This sermon, one that exemplifies my adoption of Paul Scott Wilson’s “Four Pages” method of homiletical preparation, was delivered at First Presbyterian Church, St. Cloud, on April 29, 2018. To be sure, I bounce between a lot of material here, as I was determined to bring two disparate readings into a cohesive message. I’m particularly pleased with my depiction of the eunuch as a Doug Stamper type of character.
Fifth Sunday of Easter, Year B
Acts 8:26-40; John 15:1-8
I
OUR BAD NEWS
I’m going to venture out on a limb and say that sometimes it can be difficult to read the Bible. We read an awful lot these days, more so than ever before. We see an article on social media that catches our interest, we click on it, consume it, and move on. If we’re reading something longer, like a novel, a book on current events, or some sort of report for work, rarely do we have to ask ourselves, “What does this mean?” If anything doesn’t make immediate sense, more than likely it’s due to poor writing or some editorial oversight, such that the use of a pronoun like “it” or “them” is vague and could be referring to multiple things. Even then, however, we can usually make sense of something by attending to context. In a world where the ability to process information is a baseline for success, where words scroll through our screens and our fields of vision from the time we wake up to the time we doze off at night—in such a world ambiguity of meaning is not something we’re comfortable with.
I’ve been teaching an introductory theology class at St. John’s this semester, and I recently had a student come to my office and discount much of the material that we’ve been reading on the grounds that “it’s all just so subjective.” Which is not an unusual response. If something is not definite, and verifiable, then it has little value. Hence the charge of “fake news” has such strong rhetorical force. We expect news to be solid. As it should be, particularly in a democracy where we must collectively make informed decisions. In a world where decisions have to be made and things needs to be done, In that world, in this world, then, such decisions must be based on definite, verifiable truth.
The Bible, then, is just far too difficult to read today. The Swiss Reformed theologian Karl Barth, in an essay written early in his career, described “The Strange New World in the Bible.” He wrote in that essay that we will find in the Bible whatever it is that we seek. Now he didn’t mean that in a pious way, “Seek and you will find,” and all that. No, what he meant was that if you are looking for purely historical content, that is what you will find. If you are looking for some mysterious code that unpacks the future, then surely you’ll find a way to identify that. If you are looking for something to bolster your own way of life, or your own politics, or your own biases, you will find it. If you come to scripture expecting to find nothing, then indeed that is what you will find. After years of studying theology myself, I still feel overwhelmed at times by all that it contains, and especially the challenges in properly interpreting its meaning. When even the most seasoned biblical scholars seriously disagree with one another over the interpretation of a passage—what is one to do?
In the men’s Bible study that meets here every Friday, we’ve asked versions of this question. Not too long ago we were reading the book of Revelation. And with all of its rich symbolism, the fantastic and frankly intimidating imagery that appears throughout that book, we found ourselves making some sense of it by looking to historical commentary. So this symbol referred to that event, and that figure referred to this ancient politican, and so on. But then we asked if it’s entirely historical, then, why is it in the Bible? What importance, what meaning, does it hold for today? And, as is so often the case, such ambiguity of meaning distances the text from our everyday lives. We might say pious platitudes about how the Bible is true, and how it contains all that you need to know, but practically speaking, rarely do we ever treat these texts as truth, as the hard, concrete information upon which we depend.
Barth’s conviction that the Bible is a “strange new world” is not too far off the mark. We are strangers to the biblical world. It is not our world. And when we happen to enter that world, we are understandably disoriented, confused, and lost.
II
BIBLICAL BAD NEWS
Well, our situation is not unlike that of one of the characters we see in our first lesson today. The book of Acts introduces us this morning to an unnamed person. All we know about this character is that he was from Ethiopia, and that he was a eunuch. Again, the biblical world remains a strange, new world. We don’t have much experience with eunuchs today. One can make the argument that there are persons today whose gender identity parallels that of this biblical figure, and there may indeed be some physical similarities, but culturally speaking one would be hard-pressed to find such a person today. To make someone a eunuch was what we would consider an act of political brutality. Often done by force, and on someone far younger than the age of reason, the making of a eunuch was a way to enslave someone into a life of political servitude. By taking away any possibility of having his own family, and by physically manipulating his hormonal constitution, the eunuch’s loyalties were largely predetermined—his free will cut short. The eunuch could be trusted with the most sensitive information and responsibilities, because unlike other political allies, he would not aim to usurp the throne and set up his own dynasty. The eunuch, it was believed, would not have any competing interests, and so he could be trusted around a ruler’s family, around the children or the queen and her attendants.
If you’ve seen any episodes of Netflix’s version of the House of Cards series, you’re familiar with Doug Stamper, a political aide who is unwaveringly loyal. In later episodes we learn that this character has intentionally foregone having a family to devote his life to serving the ambitious politician Frank Underwood. Stamper’s only ambition is Underwood’s success, and some of the more interesting subplots in that series explore this character’s personal struggles when on occasion he is faced with competing interests.
Well, in the text today we have just such a figure, a political slave whose very identity has been manipulated to ensure his absolute allegiance. And we find this character [pause] reading scripture, a passage from the book of the prophet Isaiah, in fact, and he finds in this text a strange new world. Like us, he doesn’t understand it. The meaning is too ambiguous. Is this text about the author? Or is the author writing about someone else? Is it about the past? Or is it about the future?
Now one of the more interesting things about this passage is that the eunuch was traveling south from Jerusalem—likely returning to his home in Africa—after having worshipped at the temple in Jerusalem. So the eunuch already identified to some extent with the Jewish faith. And this was not unheard of as the ancient world was religiously pluralistic. With widespread mobility in the Roman Empire, and population redistributions over centuries of war between competing kingdoms, the ancient world was highly syncretistic, with people dabbling in any number of religious practices. So this eunuch is not a complete stranger to the great I AM, the God of Moses, the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob. He has some sort of faith or faithfulness to the tradition, otherwise he would not have been worshipping in Jerusalem. But he still found himself a stranger to the text, unable to make sense of Isaiah’s divine oracles.
III
BIBLICAL GOOD NEWS
So God sends Philip, one of the seven Christian believers who, as the book of Acts records, had been elected as servants of the early Christian community. These seven were elected to diaconal work, or service work, so that the apostles could concentrate their efforts on leading the community in prayer and the ministry of the word. Those who serve or have served as deacons in this congregation or elsewhere will recognize this kind of service to the church. Here in the text we see Philip serving as an evangelist. God moves Philip—a servant of the church—to travel alongside a political servant—this Ethiopian eunuch—and there, for a short while, they travel the way of Jesus Christ together. The eunuch does not understand the text, and so he invites Philip to join him in his chariot. And in that chariot Philip unpacks the scripture, explaining this strange new world and proclaiming the good news about Jesus.
What happens next is remarkable. On the road between Jerusalem and Gaza they come upon a pool of water, so the eunuch asks Philip to baptize him. The slave, to this point unable to express any other loyalties or commitments, is freed by the good news of Jesus Christ, he makes a decision for himself, and he is made new in the waters of baptism.
Now our gospel lesson provides a useful metaphor for understanding what’s going on here. As happens so many times in the gospel of John, Jesus echoes the burning bush scene where the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob revealed himself to Moses as the Great I AM, saying I AM who I AM. In John Jesus proclaims “I am the bread of life” and “I am the good shepherd” and “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” In this final of those seven “I am” sayings, Jesus reveals that he is the true vine. He is the way of truth that grows and spreads—often uncontrollably.
As I mentioned in the Time with Young Disciples, when we first moved into our home here in St. Cloud, there was a patch of porcelain berry, also known as creeper or wild grape, on the side of our house. It looked very nice, but it didn’t take long for it to start taking over. So Keeli cut it down, but of course it comes back every summer and we trim it again before it damages the roof. Vines need care and cultivation, or they—quite literally—just go wild. And the grapevine, in particular, needs proper pruning of fruitless branches so that other branches will produce more fruit.
This metaphor of the vine appears throughout scripture. It appears in the prophets, in the Psalms, here in the gospels, and in the letters of Paul. Psalm 80, in particular, uses the vine to describe the people of Israel. Addressing the Lord, the psalmist proclaims: “You brought a vine out of Egypt; you drove out the nations and planted it. You cleared the ground for it; it took deep root and filled the land.”
Jesus is not introducing a new metaphor here, but rather he is adapting an existing one. The vine that is the people of God, the people of Israel, who have taken deep root in the land, Jesus asserts that he is one and the same. He is the true vine, they are the branches, and the father, the Lord God of Israel, is the cultivator, the vinedresser or husbandman as some translations have it. The people of God are in Christ, living in his truth, walking in his way, nourished by his life, cultivated by the care and love of God their Father.
The apostle Paul expands this branch metaphor even further to include the horticultural practice of grafting. In his letter to the Romans, Paul refers to the olive tree, but grafting is just as important in the cultivation of grapevines. Grafting refers to joining the branch from one plant and affixing it to another plant so that the fibers, or tissues, are combined and then grow together as one.
This is what happens as the Ethiopian eunuch is baptized—although he comes from different stock, in baptism he finds himself joined to the vine of Israel, the true vine of Christ. He is no longer a stranger, but he now belongs to the people of God. He is free, a member of a new community, a new covenant, where—as Paul writes in his letter to the Galatians—there is no longer Jew nor Gentile, slave nor free, male nor female, for we are all one in Christ Jesus.
IV
OUR GOOD NEWS
When we, too, are baptized, we are similarly grafted into this true vine. This strange new world that we do not understand becomes our own. Now, of course, we may still have difficulties reading scripture, discerning this meaning from that interpretation. But, more importantly than having the right truth, we become part of a true people, we grow in Christ, we bear fruit nourished by the living word of God.
We will twist and turn and we may wrap ourselves around unjust structures in the world, and growing stronger, rip them out of their foundations. Vines are indeed troublesome. But the Father, the vinegrower, is wise and knows where he is guiding us. As branches we are free, as tendrils we will wind our own very curious ways. But we only do so as part of the true vine of Christ, in the cultivating hands of a loving father.
To close out the message this morning, I’d like us to listen to one of my favorite readings of this text—which is not so much a reading as it is a singing. The Estonian composer Arvo Pärt has set the English words of the gospel lesson to four-part harmonies. But all four voices do not sing at the same time; rather they each sing a few syllables, and then rest as other voices gradually, organically, take over. The result is something of a vine itself, twisting and turning, growing, and finding its way in the world of sound. We hear the living word of God proclaimed in different voices, spreading its branches, and freely growing in its own way. It is not fixed, it is not one unwavering voice or melody, it is a living, breathing community of people sustained by the word of God and guided by a loving composer.