In celebration of Pentecost, an imagining of Philip, the Evangelist following his story in Acts 6:5-8:40 and 21:8-9.
I was scared too – after they killed Stephen. We understood that some people inevitably resist change. What we hadn’t counted on was their willingness to defend their precious status quo with stones.
You might scoff because you know the Master was killed as well. But remember – that was the Romans. Perhaps they had some help from some Jews, but as a whole, we are not a people without principles. How long have we lived among violent, lawless Gentiles and kept to our ways?
At that point, however, the ground shifted beneath us. The Rabbi Saul was going door-to-door – apprehending any who follow the Way – women as well as men. If Peter and John had not taken me in, I might have fled home to Caesarea. I like to think I would not have abandoned the Master even then, but I’m thankful not to know.
In prayer with Peter and John something happened to me. And I thought the Big change was when I first believed in the Lord! But now, I felt His voice within me, stirring me up with a strange gladness. “Remember,” He spoke, “remember the Sower. Not all seed takes root in good soil, but many fertile fields will lie fallow unless you scatter for Me. You are now one of my sowers, Philip. Go to Samaria.”
So I went. I preached. God even did miracles where I spoke – watering my words, I suppose. People believed and rejoiced. So many, in fact, that Peter and John made the trip from Jerusalem to follow up!
But God didn’t keep me there in Samaria. An angel – yes! – sent me south of Jerusalem on the road to Gaza.
As I journeyed alone, I struck up conversations where I could among my fellow travelers, but mostly I kept to the common folk, like myself. When I came upon a chariot, resting its horses, however, the Spirit nudged me. As I drew closer I determined from the entourage that the official in the chariot managed the treasury for the Queen of the Ethiopians. His servants explained that their master was a God-fearer who had recently made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.
Approaching the Ethiopian, I recognized the words of the prophet Isaiah as he was reading them aloud. God couldn’t have given me a better opening!
“Do you understand what you’re reading?” I blurted out.
“How can I without some help?” he chuckled back! Then he reached out with his own hand to invite me up into the chariot.
Over the next several hours I narrated to him the story of Jesus as we headed south. Deeply moved, when he spied a stream along our way, he called a halt to his driver. “Here’s water. Why can’t I be baptized?”
And so I did, baptizing him right on the spot. I still can see the sunlight sparkling the droplets on his shining face as I hoisted his large frame up out of the water.
It came to me after, that I had never even learned his name. I had been only the sower, you see. Perhaps, God meant for me never to know what became of his faith in order to be clear that this change of heart business counted as His work – not mine.
The Lord spirited me off from there and set me back going north, back to Caesarea, to home. I put down roots for good, after that. I married and we raised four beautiful daughters – all prophets themselves. After so much of my youth merely scattering the seed, I’ve rather enjoyed getting to watch the full growth cycle and lasting long enough to celebrate some of the reaping.
The harvest continues to surprise even me. That Saul who leveraged the momentum of Stephen’s murder into a full-on strike against the gospel, breaking up our happy community in Jerusalem back in the early days – that “bad” seed has just stayed in my home, on his way to Jerusalem. He calls himself Paul now, and it seems like God made him into a sower too.
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