Eunuchs, disciples and why you should read your Bible

This was a message I shared at St Pauls United this last Sunday. I hope you find it challenging...

 

I want to tell you about a man.

Well, he isn't exactly completely a man. 

Some call him a eunuch. 

What is a eunuch? Let's see if I can give it to you gently… he doesn't have a penis!

Why is his manhood missing? We aren't sure. There are a few possibilities. He might have been born that way. Though this is unlikely.

He might have been castrated as a punishment for doing something he shouldn't have done. 

But mostly likely, he did it to himself, or instructed a doctor to perform the castration. 

 

Why? Well, this man was from Ethiopia, North Africa. In his country, men would only be employed in senior government positions if they were eunuchs. This was probably mostly to protect the queen (who was also sometimes referred to as "The Candice", referencing her important position in society). This man found himself as a particularly high ranking official. He was the equivalent of finance minister, i.e. the Pravin Gordhan of his country. Of course he would have had a lot of dealings with the queen, and so it was safer to have such a person be a eunuch, just in case he got any wrong ideas about his good looking queen…

 

It was common for eunuchs to begin to take on more feminine features, as their body reacted to their castration. It was also common for eunuchs to add to this by dressing in a more feminine way. In our terms, this man would be called a transvestite!

 

Being from North Africa, he was probably black. If you were a Jew, you know simply by the colour of a person's skin that they can't possibly be of Jewish blood, and so they can't possibly be part of God's chosen people. Yes, racism was already an issue back then. 

 

So we are talking about a black, transvestite foreigner. Not exactly the picture of the perfect Jew. 

 

And yet, for some reason, this man gains an interest in Judaism. Typically, eunuchs were considered incapable of being converted to Judaism. For a man to be converted, he needed to be circumcised. Needless to say, our man has a small problem in that he is missing a lot more than just a foreskin! However, if the Jewish people had listened to their prophets, particularly Isaiah, they would know that God wanted to welcome even eunuchs into his chosen people, provided they were faithful and observed the Sabbath (see Isaiah 56:4-5). But the Jewish people of that day preferred to keep their religion exclusive, and besides, why you want to include a black transvestite in your community? (Of course, in our modern day churches, we are much more inclusive of people who are different to us, right?)

 

Given all that, why would this man take an interest in the God of his neighbours?

 

His interest goes so far that he decides to take a road-trip up to Jerusalem. He goes to worship and share in one of the annual festivals. Let it be understood, this man would have been a wealthy, highly respected member of society in Ethiopia. Why would he travel to Jerusalem where he is likely to be ostracised by pious Jews?

 

Somehow he gets a hold of some copies of the Scriptures, in particular part of the book of Isaiah. And on his way home from the festival, he reads and tries to understand. Why? What does he see in the Jewish faith that makes him want to devote so much time to it? What makes him move way out of his comfort zone? Does he see a truth he hasn't found in the religions of his own land?

 

Take a moment and read the story of this Ethiopian Eunuch, and his encounter with Philip. You can read it here in Acts 8:26-40.

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The eunuch asked Philip 3 questions, and I want to look at each question individually now. But before I do that, consider this:

 

Do you think of yourself as a bit like the eunuch? Searching, wanting answers. 

Do you think of yourself as a bit like Philip? Needing to share God's word and help others to understand it. 

 

I want to suggest that we are all called to be both. And that is the lens through which I will look at the 3 questions the eunuch asked.

 

1. How can I unless someone explains them to me? (verse 31)

 

The eunuch asking this question in response to Philip's question, "Do you understand what you are reading?"

 

From the perspective of the eunuch, do you ever ask for help in understanding Scripture? When you come across a difficult passage do you just give up and accept that the Bible is simply difficult for you to understand? Perhaps you write it off as irrelevant or out of date… and so instead you go read some modern self-help book! Have you ever gone to see your minister or pastor to get help in understanding Scripture? Have you ever asked anyone to help you understand your Bible?

 

From the perspective of Philip, have you ever drawn alongside a young Christian and offered to help them read, understand and apply the Scripures? Or do you just criticise young people who don't read their Bible enough?

 

Scripture was never meant for private use. Obviously we can spend time reading it alone, but it's purpose goes far beyond private devotions. Who are you speaking to about the Bible?

 

2. Who is the prophet speaking about, himself or someone else? (verse 34)

 

The eunuch was reading from Isaiah 53, a passage about a suffering servant. Many believe the prophet was speaking about Jesus, but there continues to be much debate among scholars today as to who exactly the prophet had in mind when he was writing the passage. What is certain though is that the life of Jesus has many interesting parallels with this prophetic writing. 

 

The lesson I gleen from the eunuch here is that we need to question Scripture, we need to go deeper. Don't just accept what preachers tell you. Don't simply take the Bible at face value. A true disciple doesn't just accept as gospel the things people say. Rather we need to wrestle with texts, seek true understanding. Put your Bible and your faith to the test! I promise you, it can take it! And what you will find on the other side of testing is a faith that is stronger and more robust. You become even more certain of the Truth revealed to us through Scripture. 

 

What about the lesson we learn from Philip? We need take opportunities to share the hope we have in us! We need to be prepared. A question about the intention of Isaiah 53 was the perfect opportunity to share the Gospel message. Philip exploited the obvious parallels this passage has with the life of Jesus. Tradition has it that the eunuch went on to be the first evangelist in Ethiopia. An entire nation got to hear the good news because Philip had been prepared. 

 

In a previous job, one of my managers was getting married. The church she was getting married in insisted that she be baptised first. So she came to me one day asking me to explain what baptism was and what it meant. What a fantastic opportunity to share the good news of Jesus with her! Unfortunately, I was ill prepared. I missed the opportunity. 

 

3. Why shouldn't I be baptized? (verse 36)

 

Baptism speaks of inclusion. By being baptized, the eunuch is included into the body of Christ, the family of God. If you look closely at your Bible, you will notice that verse 37 is missing. Some manuscripts had these words added: "And Philip said, 'If you believe with all your heart, you may (be baptized)'". It seems that someone in the early church added this. Perhaps they were trying to control who got accepted, who got included into the fellowship of believers through baptism. This verse could be used as a loophole to exclude people. I am really glad this verse is not in our Bibles, because baptism should never be about what you have done or believe. I would love to say I believe in Jesus with all my heart. But I confess there is a corner of my heart that doubts. But I am not excluded, because all that was required was for me to say I want to follow Jesus, I want to be a disciple. 

 

From the eunuch's perspective, hear the promise, "You are included!"

 

From Philip's perspective, hear the challenge, "All others can be included!" Who would you rather exclude from your church? Be ready to not just accept such people, but to draw alongside them and share in the Scriptures together.

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Discipleship and the Word can not be separated. They are co-dependent.

 

When we talk about being disciples, we are talking about people who make more disciples! A disciple is someone who chooses to follow Jesus, and helps others to do the same. 

 

So when you read the Scriptures, understand there are two reasons for doing so. Firstly, it is good for you! It helps you to know God better! It is good for your own faith. Wrestle with what you read, put it to the test, and find a faith that lasts a lifetime. But secondly, you are reading the Bible for the benefit of others. It is preparation for sharing the hope of Christ with those you encounter. You never know when an opportunity will present itself, but you need to be ready. 

 

Are you following Jesus? If you aren't reading your Bible, you are not following Jesus. Sunday sermons are simply not enough (though they are important!). Get back into Scripture. If you don't know where to start, read the Gospels. You can start in Mark, it is probably shorter than the FHM or Cosmo that you read cover to cover each month! Ask for help when you struggle, don't give up. Wrestle with texts, challenge what you read. Get in Bible Study groups and debate with fellow Christians. And most importantly, be ready to share with anyone who gives you an opportunity to do so. 

 

Amen.  

 

A little more than useless: the story of Hannah

The story of Samuel's mother is one I don't remember hearing being taught or preached. But it is so powerful, and yet so simple. 

You can read it for yourself in 1 Samuel 1-2:21. But I will give you the short version. 

We know Samuel as a prophet, priest and judge, a man who faithfully served God and played a key role in the choosing of the first kings of Israel. But perhaps he got his faithfulness from his mother Hannah. She was one of 2 wives of a guy called Elkanah. The other wife Peninnah proved to be efficient at producing children, while Hannah had no such luck. Peninnah would mock Hannah about it, but Elkanah loved her in spite of her inability to bear him a child (it should be noted that this was completely out of character for husbands of that time). In fact he was especially generous to her, and tried to encourage her despite her barrenness. 

But despite her husband's encouragement, Hannah still longed for a child. And so she cries out to God, begging Him to give her a baby boy. She promises that she will give him to God's service, setting him apart to work in the House of the Lord. Basically, she is saying she will not keep the child, she just wants to know that she has contributed to God's Kingdom by bearing a child. She is not asking for anything in return, simply to be used by God in this humble way.

So God blesses her with a baby boy, Samuel. Hannah faithfully delivers on her promise, and gives him up for the Lord's service. Samuel becomes a great servant of God. But the story doesn't end there, because God blesses Hannah with three more sons and two daughters! God has seen her faithfulness, and has rewarded her.

Hannah did not give Samuel up so that she could get more childen. She gave him up because she was commited to God. She wanted her body to be of use in the Kingdom. For this privilege she was prepared to give up the joys of motherhood, simply to know she had made a contribution. 

Do you feel useless, barren in your ability to offer anything of worth to God? I bet people around you don't hold the same opinion, and I know God doesn't. Would you trust Him, and ask Him to give you opportunities to serve Him? And then will you fully commit yourself to Him to do whatever it is He has prepared for you, no matter how big or small?

"I'm a little more than useless
And when I think that I can't do this
You promise me that I'll get through this
And do something right
Do something right for once" - Relient K

 

 

The late Rev Ross Olivier

I was saddened as many were to hear of the untimely death of Ross Olivier. I did not know Ross well, but he was the first minister I can remember. The one thing that I knew about him though was that he once was a prisioner. For the first time, I have just read his testimony which I found online. Whether you knew him or not, it is a powerful story of God's grace to those (in our estimation) don't deserve it. 

 

 

FROM PRISONER TO PASTOR –TESTIMONIAL BY REVD DR ROSS OLIVIER

I have been asked to tell my story, the story that has shaped my ethics, nurtured my values, and formed my conduct. My story is rooted in a deeply spiritual event. Thatis not to say I think that being religious guarantees moral behaviour. Ihave been in the church long enough to know that you get good believers and bad believers in every religion. The prophet Isaiah puts it plainly: “The Lord says „These people come near to me with their mouth and honour me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me‟.” We need to guard that there is no credibility gap between our creed and our conduct; no dissonance between the beliefs we proclaim and the behaviour we exhibit.

 

That said, my moral conversion was profoundly spiritual; it relates my journey, from darkness to light, from self to God.

 

I did not have a religious upbringing. We never went to church as a family. Apart from weddings and funerals, the first occasion I was in church with my parents was the Sunday I was ordained. Certainly they never spoke to my siblings or me about God or religion. I grew up without any conscious spiritual awareness. I do recall a brief interlude when a wonderful couple, Mr and Mrs Banks, moved into a house up the road from us. They were obviously devoted to God and as part of their mission invited the un-churched parents in the neighbourhood to allow them to take their children to Sunday school each week. A little embarrassed, most parents agreed and so, each Sunday morning, Mr and Mrs Banks would arrive at our door to fetch my brother and me, all spic and span in our Sunday morning clothes, hair slicked down with liberal doses of “brylcreem‟, shoes brightly shining, the two of us freshly washed and scrubbed for the occasion. So it was that for a brief period I attended the small Methodist Church in Brakpan. I remember enjoying this weekly outing but cannot report that anything of a faith nature got through to me. Or so I thought. Then, as is typical on mining villages, either our or the Banks family moved away and my tenuous connection with church ended. By and large, I grew up without any real sense of what are termed „spiritual or moral values‟.

 

I finished high school and was conscripted for two years of military service. By my 18th birthday I was in a neighbouring country involved in a war that in later years I discovered to be unjust. But we

1were young and impressionable, too ignorant to know that we were cannon fodder in the senseless battles being waged by the Apartheid regime. I do not know how to express this any other way except to say I emerged from the army a seriously messed up person.

 

I started work at a finance company. Driven by an obsession to make lots of money as quickly as possible, I worked hard and was quickly rewarded. By my 22nd birthday I had been promoted several times, owned a smart car and had bought a house. During this period, Shayne and I married. We had started dating at the age of 16 and thankfully she forgot to break up with me. She remains the love of my life.

 

Then things began to unravel. I started drinking too much. I was driven by greed and had no moral conscience. I soon started to make Shayne‟s life a misery. Looking back, I believe my behaviour at that time contributed largely to the fact that she suffered a miscarriage. I had also begun to defraud the company for which I worked. Having discovered a loophole in the system, I became a thief. I got away with it for quite a while. Eventually however, things began to fall apart. Our marriage deteriorated to the point where one day Shayne on essence said to me, “You‟ve become a horrible person. I do not like who you‟ve become – you‟re not the person I thought you were.‟ In typical male fashion, I refused to accept any blame. In a huff I angrily grabbed a suitcase, threw in some stuff and with spinning tyres raced off in my car. I drove into downtown Johannesburg and booked into the New Library hotel, one of my drinking spots.

 

I remember sitting on the bed, my case on the floor, overwhelmed by a sense that my life was at a crossroad. Somehow I realised that my next choices could be determinative for the future course of my life. I recall sitting in the silent loneliness of that hotel room with a fearful sense that I was on the brink of losing someone precious. With a deep sense of pending loss, I booked out of the hotel, drove to the nearest police station, and confessed my crimes. Rather naively I thought the police would say something like: “What a good boy you are, coming to tell us. Go home and we will sort this out later.” Instead I was arrested there and then and put into a cell in John Vorster Square Police Station. Subsequently I was transferred to The Fort Prison. Weeks later I was tried, convicted and sentenced to three and a half years in prison. You can imagine the shock and shame I caused Shayne, our parents, my employers, and our friends.

 

After sentencing I was transferred to Pretoria Central Prison to serve my sentence.

I have some free advice to offer. Don‟t do anything that will land you in prison. It is no fun.

Prison life was harsh, sometimes brutal. I was brought face to face with the limits of my courage and endurance. I felt ashamed and a failure. I was sustained only by the incredibly forgiving love shown me by my wife. Resisting great pressure to be rid of me, she resolved instead to stand by me through the thick and thin of it all. Her love made me determined to turn my life around, but I didn‟t know how.

Christmas was drawing near. Then one day, out of nowhere, I recalled the Sunday School lessons that Mr and Mrs Banks had taken me to. I began to wonder whether there really was a God, as we had been taught. Without really knowing how, I started praying at night. It was a simple prayer: “God - I need help. I don’t know what to do. If you’re there, can you help me?” Praying even that small uneducated prayer gave me daily strength. I drew courage after praying. I felt hopeful. But I wasn‟t yet convinced. It took an extraordinary event to dispel my doubt.

 

It‟s closing on thirty years since then but I still recall with vivid detail the night my life was utterly transformed. It happened in the solitude of a single-person prison cell, lying on my bunk, staring at the naked light bulb fixed into the high ceiling. The light remained on throughout the night; I guess so that the guards could check on us through the small peep-hole in the thick metal doors that faced inwardly onto the rectangle corridor of D Block.

 

On that particular night I was thinking about God, wondering if there really was some divine power from which I was drawing strength, or whether it was just some trick of the mind, a mental crutch that I was leaning on for survival sake. It‟s always been difficult for me to explain the sequence that then occurred. It all happened so fast. The thought in my mind was: “if God is real then surely He can reveal Himself to me.” The next thought was, “How? How can He let me know that He’s real?” Then a thought flashed into my mind, “He can switch off the light”. In that instant, while the thought was still in my head, the prison block was plunged into total darkness.

 

But that wasn‟t it! That can be rationalised as one of those inexplicable coincidences that happen from time to time. No, it was more than that; it was much, much more than that. In the instant

that the prison plunged into darkness, I was enfolded, like a baby being wrapped in a warm blanket, within a tangible, real, embracing, transcendent experience of acceptance, forgiveness, and exquisite love. I just lay there breathless as I felt myself being enveloped within the tender embrace of an unseen presence. I was unable to think, move, or comprehend, yet I knew my questions had been answered. Deep in the spirit of my humanity, within a consciousness I never even knew existed, I had a sense of ultimate assurance. In that moment my life changed forever. All doubt was removed and I knew with certainty that my life had extrinsic value. I had encountered John Newton‟s Amazing Grace: I had been blind, but now could see; I had been lost, but now was found.

 

At that juncture of my sentence I was permitted one visit, by one person, of 30 minutes duration per month. Shayne always came to visit me. We would look at each other through a small thick glass window, and speak to each other through a wire grill, separated by a three foot divide. At her first visit to me after my „God moment‟, I asked her to bring me a bible. She looked quizzically at but the next time she visited, she brought one along. It was a King James Version. I hardly understood its language. But I have it still today, with my prison number 1631/77 on the inside cover, filled with short messages of love and support, in green ink, written by Shayne.

 

Following my release from prison I began to look for a job. I had determined to always tell the truth about my past. For seven months I received one rebuff after the next. Then the local municipality gave me work as a meter reader. Armed with a big book and a pencil, I walked the streets of our town, reading the electricity and water meters, recording the details of usage. Some might say it wasn‟t much of a job, but I embraced it with joy. A year later, I was promoted into the treasury department. It was as if I had travelled a full circle of restoration. It was as if God was saying: “You were a thief, but now you can be trusted with money again.” Who could have imagined that years later I would be appointed the Ministerial General Treasurer for the entire Methodist Church, one of the many responsibilities that were part of my duties as General Secretary of the Methodist Church of Southern Africa?

 

My life has been a journey of shaping and changing, of learning new values and deeper morals, a journey that could not be made without the incredible support of a loving wife, a journey with many failures and lessons to be learnt along the way, a journey that has taken me

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from a prison cell in Pretoria to the top rungs of denominational leadership to a significant ministry in the United States. I never cease to be amazed by my journey from prison to parish. I thank God for the power to have come clean, and to have stayed clean.

 

I must end but there is one small part of the unfinished story that I would like to tell. A few years ago, I was invited to preach at the centenary service of the Kensington Methodist Church in Johannesburg. After the service I stood at the door shaking hands with the departing worshippers. I noticed an elderly couple were holding themselves back until everyone else had left. Then they approached me. “You won’t remember us”, they said, “but we are Mr and Mrs Banks. We used to take you to Sunday School.” I felt the tears well up in me as I said to them, “Your faithfulness helped change my life.”

I hope that we will be as faithful to others.

 

You see – that is the thing about right living – it bestows blessings beyond any reward.

 

Patience goes with faithfulness

I have been speaking a lot lately about how God turns our faithfulness into greatness. And I believe it is true. But I am starting to realise that with that faithfulness we need a strong dose of patience. 

My friend was today finally recognised as his son's dad. After years of trying cutting through the red tape of the adoption process, it is now official. Years of faithfully being a dad despite it not being official. Years of patience. And his son is a real blessing! But the full outcome of his patient faithfulness is yet to be seen. 

In ministry I find patience to be non-negotiable. Either you have patience, or you find another job. Not that I am the world's most patient guy. But in the end, my urgent is not everyone else's urgent. 

Does that mean I should quit? No way. It means I should be patient. 

God is not the god of instant gratification. He is in no rush. And when He calls, He seldom calls us to do something right now. Instead He calls us on a particular journey, and asks us to be faithful to sticking to the path He lays out. And for those times when the path seems to be leading nowhere, He gives us His Spirit, and His Spirit gives us patience. And so we soldier on. 

As the wise teacher in Ecclesiastes shows us:

The end of a matter is better than its beginning, and patience is better than pride (Ecclesiastes 7:8).

So will you be faithful in the things God has entrusted you with? And will you be patient when the outcome seems uncertain?

A dead man brings life

I listened to a dead man speak today. 

He spoke words of wisdom. He spoke about many things. He spoke about suffering. 

He spoke about how bad things don't happen because "they were meant to happen", as if everything happens for a reason. No, bad things aren't meant to happen, said the dead man. But they do. Like when this dead man was living and he decided to go paddling out in the sea but didn't follow safety precautions. I wish he had. It wasn't meant to happen.

I watched as this dead man shared Holy Communion with the church he pastored. He shared this meal in a way I have never seen, but a way that looked so right. He challeneged ideas of silver cups and an individual approach to this sacrament. He showed how it is meant to be about family. He said we are meant to do this together, putting our arms around those that are hurting, those that are broken.

Broken.

He said Jesus said: we are all broken. The Bible says Jesus once took bread and said "this is my body, broken...". The dead man explained that the bread is not just Jesus, it is us, the body of Christ, the Church. And we are broken.

He said the church is broken. He said that is the point.  

A man once said of this dead man, that what was significant about him when he was living was not so much what he said, but that he said it. I am so glad, so glad, I got to hear him say it again. 

Love.

If I dead man can have so much influence on a living man, how much more influence can a living man like me have. 

I miss this dead man. I miss him being alive. I miss Barry Marshall.