Now, Run With the Chariots
Acts 8:26-40

Jay W. Marshall

Delivered at Anderson School of Theology
Worship Honoring 2004 Graduates

I count it a privilege to be part of this rite of passage in the lives of this year's graduating seniors. On a day like this, I realize the sermon is not the centerpiece of the worship. In fact, there is every possibility that you won't remember it all. Even so, I am glad to be here and am willing to take my chances that God will use me to add to this important day.

Praying for a text for this day became humorous at times. The Israelites' escape from Egypt crossed my mind, knowing that for some of you, these last few years have seemed like serious oppression and that you have probably cried out to God for deliverance on several occasions. And, some faculty may feel that your departure is indeed an escape before all the necessary work has been completed! But as saner thoughts prevailed, I felt especially drawn to Acts 8 and Philip's encounter with the Ethiopian.

I wonder how many of you expected to be here today. I have in mind less the question of final completion of requirements, and more a question of larger life ambitions. When people asked you, as a child, what you wanted to be when you grew up, was minister the answer that you gave? When you took tests to help determine your natural vocational competency, were you encouraged toward ministry?

I, for one, am surprised to be where I am in ministry today. I fully expected to continue tradition on the family farm as the oldest child and only son. It wasn't a glorious life, but it was fulfilling. Even today, I have a bond with the soil. I love its feel, and the smell of freshly turned sod. Planting seeds and watching them grow gives me great satisfaction.

Five years out of high school, God's call connected with the wavelength of my hearing, and the most satisfying occupation in the world suddenly left me in frustration and want. Even once I had conceded that the call to ministry was genuine, I had no aspirations of a seminary education. Once the call to seminary was clear, it never crossed my mind that God would use me to lead an institution that prepares people for ministry. When individuals asked if I intended to apply for my current position as dean, I laughed at the thought. I hate committee meetings, I responded, and I'm not fond of administration. But six years later, I love working where God has called me, even though I never expected to be here!

You may not have expected to be here either, but you are nonetheless. Now that you are here, don't expect that this is all there is. Don't fall to the temptation that you now know fully the direction in which God will direct your ministry, or for that matter, the ways in which God has prepared you!

A favorite book of mine is a novel titled, A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. Owen Meany, was small as a child—so small that his Sunday School classmates picked him up and passed him around the room when the teacher wasn't looking. He never outgrew his shrill voice or his small stature. The latter imposed limitations on the game of basketball. He loved the game, but his jump shot only elevated him to eye level with the other players. Even so, Owen became obsessed with an impossibility--the slam dunk--an absurd goal, given his stature.

For reasons no one understood, Owen insisted on developing a scheme to dunk the ball. He would approach the basket, dribbling at good speed. He would time his leap to coincide with his teammate's readiness to lift him higher. He would jump into a teammate's waiting arms, who would then boost Owen above the basket's rim and he would dunk the ball. When his teammates grew tired of the nonsense, only his best friend would practice the shot with him over and over and over.

And so it was that whenever they were together, at some point Owen would say "Let's practice the shot." They'd go over it again and again. Eventually the entire process could be completed in 3 seconds.

Once when they were 19 years old, they were again practicing the shot. Owen conveyed his belief that he was God's instrument, and gave examples of times when he felt that to be true. His friend was so dumbfounded that when Owen leaped into his arms, he dropped him to the floor. Owen continued to practice the shot in the confidence that some day it would all came together for an obvious purpose.

Time passed, and Owen joined the army. He eventually became an escort for the bodies of dead soldiers who were returned to their families. On one of those assignments, on a trip when he had invited his friend to accompany him, all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. On that day Owen had volunteered to accompany some young Vietnamese children to the men's restroom. Just then a young, disturbed man, who hated the Vietnamese, entered the restroom carrying a grenade. When the disturbed man ripped the fuse cord and tossed the grenade to Owen's friend Owen shouted on cue, "We have three seconds! Ready?" Just like clock work, just like the shot they had practiced, only now not with a basketball, he caught the grenade, jumped into the arms of his waiting friend, who lifted him up. Owen jumped even higher than usual. He pinned the grenade against the window ledge and held it there while it exploded. The children lived. Owen's friend survived. Everyone walked out alive--except for Owen. He was carried out. Before he died he said to his friend, "Remember all of our practicing?" In that moment the purpose of all the eccentricities and the devoted practice of seemingly pointless routines, became clear. Owen not only touched, he also saved more lives than anyone else would have dared imagine possible for him--because he was faithful to his convictions that flowed out of his belief that he was an instrument of God--even when the immediate nudge of the Spirit was difficult to understand.

Graduates, you are sent forth as ministers of the Gospel. Take seriously your call ambassadors of the Good News. Know that your preparation will lead to opportunities for ministry that you could not have imagined. Understand that some of your best work will come in what seem to be chance encounters. That is one lesson that comes to us from Philip's encounter with the Ethiopian. It is a story that begins to expand the realm in which the Gospel message is bearing fruit. It is a passage packed with surprising movements of the Spirit, from the call to set out to a final whisking away of Philip. As we listen to it, it is a text that encourages us to think about obedience within ministry.

Earlier in Acts we learn that the disciples faced a time crunch because of the success of the early church's evangelism. It is a problem we all would wish to have! As is so often the case, success in ministry brings little squabbles as the system tries to incorporate the arrival of new personalities and expectations. Like many church boards, or maybe even faculty search committees, the disciples put together an overly ambitious job description to recruit new persons so that they can focus on the ministry of the word. They seek seven who are of good standing, full of the Spirit and wisdom—just to wait on tables! If you have ever had poor service in a restaurant—ever waited on drink refill until you were finished with your meal-- you can sympathize with what seems to be an overly ambitious set of qualifications for a waiter.

Philip is among seven who are chosen. I share this with you because it is striking to me that between chapter six and eight, Philip has grown from table servant to traveling evangelist! Where we begin in ministry is just that—a beginning. It is where we start, but not necessarily where we remain. When we are attentive to God's work and open to the leadings of the Holy Spirit, we should not be surprised that our ministry continues to grow and evolve.

As this passage opens, Philip is in Jerusalem—the first epicenter of the early church. It was probably not quite the same as being pastor of First Church of God in the Anderson, but as home bases go, I'd imagine it was a choice spot. But the word comes to Philip to go down to Gaza. The text includes the parenthetical comment that this was a wilderness road. Go from Jerusalem to Gaza. Go from the center toward the margins. And take the wilderness road to get there.

My wife is an ordained United Methodist minister. (I tell people we have a mixed marriage). Some days, that feels like a wilderness road. In that Methodist system, the bishop and the bishop's cabinet decide when ministers move and where they go. We just finished unpacking about a month ago. I joke that it is like the witness protection program, only without the protection. My other observation is that we continue to move to smaller towns with fewer restaurants and amenities—it feels like the moving to the margins. At the rate we're going, we'll soon be growing all our own vegetables and slaughtering our own meat. I may have to purchase a gun and learn to hunt.

As you leave this place of learning and preparation for ministry, you have been called and commissioned by your community of believers. Now be willing to be sent to the margins, wherever that may be for you. Be open to traveling the desert way in order to get there. And this is why: only God knows what opportunities for ministry will meet you along the way. For as Philip takes that wilderness road he encounters one whom many might not have expected to be a seeker of truth. As a eunuch from Ethiopia he was ethnically and sexually distanced from the population considered the norm within this particular religious context. Apparently, he was still a seeker, having come to worship in Jerusalem and now searching the Scriptures on his return journey.

Because he had traveled the road he had been directed to travel, Philip was able to be directed by the Spirit to go over and join the chariot. He was able to ask the gentle, probing question, “do you understand what you read?” He was able to accept the invitation to interpret the Scriptures for this seeker, and the Ethiopian received the good news.

Long-time actress and comedienne Gracie Allen once received a small, live alligator as a gag gift. Not knowing what to do with it, Gracie placed it in the bathtub and then left for an appointment. When she returned home, she found this note from her maid: “Dear Miss Allen: Sorry, but I have quit. I don't work in houses where there is an alligator. I'd have told you this when I took on, but I never thought it would come up.”

That is one way to react to surprise encounters. But as you go forth, be open to traveling the desert way. Be open to surprise and being redirected at a moment's notice. Some of life's most meaningful ministry will occur in what look to be chance encounters, rather than in the main routines and rituals. As seminary graduates, you are going forth as more than graduates. You are ministers, but more than ministers. You are interpreters, helping persons who seek truth and hope to find meaning through the work of God in Christ Jesus. No matter what messages you may receive from surrounding cultures, that is one of life's most precious and important callings—though that is often more apparent in retrospect than in the heat of the moment.

This past week while visiting a friend in Iowa, I saw a sample of a life lived in this way. Nearly ninety years of age, he had just returned from working with cattle on his farm. Still in his overalls and a picture of Quaker humility, he sat in his living room and shared how his guiding precept had been to follow the teachings of Jesus. His message was to alert people to the divine-human connection and the flow of power and information that was God's natural design. Over the course of his life, he has lectured in over sixty-three countries. He has established clinics in many of these places. He has financially supported the education of countless students who embrace his theology and ministry. Near the end of our visit he produced a notebook filled with articles and photographs—of Americans, Africans, Iranians, Indians—the trailing, undeniable evidence of the transforming power of God channeled through the ministry efforts of one who has been willing to run with the chariots, even in marginal places, interpreting the teachings of Jesus to those whom God brings to his path. I have to confess that as I listened to his story and looked at photos of the fruits of his labor, I felt a deep desire to live a life like that. I hope that at the end of my life, my faithfulness is as obvious as is his.

In the words of Samuel Johnson, “Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks.” I do believe our deepest, most effective acts of ministry grow out of absolute obedience to the leadings of the Holy Spirit. May it prove to be true for each of you.