inquisitive. Sincere. Like Josiah, my grandson, hungry for answers.
It’s doubtful this man could have been in Jerusalem and not heard of the commotion surrounding Jesus. His arrest. His drumhead inquisition before Caiaphas, Herod and Pilate. His hasty conviction. His brutal crucifixion. And…the rumors of his resurrection.
The Ethiopian eunuch left Jerusalem with more questions than answers.
Along the way, the man leaned against the frame of the slowly-driven chariot, reading through the Book of Isaiah, the prophet. The words strange and confusing.
“He was lead like a sheep to the slaughter, and as a lamb is silent before its shearer, so He does 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.” (Isaiah 53:7)
He read the words again. And again. No matter how many times he read the passage, its meaning escaped him.
“What are you reading?”
The Ethiopian looked up, startled at the question. Walking beside the chariot was a older man, dressed in a humble robe, dusty from days on the road.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Philip smiled, pointed at the scroll. “Do you understand what you’re reading?”
The man shook his head, still bewildered. “Honestly, no,” he answered. “How can I unless someone explains it to me?”
“Maybe I can help.”
The Ethiopian beckoned him to join him. Philip stepped lightly into the chariot. Reverently, the man placed the scroll in Philip’s outstretched hands.
“Tell me, please, who is the prophet talking about? Himself or someone else?”
With that opening, Philip began to share the good news of Jesus, starting with the prophet’s own words.
The most beautiful story ever told unfolded between two strangers from different cultures, different social classes and different lands. The two men settled into a deep conversation. Questions asked and answered. Philip explained all that the prophets declared. All that had been fulfilled in Christ. All he had personally experienced. All he had heard and been taught.
Philip shared the message of grace and mercy of a loving God who worked through time to bring salvation to a lost and misguided world…a grace, not just for Jerusalem, but for Judea, for Samaria and for the ends of the world.
The Ethiopian man listened with an ear open to the words he was hearing and the spirit of God pulling at his heart.
When his soul could bear no more, the man held up his hand, stopping Philip mid-sentence. He pointed to a small oasis on the barren landscape less than a quarter mile in the distance. Its refreshing water shimmering in the afternoon sun.
“Look, here is water,” he said, “What can stand in the way of my being baptized?”
Philip’s grin stretched ear to ear. He clapped him on the shoulder, “Not a thing, my friend. Not a thing.”
The Ethiopian ordered his driver to stop the chariot. He and Philip dismounted and walked with purpose into the pond. With his confession of faith, the man looked at Philip with expectation. Philip bowed in prayer in joy and gratitude to God. Grateful that God had brought him to this place.
Taking the man in his arms, Philip lowered him into the water. As he brought him up again, the water streamed down the man’s face, mingling with tears of joy, his smile as radiant as the sun.
“And he went away rejoicing.”
It’s funny. I have a pretty good imagination. When I read stories like this in the Bible, I can close my eyes and see it happening in vivid color.
When I read this story again this week, I could see the ornate chariot, two Nubian men dressed in fine robes, joined by one who looked more like a Jewish shepherd. I can see them standing waist deep in a green, muddied pond, surrounded by reeds and brush. I see Philip lower this man into the water. I couldn’t, however, for the life of me picture this Ethiopian man as Philip lifted him out. I could not see his face.
All I could see in my mind’s eye was Josiah coming up out of that water with that smile on his face. You only see that kind of smile when someone truly understands what it means to be loved by God. Only when you’ve open the greatest gift ever given.
“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son so whoever believes in him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16)
I saw the same look in his brother Eli’s face two years ago. The same smiles on the faces of my two sons decades ago. And, I suspect if I had a mirror before me in that baptistry in that little church in Ropesville, Texas, some 58 years ago, it would have been the same smile on my face.
I’m grateful for Adam and Jordan, Josiah’s parents, for being his Philip. They were the ones who asked him, “Do you understand what you’re reading? Do you understand what you’re hearing?” I’m grateful that Josiah asked them to jump in the chariot with him. They were the ones who led him to make the most important decision of his life. I’m equally grateful for his older brother, Eli, who, by his own profession of faith, created a path for Josiah to follow.
I’m grateful for a pastor who preaches the gospel of Christ in truth and love in ways that even an eight-year-old can understand. I’m thankful for Josiah’s Sunday School teachers who taught those significant lessons that opened his eyes and heart. I’m grateful for my church who promises to love him and let him love them in return.
I am especially grateful that Robin and I have a new brother in Christ.
