SERMON
Let’s pray:
May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight,
O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
Have you ever found yourself on an entirely unexpected journey?
When I was growing up, there were no trains.
No. I’m not quite that old.
It’s not because trains hadn’t been invented,
it’s just that, at that at some point back in the 60’s, the local council, in its wisdom,
had pulled up all the train tracks.
It was the ‘age of the automobile’:
who would want to catch the train when you could travel in the comfort of your car?
Well, turns out, quite a few folk.
In the late 90’s, new train tracks were put in, and so, trains now grace the Gold Coast once more.
But basically, until I was 20, I had never travelled by train:
didn’t really know the way of all things train.
Which is why, on one fateful day, with a couple of friends in tow on a day trip to Brisbane –
which did have trains, well...we thought we’d go for a train trip.
Our first, ever.
Cheerfully, we bought our tickets.
Happily, we daundered to the platform.
Delightedly, we watched trains doing what trains do.
And we waited for the train that would take us to Toowong.
We didn’t have the greatest grasp on the geography of the city,
but we vaguely knew we wanted to travel in a westerly direction.
We watched, as a train glided along the track by our platform.
‘What’s that?’ one friend asked, looking at a sign on the front of the train.
‘Oh, I guess it’s the name of the train,’ said I, blithely.
‘Redfern – interesting name.’
We hopped on board.
It was all a little bit exciting.
It was made even more exciting when we suddenly realised that we were going
not to the hills, but to the seaside – the completely opposite direction,
and that, no, trains didn’t have nice names...
they had the names of destinations on them.
Turned out that ‘Redfern’ was a suburb of Brisbane. Who knew?
Truly, we were that clueless.
It was a most unexpected journey, however, a kindly conductor put us right.
We eventually landed up at our intended destination.
Mostly, these days, I’ve got a bit of a better understanding of trains and other modes of transport.
But then again, given I’d intended travelling to, and living in, the South Pacific,
I’m still wondering what I’m doing in Scotland.
Have you ever found yourself on an entirely unexpected journey?
Well, in our reading from the Book of Acts, that’s exactly what happens to Philip,
a follower of Jesus;
a different chap to Philip, the Apostle.
Let’s set the scene a little:
Philip was one of seven men chosen by the disciples of Jesus to be a deacon –
basically to ensure that the Greek speaking widows of the growing young church
were not overlooked when it came to the daily distribution of food.
The community cared for, and looked after, its most vulnerable.
He’s mentioned several times in the Book of Acts,
and is described as one filled with the Spirit and with wisdom.
Later, he’ll provide hospitality to the Apostle Paul,
and we discover that he's also father to four daughters who prophesy.
In the meantime, he’s there, in those very early days of the church,
before Christians even had that name.
And Philip is also there, at the beginning of troubled times –
times of persecution by the Romans and the religious authorities.
Our reading occurs just after Stephen, another of the seven deacons,
has been stoned to death, after which a great persecution happens
in Jerusalem, which causes the followers of Jesus to scatter.
Philip, along with others, ends up in Samaria –
effectively ‘enemy’ territory:
the relationship between Jews and Samaritans was strained.
Remember the Parable of the Good Samaritan?
The sting in the tale is that Jesus’ listeners could never imagine such a thing
as a ‘good’ Samaritan – they were different, they were the enemy, they were to be feared.
Nevertheless, there, among those very Samaritans,
Philip shares the story of the resurrected rabbi:
the one who told stories about God –
of being connected to God as branches are to a vine...
of that connection being one of love...
of God’s love dwelling within us,
and of us, dwelling in God’s love.
At some point, as we heard in the reading, God instructs Philip to head south, and so he does.
Traveling along, he meets an Ethiopian –
high-powered, important:
this man is the Queen’s treasurer.
These days, perhaps we’re so used to thinking of Ethiopia in terms of
drought, and hunger, and aid programmes,
that it might be hard to imagine that at the time our story takes place,
Ethiopia is an ancient, powerful, and wealthy kingdom.
We don’t learn the name of this Ethiopian official,
but we do know that he’s riding along in his chariot, attempting to read scripture,
and struggling to get to grips with it.
Here’s a man who’s on a journey in more ways than one –
sure, he’s physically moving around,
but he’s on a spiritual search.
Many people, from many nations,
had gathered in Jerusalem at the time of what we now refer to as Pentecost.
They’d gathered to celebrate Shavuoth, a major Jewish festival –
and our man from Ethiopia was returning home from this feast in his chariot...
And God tells Philip to head for the chariot and to stay near it:
so I’ve got this picture in my head of wee Philip jogging alongside the chariot
while the man reads on.
Clearly the chap is puzzling over the meaning of what he’s reading
and ever-jogging Philip asks him if he can help.
The man is more than happy with the offer,
which is possibly good news for Philip as it means no more jogging.
Philip’s now invited on to the chariot and they have a big conversation –
‘Let me tell you about Jesus’ he says as they explore scripture together.
And, having heard the story of Jesus, and travelling past water, the Ethiopian says:
‘So, what’s to stop me being baptised?’
And the answer: nothing.
There, and then, both are open to God at work in their lives.
Philip and the Ethiopian head to the water and another follower of Jesus
is added to the growing numbers of the church on that very day.
And just like that, mysteriously, Philip is whisked away by the Spirit and
lands up in Azotus about 30km away,
leaving the Ethiopian to head on his way rejoicing.
Connected to God in love,
open to sharing that love with others,
Philip has a most unexpected journey – is fruitful.
In love, he sees the Samaritans, not as enemies, but as friends he’s not yet met;
in love, he sees the Ethiopian, not as unclean, but as someone beloved of God.
Connected and living within the perfect love of God –
Philip trusts in God enough to have no fear.
As 1st John says: ‘Perfect love casts out fear.’
Let’s flip that around for a moment:
if love casts out fear,
then, fear casts out love.
There’s that old song from the 70’s ‘The things we do for love’ –
what about the things we do for fear?
Fear builds walls.
Fear withdraws – barricades itself in.
Fear scapegoats anyone who might be different –
‘it’s their fault we don’t have jobs.’
It judges unjustly;
it sees enemies where there are none;
it dehumanises in order to justify shocking behaviour:
‘they’re animals, they deserve to be treated like that.’
Fear...disconnects.
It loses sight of God.
It loses sight of those created in the image of God.
It sees only the bad.
It loses sight ...of hope.
Perfect love...casts out fear.
Then what of the things we do for love?
Love builds bridges, not walls;
love builds people up, not brings them down;
love celebrates difference and looks for points of connection;
love looks outwards,
is open-handed and open-hearted –
is open to unexpected journeys and surprising conversations.
Love is welcoming and finds a way forward –
sometimes on old pathways,
and sometimes on new.
Love sees God’s image in the other,
for, love sees God,
for love is of God...
for God is love.
And, ‘we love, because God loved us first.’
If we take away one thing today from this story in Acts, let it be this:
live into the possibility of love –
let love continue to build within you
a sense of wonder,
a sense of possibility,
a sense that we are not withered dying branches separated from the vine –
but rather, that we are connected to the vine, to God,
who, if we’re open to hearing what he’d have us do,
might just take us down some unexpected paths,
where there’s hope, and where there’s life.
Quite serendipitously, yesterday I came across this poem by Sheenagh Pugh –
and it just really resonated.
I leave it with you. It’s called ‘Sometimes’:
Sometimes
Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail,
sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.
A people sometimes will step back from war;
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.
Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss, sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.
We live in uncertain times.
So did Philip and the early followers of Jesus.
Choose this day, as the 21st century followers of Jesus,
whether to cast out love,
or cast out fear...
And, should you do this last,
prepare for unexpected journeys and surprising conversations. Amen.
