Sermons

Holy Curiosity

Acts 8:26-40

Then an angel of the Lord said to Philip, ‘Get up and go towards the south* to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.’ (This is a wilderness road.) So he got up and went. Now there was an Ethiopian eunuch, a court official of the Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, in charge of her entire treasury. He had come to Jerusalem to worship and was returning home; seated in his chariot, he was reading the prophet Isaiah. Then the Spirit said to Philip, ‘Go over to this chariot and join it.’ So Philip ran up to it and heard him reading the prophet Isaiah. He asked, ‘Do you understand what you are reading?’ He replied, ‘How can I, unless someone guides me?’ And he invited Philip to get in and sit beside him. Now the passage of the scripture that he was reading was this:
‘Like a sheep he was led to the slaughter,
and like a lamb silent before its shearer,
so he does not open his mouth.
In his humiliation justice was denied him.
Who can describe his generation?
For his life is taken away from the earth.’

The eunuch asked Philip, ‘About whom, may I ask you, does the prophet say this, about himself or about someone else?’ Then Philip began to speak, and starting with this scripture, he proclaimed to him the good news about Jesus. As they were going along the road, they came to some water; and the eunuch said, ‘Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?’ He commanded the chariot to stop, and both of them, Philip and the eunuch, went down into the water, and Philip* baptized him. When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord snatched Philip away; the eunuch saw him no more, and went on his way rejoicing. But Philip found himself at Azotus, and as he was passing through the region, he proclaimed the good news to all the towns until he came to Caesarea.


We are all losers, at least that’s what it feels like for most of us. Before you pie me, let me explain! Back in February, Pew Research Center, a nonpartisan organization that conducts public opinion polls on everything from politics to religion, science and more, released updated findings on how folks feel like their side in politics is doing.

And according to that multiyear study, less than a quarter of Americans feel like their side is winning on issues that matter to them. Which means that the rest of us, the vast majority of us, feel like we are losing. No wonder public dialogue, political discourse, or even talking with a neighbor or coworker feels so embittered and tense. Most of us feel like we are fighting a losing battle. In reality though what we are all losing to is tribalism.

Tribalism is the instinct to gather and connect with people who are similar in all sorts of ways: beliefs, interests, experiences, and more. Our tribe tells us who we are, what we’re supposed to do, and what we believe. Now this is not necessarily a bad thing. Having a community that helps give us identity, that surrounds us and supports us is very important.

But tribalism becomes treacherous when it tells us who we should fear. We can so closely identify with our tribe that anyone who is different becomes a threat.

It is dangerous then when a tribe says, “Watch out for them. They aren’t like us. They are trying to take things from you, they only want to hurt you. They are the cause of your problems, of our problems. Be very afraid of them. Be afraid of the democrats. Be afraid of the republicans.

Be afraid of people who are transgender or who do drag. Be afraid of progressives or fundamentalist. Be very afraid.”

Sharon Brous, a rabbi in Los Angeles, writes that “One of the great casualties of tribalism is curiosity. And when we are no longer curious, when we don’t try to imagine or understand what another person is thinking or feeling or where her pain comes from, our hearts begin to narrow.

We become less compassionate and more entrenched in our own worldviews.” Perhaps we all feel like we are losing because tribalism has swallowed up our sense of curiosity and narrowed our hearts.

Which is why we need the story of Philip and the Eunuch now more than ever. For some context: Philip is a newly appointed leader in the growing Jesus movement. Religious leaders felt threatened by this and especially with a disciple named Stephen. Under the authority of a man named Saul, they stoned Stephen. And the church then was severely persecuted, scattering disciples all over the place. I imagine at this point it would have been so easy for the church to become tribal; telling each other who to watch out for and who to be afraid of, “be afraid of anyone who is not like us”. But that’s not the case for Philip.

Philip first goes to Samaria, the despised, distant cousin of the Jews, preaching and healing the sick, and to everyone’s surprise, droves of Samaritans believed and were baptized. This Jesus movement was moving beyond its Jewish, Jerusalem community and into a diverse, global body. The opposite of tribalism. And that’s where our story picks up.

An angel of the Lord tells Philip to go to an unusual place; not to a city, or to someone’s home, but to a road. A road is not a destination though, especially one that’s in the wilderness. But Philip, ever obedient, goes to this deserted highway. What for, exactly, he doesn’t know…

Until he hears the clopping of hooves pulling a chariot. Were told the passenger inside is an Ethiopian Eunuch.

Talk about a person who was not like Philip. In the time of the early church, the term Ethiopian referred broadly to people with black skin. In other ancient near eastern literature, Ethiopian meant someone who was from the farthest ends of the earth.

Not to mention that this person's gender was quite questionable. As castrated males, eunuchs didn’t fit into the gender norms of the Roman world. They weren’t considered men because they couldn’t produce children. But they weren’t seen as women either. And because they didn’t fit neatly into the binary, they were often an object of scorn.

Yet this Eunuch is at the same time powerful. He’s literate and wealthy enough to have a chariot at his disposal and a scroll of Isaiah. Nonetheless, he could not be more different from Philip. But the Holy Spirit doesn’t care about differences. The Spirit tells Philip to go to the chariot. I imagine Philip running to catch up with the chariot. Breathing heavily and gripping the window, he yells his question at the passenger. What would you do if someone did that to you while driving on 52? My guess is you wouldn’t invite them in your car!

But what ensues here is an interaction marked by holy curiosity. Both ask questions and invite more conversation: Do you understand what you're reading, asks Philip? No, I need a guide, says the Eunuch. Neither pretends to know more than they do. Both are incredibly vulnerable considering what has just happened to each of them.

Philip just had a fellow disciple killed for preaching about Jesus and here he is telling a complete stranger all about him? And the Eunuch had just gone to Jerusalem for worship, but because he was a Eunuch he wasn’t allowed in the temple to worship. It would be like coming here, being denied entrance into the sanctuary, and watching worship from the welcome space.

You’d think after that kind of rejection, the Eunuch would be done with organized religion. Yet, he asks Philip to tell him about this passage in Isaiah.

The result is two of the unlikeliest of people, in an unlikely location, being joined together as siblings in Christ through the water of baptism. [Rejoicing and changed as they walk away from this encounter]

That’s exactly what the Holy Spirit does. As Willie James Jennings puts it: the Holy Spirit rarely if ever sends us where we want to go or to whom we would want to go. Indeed the Spirit seems to always be pressing us to go to those to whom we would in fact strongly prefer never to share space, or a meal, and definitely not life together. Yet it is precisely this prodding to be boundary-crossing and border-transgressing that marks the presence of the Holy Spirit.

Who is your tribe telling you to fear? Who are you afraid of because you’ve been told they are the source of your problems or the problems in the world? Whoever they are, they are likely people very different from you, as different as Philip from the Eunuch.

And yet, the gospel tells us that through the Holy Spirit, a relationship is possible; doing life together with empathy and understanding is possible, working together to further the kingdom of God is possible. So perhaps what we need most in this time of deep divide among tribes is a holy curiosity: asking questions that invite more conversation, not acting like we know more than we do, and a vulnerability to go to the person and places we never thought we would.

What would your life look like if you, if we practiced obedience to the Spirit’s leading? Where would you go? Whom would you meet and engage with? What would our life together as Cross of Grace look like if we did the same? Where would we be led? Who is waiting for us there?

Life in the Spirit means we do not fear those different from ourselves. We engage with holy curiosity. And we walk away rejoicing; changed. When we do this, no one loses, everyone wins.

Such is the kingdom of God.

Amen


Good Shepherds and Hired Hands

John 10:11-18

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the good shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and runs away – and the wolf snatches and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because the hired hand does not care about the sheep.

“I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. I lay down my life for the sheep. There are other sheep who are not part of this fold. I must bring them along also and they will listen to my voice. So that there will be one flock, one shepherd.

“For this reason the Father loves me, because I am willing to lay down my life and take it up again. No one takes it from me. I lay it down of my own accord. I have the power to lay it down and I have the power to take it up again. I have received this command from my father.”


In addition to it being the Fourth Sunday of Easter, today is also, often called, in many places “Good Shepherd Sunday,” where churches all over the world hear some bit of this portion of John’s Gospel where Jesus waxes poetic about his identity as “the Good Shepherd.”

It’s a popular image, I suspect most of us have seen or heard of before: Jesus, with livestock draped over his shoulders. There are paintings and stained glass windows showing as much. There are a few “Good Shepherd” and “Our Shepherd” Lutheran Churches right here in Indianapolis. I was baptized at a Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, in Vickery, Ohio. But I often struggle with what to say about it – or what new thing to say about it – I guess. On one hand it seems like such an obvious cliché. On the other hand, I’ve never met a shepherd, so…

So, today might seem like a stretch. It’s not the first time you’ve heard that from me, and it won’t be the last, but I found myself wondering about “the hired hand” that Jesus mentions in this morning’s Gospel, this time around, as a way of wondering differently about “the Good Shepherd,” too.

Well, here’s “the stretch.” Jesus’ mention of how “the hired hand” doesn’t know or care about the sheep…? How the “hired hand” sees the wolf coming and runs away – leaving the sheep to be snatched and scattered because the “hired hand” doesn’t care about the sheep, in the same way the Good Shepherd does…?

All of that reminded me of George Costanza. (I told you it was a stretch, but after last week – with Jeannie’s fall and all of my waterworks about my Father-in-Law – I thought we could use a laugh this morning, so I’m going with it.) Jesus’ talk about the “hired hand” made me think of this ridiculous bit of Seinfeld, where George Costanza is at a child’s birthday party.

In the show, George smells fire, sees smoke in the kitchen, and runs out of the party, knocking over a clown, an elderly woman with a walker, and pushes several children out of his way, trying to get to the door and escape to safety. He gets accosted by the clown, the party’s host, and emergency workers afterward where he tries, shamefully, to explain himself and defend his actions.

“The hired hand, who is not the good shepherd … sees the wolf coming and runs away…” “The hired hand runs away because the hired hand does not care about the sheep.” Okay. Funny stuff aside.

Part of what Jesus is saying – and had been trying to prove throughout his ministry – is that the world was and is filled with too many “George Costanzas.” I mean, too many “hired hands.” There were and are, it seems to me, too many pretending to share grace, to do God’s bidding, to be Messiah, Savior, GOD … but too many who can’t… who won’t… who don’t… none who could ever measure up to the fullness of love we know in Jesus, the one and only, real, Good Shepherd – which Good Friday’s cross and Easter’s empty tomb prove to be true. The Good Shepherd lays down his life, of his own accord, and takes it back up again, at the Father’s command – all to bring the whole wide world into the flock.

And it’s always helpful to notice where we are in the Bible (John, Chapter 10, remember) in relation to where we are in the church calendar on a day like today. I mean, we’re a few weeks after the resurrection – on the other side of that empty tomb – with the cross and crucifixion in the review mirror and the good news of Easter, hopefully, still ringing in our ears. But today’s Gospel reading takes us back a bit in the life and times of Jesus, just about halfway through John’s version of the story.

When Jesus was talking about the Good Shepherd, he was in the thick of things, but hadn’t made it to Calvary and the cross, just yet. At this point he was still pointing ahead to all of that, and the resurrection was just a pipe dream. Nevertheless, he had been busy…

He’d reluctantly turned water into wine at that wedding in Cana. He’d met secretly with Nicodemus and tried to answer all kinds of questions and curiosities about his status as the Son of Man, sent to save, not condemn, the world. He’d been baptizing like crazy, even more prolifically than John the Baptist, and attracted the suspicious attention of the Pharisees because of it. He’d had that conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well – the one who’d been married five times? – which raised a lot of eyebrows, in and of itself.

He’d saved the life of a royal official’s son, helped a lame man walk out of the healing pool in Jerusalem, fed 5,000 people on the side of a hill, saved the life of that woman who’d been caught in adultery, given sight back to a blind beggar, and, of course, there was all sorts of preaching and teaching and more in the meantime.

And THEN, today, he gets to this talk about sheep and hired hands and what it means to be a – to be THE – Good Shepherd.

All of this is to say, I think that – in the midst of his very prolific life and ministry but long before his death and resurrection – Jesus is still trying to prove who he is and how he came to be in the world. And he’s still trying to convince people – in advance of the crucifixion and long before the resurrection – that he was different … better … up to the challenge … faithful … the one they were waiting for, whether they knew it or not.

He was no hired hand. He was the real deal. He would not leave them orphaned, or scattered, or snatched from the grip of God’s grace. He wasn’t in this for himself. He was following God’s lead. He would answer God’s call. He was the one and only, Good Shepherd who could be trusted above all else.

And what was supposed to be their hope in advance of the resurrection is our hope, still, on the other side of the empty tomb. Jesus stands over and above the politicians, the pundits, the pastors, the powers-that-be – and even Tay Tay and all of her tortured poets.

What we have in this good and gracious shepherd is one who comes down, into our world and down into our lives with a love and a loyalty like the world doesn’t offer – a love and a loyalty none of us deserves. When we let that love guide us and when we follow where it leads, we’ll find ourselves never lost, but found; never scattered but gathered together; never snatched away or trampled underfoot, but lifted up, welcomed back, carried home to safety, joy, hope and peace in the very presence of God – no matter what tries to snatch us or scatter us along the way.

Amen