Cross cultural courage | Acts 8 | Dr Chris Howles

What am I doing here? That's not an existential

crisis as I stand at the Oak Hill Chapel pulpit.

But it may well be what Philip was thinking.

As bemused and confused, he stood on a desert

road, far from anywhere, not knowing why he's

there. Why has God brought me here? After all,

in the reading that Matt just gave us, Philip

had been enjoying unparalleled, unprecedented

ministry, evangelistic success in Samaria. He's

been in Jerusalem at the start of chapter eight.

But like so many others, had been scattered by

that Pauline persecution. And he'd ended up in

Samaria where, verse five, he'd been proclaiming

the Messiah. And when the crowds heard Philip

and saw the signs he performed, they all paid

close attention to what he said. Streaks, impure

spirits came out of many and many who were paralyzed

or lame were healed. So there was great joy in

that city. Wow. What a beautiful, bountiful,

blessed ministry. that Philip was enjoying in

Samaria. There's healing, there's deliverance,

there's miracles. And best of all, there is many

turning to faith in Christ, including the spectacular

conversion of a sorcerer, no less. So when an

angel appears in verse 26, there's many things

that we might expect God to say through that

angel to Philip. But perhaps the one thing we

might be least expecting is what the angel does

say. Go. Go on, go south, go into the desert

on the track that leads you through Gaza to Africa.

Now I dropped a Google pin. onto this road as

it looks today it's just a few miles from the

horrors going on in Gaza and even with all the

modern irrigation there's not a huge lot going

on today and there was even less back then the

angel is telling Philip to leave the ministry

momentum that he was enjoying and head out into

the wilderness no crowds no apparent platform

no apparent plan what am I doing here It's a

strange assignment, isn't it, that God gives

him. But God has an appointment for him. And

sure enough, a chariot soon trundles into view.

Now, don't get me wrong, Philip's not a man to

be disturbed by difference. After all, he's been

a missionary among the Samaritans, those others

with a wrong history and wrong temple and wrong

worship. But this man on the chariot coming into

Philip's view will require next level cross -cultural

courage. For everything about this man makes

him a profoundly unlikely candidate to receive

God's grace and truth. For a start, his ethnicity.

Ethiopian. Probably not from the modern nation

state of Ethiopia, but further up the Blue Nile

around modern day Khartoum, the kingdom of Kush,

as it was called, a five month chariot journey

from Jerusalem. A land so distant that it stood

at the very edge of the known world. To the Greek

mind, Ethiopia was the furthest horizons imaginable.

Both Herodotus and Homer speak of Ethiopians

as those literally on the edge of the earth.

You cannot get any further away from the Jewish

religious center than this. What am I doing here?

The kings in that Kushite kingdom were regarded

as divine, too holy to involve themselves in

administration. So it was the queen or the queen

mother that governed. Her title was Kandake and

the royal treasurer kept the books of the kingdom.

So our charioteer here is that treasurer. He's

a powerful figure, but he's a eunuch. Probably

that's why he's so senior. eunuchs could not

father a dynasty so they could be trusted around

a royal harem they could be trusted not to rebel

because without descendants what would be the

point of setting up a rival dynasty eunuchs throughout

entire antiquity were then trusted therefore

to raise to high office so his disfigurement

would have been a decision made for him a procedure

done to him You may rise to significant wealth

and power, but without children, you will always

be an outsider, temporary. Your name dies with

you as a eunuch. Cancellation and condemnation

arising from his castration was deeply embedded

in Jewish culture. And so in Philip's mind and

heart, after all, Deuteronomy 23 says, no one

who has been emasculated by crushing or cutting

may enter the assembly of the Lord. A eunuch

was an ultimate outcast, unclean, untouchable,

unwelcome. This is about as unlikely and unconventional

an evangelistic encounter as Philip could imagine.

What am I doing here? This Ethiopian eunuch is

on his return journey. He's heading back from

Jerusalem. He's gone there to worship. And whilst

he's there, he spends a not inconsiderable amount

of money on a precious scroll. The prophecies

of Isaiah. Now, he's almost certainly not Jewish,

this man, but he's reaching out in some way,

reaching out to Yahweh, perhaps having heard

of him through Jewish diaspora communities further

down the Nile. This man's a Gentile, but he's

a God fearing, perhaps a Sabbath keeping Gentile,

a proselyte. Yet no doubt he would have discovered

in Jerusalem that he was held at arm's length.

Restricted to the outer courts of the temple,

shut out by his anatomy and ethnicity as a castrated

Gentile from the ends of the earth. And now he's

on the long road home, scroll in hand, but he's

desperately in need of a guide. What am I doing

here? Thinks Philip. Go to that chariot, says

the spirit. Him. He's the reason I brought you

here to this desert road. Philip would have had

every reason to do a Jonah and turn around. Him.

Surely not, Lord, he might have objected, just

as Peter does over the page when facing a similar

encounter. But no, Philip listens to the Holy

Spirit's whispers and he obeys. He runs down

that dusty track until he draws level with the

moving chariot and jogging alongside, catching

his breath, he listens. And this man is reading

the scriptures aloud. Do you understand what

you're reading? Philip asks. Brilliant question.

And the reply from the Ethiopian eunuch is humble

and honest. How can I, unless someone explains

it to me? That is the question of a heart wide

open, ready to receive. Do you get a sense of

the kind of divine choreography going on in this

passage? Can you see how the Holy Spirit has

just brought it all together so beautifully?

God is weaving this tapestry of redemption with

threads that stretch far across space and time.

So one of these threads runs from the royal court

in distant Ethiopia, where a powerful official

is granted a hunger for truth. Another thread

runs from the streets of Samaria as Philip learns

to hear and obey the Spirit's voice and move

to the desert road. Another thread is from centuries

earlier as Isaiah's pen scratches prophecy onto

parchment, words that would one day find a home

in this chariot. And even up front, way in the

distance, the distant glint of water in the desert.

Do you see that the spirit has been weaving it

all together? Grace that's just threaded through

geography and history and all converging on this

random desert road outside Gaza. It's stunning.

And so Philip is invited up onto the chariot.

And this is where he and we learn what the man

is reading precisely. It's Isaiah 53. I mean,

seriously, you couldn't script it better, could

you? We know that the whole Old Testament is

calling us to Christ, but this passage is one

of the more clear, obvious, beautiful, profound

passages that does that. Now, Luke gives us two

or three verses that the man was reading, but

there's no reason for us to think that that was

all that he was reading. It's got to be, I presume

it's got to be the whole servant song, at least

the end of chapter 52, all of chapter 53. So

who is this Ethiopian Gentile eunuch reading

about in the scroll? He's reading about a servant

who was marred, disfigured. He's reading about

a servant despised and rejected, a man of suffering,

familiar with pain. One who bore our suffering,

pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our

iniquities. One by whose wounds we are healed.

As sheep who have gone astray, the Lord lays

on him the iniquity of us all. But he will stay

silent amidst all that oppression and affliction.

He will be cut off from the land of the living,

assigned a grave alongside the wicked, pouring

out his life, bearing sins, interceding for transgressors,

a righteous servant who will justify many. That's

the servant of Isaiah 52 and 53. Who is he talking

about? The Ethiopian's question is spot on. Who

is this suffering, smitten, sin -bearing, saving

servant? Who is he? Well, Philip makes it loud

and clear in verse 35. Then Philip, beginning

with that very passage of scripture, told him

the good news about Jesus. Philip begins with

that passage, that servant song, but I doubt

he finishes there. I think we're absolutely right

to assume that Philip unrolls the scroll. A bit

further during that Bible study. And comes to

the next prophecy in our Bibles. It's three chapters

later on. I've got it on the screen for us here.

It's Isaiah 56. And look what it says. For my

salvation is close at hand and my righteousness

will soon be revealed. Let no foreigner who is

bound to the Lord say the Lord will surely exclude

me from his people. And let no eunuch complain.

I am only a dry tree. But this is what the Lord

says to the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths, who

choose what pleases me and hold fast to my covenant.

To them, I will give within my temple and its

walls a memorial and a name better than sons

and daughters. I will give them an everlasting

name that will endure forever. And foreigners

who bind themselves to the Lord, to minister

to him, to love the name of the Lord and to be

his servants, all who keep the Sabbath without

desecrating it and who hold fast to my covenant.

These I will bring to my holy mountain and give

them joy in my house of prayer. Brings me so

much joy to think of the face of the Ethiopian

eunuch. As Philip reads that section and explains

it to him, that in Jesus, those beautiful words

have come to their final fulfilment. Jesus, who

was pierced for our transgressions and crushed

for iniquities, has carried the shame of the

excluded so that the excluded may enter in. Jesus,

who was cut off from the land of the living,

has made it possible for those who were previously

cut off to live forever. Jesus, who became disfigured

so that this disfigured African official on a

dusty desert road might find himself welcomed

into the heart of God's temple and God's people,

not in the outer courts, but in the very presence

of the Lord himself. This eunuch looks down and

the parchment in his hands, it's like a mirror.

in which he sees his own story written there

in Christ, by Christ, through Christ, that salvation

that for Isaiah was merely close at hand has

now come in all fullness. God's righteousness

has been revealed. The foreigner is no longer

excluded. The eunuch is no longer cut off. His

name will be written in the book of life and

will endure forever. And just as we think that

this story can't get any more joyful, the Ethiopian

spots a pool of water in the desert. Look at

that. Look, he says, here is water. What can

stand in the way of my being baptised? And the

answer, of course, is it because of Christ. There

is nothing that can stand in the way of him being

baptised. Not anymore. Christ has removed the

barriers and the blockages. His death brings

life and his exclusion brings inclusion and his

wounds bring healing. And so down into the water

they go. And at that moment, at that moment,

surely Philip is no longer asking, what am I

doing here? For now, he sees clearly this divine

tapestry of redemption, a soul saved. New life

in the desert. That's what he's doing here. And

as they come out the water, the Lord takes Philip

away, apparently supernaturally, and the Ethiopian

is left alone yet rejoicing. The five -month

trip to follow will feel very different from

that day on. It's a beautiful story, isn't it?

There's three things I want us to enjoy in light

of it. I want us to rest in Christ's work, respond

to the Spirit's prompting and reach out to God's

nations. Firstly, let's rest in Christ's work.

Many of us here today will feel the sting of

exclusion in one form or another. A past failure

that feels too ugly to name aloud. A set of habits

that have calcified into a deep sense of unworthiness

in us. A culture or a language or a heritage

that feels somehow second class in certain spaces.

If you, like me, read Acts 8 and immediately

identify with Philip, then maybe that speaks

to certain privileges that we enjoy. There are

many in the world around us and in this college

amongst us who relate to the outsider status

of this Ethiopian eunuch. We all know, don't

we, that the gospel welcomes the foreigner and

the eunuch, the distant and the different. We've

studied that truth, we've written essays about

it, we maybe even preached about it, but some

of us still feel that it applies more naturally

to other people more than ourselves. The ones

who seem to belong better than us, the ones who

find the rhythms of academic life easier, the

ones with the right backgrounds or the confidence

or voice or heritage or accent. In different

ways, actually, all of us. We'll feel that at

some time or another, perhaps in ways that we've

never even admitted out loud to ourselves. So

please, all of us, hear God's voice through Isaiah.

Let no one who is bound to the Lord say, the

Lord will surely exclude me from his people.

No. In Christ, all barriers have fallen. By faith,

by his work on the cross, all are welcomed. All

are wanted. The servant was cut off so that we

all might come in. No more outer courts, no more

arm's length, just grace upon grace in Christ,

the suffering servant. Who can stand in the way?

What can stand in the way? Nothing. Not anymore.

So we rest in Christ's work. Secondly, we respond

to the Spirit's prompting. In Acts 8, the Spirit

is the true missionary. Philip listens and moves,

but it's the Spirit who sends himself, nudges

him towards the chariot. It's the Spirit who

whisks him away when the work is done. It's striking

how little Philip actually kind of initiates

in this whole encounter. There's no plans, no

committees, no strategy. It's just obedience

to the Spirit. There's something in that, isn't

there? To be responsive to the Spirit is to be

interruptible, available, teachable, pliable,

willing to have our schedules rearranged somehow

for the sake of God's purposes. That takes humility,

takes trust. It's horrible to give up control

of our own lives and ministries, isn't it? It

hurts, but it's essential. When a team of students

go out into Southgate to witness to Christ, I've

no doubt they can easily wonder, what am I doing

here? Perhaps similarly, if you find yourself

helping an asylum seeker with some practical

life logistics when you'd rather be writing a

sermon, what am I doing here? When the jobs you

really wanted after college fall through and

you're left with a ministry setting that feels

small or remote, what am I doing here? But the

spirit is at work. To those who listen, our part

is to stay alert and willing and open and interruptible.

God rarely hands us the full blueprint of our

lives for the next 12 years or even the next

12 days or sometimes even the next 12 hours.

But his spirit does give us the next steps. Our

work is to listen. A couple of years ago, the

US Christian band Casting Crowns released a song

which contains these lyrics. God, if there's

a bigger picture, it's getting hard to see today.

I don't know where this is going, but I know

who holds my hand. It's not the path I would

have chosen, but I'll follow you to the end.

Lord, as long as I am breathing, I will make

your glory known, even if it means I'm walking.

On this desert road. That's right, I think. Spirit's

leading doesn't always feel strategic or glamorous.

It often feels inconvenient, uncertain, perhaps

even lonely. It's not always the path I would

have chosen. Perhaps that's for the best, for

our hearts are corruptible and sometimes our

decision making sucks. But the same spirit who

sent Philip to that desert road knows exactly

why he brought you here to Oak Hill. And here

into these difficult language classes and here

into these difficult essays and here into this

chapel service. And he jolly well knows why he's

bringing you into whichever desert roads you

may find yourselves in in the future. We respond

to the Spirit's prompting. And thirdly and finally,

we reach out to God's nations. Let's finish by

just pulling the camera back a little bit and

noticing this passage as part of the bigger narrative

of scripture. See, before Paul ever preaches

in Philippi or Athens, before the gospel ever

reaches Europe, it's already heading south along

the Nile into the heart of Africa. The church

in Africa does not begin with 19th century pith

-helmeted missionaries. It is in the Upper Nile

region centuries before it reaches the Upper

Thames region. Now, we don't know for sure what

life and faith and mission looked like for this

Ethiopian eunuch after this chapter. Interestingly,

second century church father Irenaeus reports

that this man started to spread the gospel around

that region and began the growth of the church

there. I don't know if he's right. I don't know

how he would know that. It's perfectly plausible,

I guess, isn't it? Perhaps even likely. We do

know that by the fourth century, Christianity

is established in Aksum, what we'd now call today.

Ethiopia. And today, the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo

Church still venerates this man, this Ethiopian

eunuch. And Ethiopian church history is just

longer than any European church history. And

it continues today, stronger than ever. On Monday

night, James Robson and I were at a book launch

for Girma Bishor. Dear friends of the colleges,

he's Ethiopian. He arrived in the UK in 1990

without a word of English in his heart or without

any money in his pocket. And at his book launch,

James and I were surrounded by Ethiopian sisters

and brothers right here in London. We drank Ethiopian

coffee. We ate Ethiopian foods. It's good, wasn't

it? And I couldn't help but think of this very

story. The joy that begins on this desert road

has blossomed into millions of true Ethiopian

worshippers across space and time. It's marvellous,

isn't it? And it doesn't stop there. By the end

of this century, over half the world's Christians

will be African. Ponder that for a moment. As

we worship the risen Christ today, we do so shoulder

to shoulder with sisters and brothers in Addis

Ababa, in Kampala, Kinshasa and Kigali. The spirit

pushes Philip out across barriers of race and

context and geography for God wants those barriers

dismantled in his multicultural kingdom. Again

and again and again in the book of Acts, we see

the spirit forcing the early church out into

these cross -cultural encounters that stretch

them and humble them. And he's still doing that

today. The gospel does not belong to one culture

more than another. It is radically inclusive.

It cannot be captured by one single language

or culture or ethnicity. And we need that reminder

because we are experts at shrinking the gospel

to fit our own preferences. We're so good at

it. We talk about a global God, yet quietly we

live as though he is most present where we are

most comfortable. But the God of glory will not

be domesticated into our culture. This Ethiopian

from the very edges of the world is part of God

fulfilling his promise to see Christ known in

Jerusalem and Judea and Samaria and to Ethiopia,

the ends of the earth. This man's baptism is,

of course, first and foremost, personal to him.

But it's also representative of something so

much bigger. The gospel begins its long, unstoppable

journey to the ends of the earth, from Jerusalem

to Judea, from God. Gaza to Addis, from Oak Hill

to the ends of the earth. God's purposes are

unchanged, that every tribe and tongue and nation

and language might find life in the servant who

was cut off to bring us in. What a privilege

to be invited into that, each of us, wherever

we may end up, to be invited into God's glorious

global gospel purposes. For the story that begins

on this desert road is still being written. And

by grace, by his kindness, we get to be a part

of that. Let's pray. Our loving Lord and Father,

we thank you that your son was cut off from the

land of the living, crushed for our iniquities,

bearing our sins. dying for our transgressions,

that in him we might find life, that in him the

excluded will be included, that in him our names

may be written in the book of life and live forevermore.

We thank you for the Lord Jesus Christ and we

ask that we might find our rest in him, that

where we feel outside as we might remember, that

we might deeply cherish that we are insiders

in his kingdom. We pray, Lord, that we would

be responsive to what you are calling us to in

our lives, both near and far. In whatever desert

roads you bring us to, might we be inclined to

hear the prompting of your spirit and might we

participate with all joy and gladness in your

global purposes that you might use us in whatever

way you see fit to keep on writing your story

of the gospel going to the ends of the earth.

Please bless us, Lord, and be with us.