Homily 19 — Acts 8, verse 26, to 9, verse 9

“And the angel of the Lord spoke to Philip, saying, ‘Rise and go toward the south, to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza, which is desert.’ And he rose and went.” [a]

It seems to me that this Philip was one of the seven. From Jerusalem he would not have gone south, but north; but from Samaria it was “toward the south. It is desert,” so there was no fear of an attack from the Jews. And he did not ask, “Why?” but “rose and went. And look,” it says, “a man of Ethiopia, a eunuch of great authority under Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, who was in charge of all her treasure, and had come to Jerusalem to worship, was returning, and sitting in his chariot he was reading the prophet Isaiah” (verses 27 and 28).

This is high praise for the man. He lived in Ethiopia, he was hemmed in by so much business, there was no festival going on at the time, and he lived in that city so given to superstition; and yet he came “to Jerusalem to worship.” Great, too, is his love of study, for even “sitting in his chariot he was reading. And,” it says, “the Spirit said to Philip, ‘Go near, and join yourself to this chariot.’ And Philip ran to him, and heard him reading the prophet Isaiah, and said, ‘Do you understand what you are reading?’ And he said, ‘How can I, unless someone guides me?’” (verses 29 to 31). Notice his piety again: though he did not understand, he kept reading, and then, after reading, he asks. “And he begged Philip to come up and sit with him.”

“The passage of the Scripture that he was reading was this: ‘He was led like a sheep to the slaughter; and like a lamb silent before its shearer, so he did not open his mouth. In his humiliation his judgment was taken away; and who will declare his generation? For his life is taken from the earth.’ And the eunuch answered Philip and said, ‘Please, of whom does the prophet say this? Of himself, or of someone else?’ Then Philip opened his mouth, and beginning with this same Scripture he preached Jesus to him” (verses 32 to 35). [b]

Notice how it is all arranged by providence. First he reads and does not understand; then he is reading the very passage that held the suffering, the resurrection, and the gift. “And as they went along the road, they came to some water; and the eunuch said, ‘Look, here is water; what prevents me from being baptized?’” (verse 36). Notice the eager desire; notice the exact knowledge. “And he ordered the chariot to stop; and they both went down into the water, both Philip and the eunuch; and he baptized him. And when they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord caught Philip away, so that the eunuch saw him no more; and he went on his way rejoicing” (verses 38 and 39).

But why did the Spirit of the Lord carry him away? By this the event was shown to be all the more wonderful. Even then the eunuch did not know who he was. So this was done so that afterward Philip might be a cause of wonder to him. “For,” it says, “he went on his way rejoicing. But Philip was found at Azotus; and passing through he preached in all the cities, until he came to Caesarea” (verse 40). So this Philip was one of the seven, for it is at Caesarea, in fact, that he is found later on.

It was right, then, and to good purpose, that the Spirit caught Philip away. Otherwise the eunuch would have wanted to go with him, and Philip would have grieved him by refusing his request, since the time for that had not yet come. At the same time, here was an encouraging assurance for them that they would prevail over the pagans as well; for the trustworthy character of these first believers was enough to move them. If, however, the eunuch had stayed there, what fault could anyone have found? But he did not know Philip. That is why it says, “he went on his way rejoicing”: had he known him, he would not have been so delighted.

“And the angel of the Lord,” and so on (verse 26). See the angels assisting the preaching: not preaching themselves, but calling these men to the work. The wonder of what happened is shown by this too: what was rare in the old days and hardly ever done takes place here with ease — and see how often! [g]

“A eunuch,” it says, “a man of great authority under Candace, queen of the Ethiopians” (verse 27). For there women ruled from of old, and this was their law. Philip did not yet know for whose sake he had come into the desert; but what was there to stop him from learning all these details exactly once he was in the chariot? “He was reading the prophet Isaiah” (verse 28). For the road was desert, and there was no show about it. Notice the time, too: in the fiercest heat of the day. “And the Spirit said to him” (verse 29).

Now it is not the angel but the Spirit that urges him on. Why is this? Earlier the vision took place in a more physical form, through the angel, for that is for those who are more bound to the body; but the Spirit is for the more spiritual.

And how did the Spirit speak to him? He put the thought into his mind, of course. Why did the angel not appear to the other man and bring him to Philip? Because very likely he would not have been persuaded, but rather terrified. [i]

Notice Philip’s wisdom. He did not accuse him; he did not say, “I know these things exactly.” He did not flatter him and say, “Blessed are you for reading.” See how his words are far from harshness and from flattery alike; they are the words of a kind and friendly man: “Do you understand what you are reading?” (verse 30). For it was necessary that the eunuch should ask for himself and feel the longing for himself. Philip plainly hints that he knows the other man understood nothing when he says, “Do you understand what you are reading?” At the same time he shows him that a great treasure lay hidden there.

It speaks well of the eunuch, too, that he did not look at Philip’s outward appearance. He did not say, “Who are you?” He did not scold, did not put on airs, did not claim that he knew. On the contrary, he confesses his ignorance, and that is why he learns. He shows his wound to the physician. He sees at a glance that Philip both understands the matter and is willing to teach. See how free he is from pride, for Philip’s outward appearance announced nothing splendid. So eager was he to learn that he paid close attention to his words, and the saying “He who seeks finds” (Matthew 7, verse 8) was fulfilled in him.

“And,” it says, “he begged Philip to come up and sit with him” (verse 31). Do you notice the eagerness, the longing? If anyone says that he ought to have waited for Philip to speak, the answer is that he did not know what the matter was. He could not tell at all what the other was going to say to him, but supposed only that he was about to receive some lesson on the prophecy. Besides, it was more respectful not to pull him into his chariot, but to beg him.

“And Philip,” we have read, “ran to him, and heard him reading.” The very fact that he ran showed that he wanted to say something. “And the passage,” it says, “of the Scripture that he was reading was this: ‘Like a sheep he was led to the slaughter’” (verse 32). This too is a sign of his lofty, disciplined mind, that he had this prophet in hand, who is more exalted than all the others. Philip does not tell him things just as they happen to come, but quietly; in fact, he says nothing until he is asked. The eunuch begged him before, and he begs him now, saying, “Please, of whom does the prophet say this?” That he should know at all, either that the prophets speak in different ways about different persons, or that they speak of themselves as though of someone else — the question shows a very thoughtful mind. Let us be put to shame by this eunuch, poor and rich alike.

Then, it says, “they came to some water, and he said, ‘Look, here is water’” (verse 36). Again he asks of his own accord, saying, “What prevents me from being baptized?” And see his modesty again. He does not say, “Baptize me,” and yet he does not keep silent; he says something halfway between strong desire and reverent fear: “What prevents me?” Do you notice that he has the teachings of the faith complete? For the prophet contained the whole of it: his becoming man, his suffering, his resurrection, his being taken up into heaven, the judgment to come. And if he shows extraordinary eagerness, do not be surprised. Be ashamed, all of you who are not yet baptized.

“And,” it says, “he ordered the chariot to stop” (verse 38). He spoke and gave the order in the same moment, before hearing Philip’s answer. “And when they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord caught Philip away” (verse 39), so that the event might be shown to be from God, and the eunuch would not think Philip was merely a man. “And he went on his way,” it says, “rejoicing.” This hints that he would have been grieved had he known; but because of the greatness of his joy, now that he had been granted the Spirit as well, he did not even notice what was around him. “But Philip was found at Azotus” (verse 40). Great was the gain to Philip too. What he had heard about the prophets — about Habakkuk, about Ezekiel, and the rest — he saw done in his own person (Bel and the Dragon, verse 36; Ezekiel 3, verse 12).

From this it appears that he went a long distance, since he “was found at Azotus.” The Spirit set him down there, where he was to preach from then on: “And passing through, he preached in all the cities, until he came to Caesarea.”

“And Saul, still breathing threats and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to this Way, whether men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem” (Acts 9, verses 1 and 2).

It is fitting that the writer mentions Paul’s zeal, and shows that it was in the very midst of his zeal that he is drawn in. “Still breathing threats and slaughter”: he was not yet satisfied with the murder of Stephen, not yet glutted with the persecution of the church and the scattering of the believers. See, what Christ had said was fulfilled: “Those who kill you will think they are offering worship to God” (John 16, verse 2). He, then, did it in that spirit, not as the Jews did — far from it! That he did it out of zeal is clear from his going abroad even to foreign cities, whereas they would not have cared even about those in Jerusalem; they were after one thing only, to enjoy honor.

But why did he go to Damascus? It was a great city, a royal city, and he was afraid it would be won over first. And notice his strong desire and his ardor, and how strictly by the law he set to work. He does not go to the governor, but “to the priest, so that if he found any of this Way.” For that was what the believers were called, probably because they were taking the straight way that leads to heaven. And why did he not get authority to have them punished there, instead of bringing them to Jerusalem? Here he could do these things with more authority.

And notice what danger he throws himself into. He was not afraid that he might come to harm, and yet he took others with him too: “so that if,” it says, “he found any of this Way, whether men or women” — oh, the ruthlessness! — “he might bring them bound.” By this journey of his he meant to show them all how he would act, so far were they from being in earnest about the matter.

Notice, too, that he had been throwing people into prison before this. The others, then, did not prevail; but this man did prevail, because of his burning spirit. “And as he traveled, he came near Damascus; and suddenly a light from heaven shone around him; and he fell to the ground, and heard a voice saying to him, ‘Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?’” (verses 3 and 4).

Why not in Jerusalem? Why not in Damascus? So that there would be no opening for different people to tell the event in different ways, but he alone would be the trustworthy narrator — he who had gone there for this very purpose. And in fact he does tell it, both in his speech on the stairs and when he pleads his case before Agrippa (Acts 22, verse 6, and 26, verse 12). “He fell to the ground”: for too much light usually stuns, because the eyes have their limits. It is said, too, that too much sound makes people deaf and dazed, as if struck by a seizure. But him it only blinded, and it put out his passion by fear, so that he would listen to what was said.

“Saul, Saul,” he says, “why are you persecuting me?” And he tells him nothing. He does not say, “Believe,” or anything of the kind, but reproaches him, all but saying: “What wrong, great or small, have you suffered from me, that you do these things?” [l]

“And he said, ‘Who are you, Lord?’” (verse 5). In this way, first of all, he confesses himself his servant. “And the Lord said, ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting’” — do not think it is men you are at war with. And those who were with him heard Paul’s voice, but saw no one whom he was answering; for the Lord allowed them to hear the less important part. Had they heard the other voice, they would not have believed; but seeing Paul answer someone, they were amazed.

“But rise, and go into the city, and you will be told what you must do” (verse 6). Notice how he does not add everything at once, but first softens his mind. In the same way he called the disciples, too, a second time. “You will be told,” and so on: he gives him good hopes, and hints that he will recover his sight as well. “And the men who were traveling with him stood speechless, hearing a voice, but seeing no one. And Saul rose from the ground; and when his eyes were opened, he saw no one; but they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus” (verses 7 and 8) — the spoils of the devil, “his goods” (Matthew 12, verse 29), carried off as from some city, or rather some capital that has been captured. And the wonder of it is that his enemies and adversaries themselves brought him in, in the sight of all!

“And for three days he neither ate nor drank, being blind” (verse 9). What could equal this? To make up for the discouragement over Stephen, here was encouragement in the bringing in of Paul. That grief already had its comfort in the fact that Stephen made such an end; still, it received this further comfort as well. Besides, the bringing in of the Samaritan villages had given very great comfort.

But why did this happen, not at the very beginning, but after these things? So that it might be shown that Christ really had risen. This furious assailant of Christ, the man who would not believe in his death and resurrection, the persecutor of his disciples — how could this man have become a believer, had the power of his resurrection not been great indeed? Grant that the other apostles took his side: what do you say about this man? Why, then, not immediately after his resurrection? So that his hostility might be shown more clearly for the open war it was. The man who is so frantic that he even sheds blood and throws people into prison all at once believes!

It was not enough that he had never been in Christ’s company; the believers also had to be fought by him with fierce hostility. He left no one the chance to outdo him in fury; not one of them could be so violent. But when he was blinded, then he saw the proofs of Christ’s sovereign power and of his love for humankind. Then he answers, “Lord, what do you want me to do?” — so that no one could say he was playing the hypocrite. He was eager even for blood; he went to the priests; he threw himself into such dangers, persecuting and bringing to punishment even those who lived in foreign parts; and under these circumstances he now acknowledges Christ’s sovereign power.

And why did that light shine on him not inside the city, but before it? Most people would not have believed. Even in Jerusalem, when the people heard the voice that came from above, they said that “it thundered” (John 12, verse 29). But this man was authority enough in telling what concerned himself. And he was brought in bound, though with no chains on him; and they led the man who had expected to lead the others. “And he did not eat or drink”: he condemned himself for the past; he confessed, prayed, and pleaded with God. [p]

But someone may say: “This was the result of force.” The same thing happened to Elymas; then how is it that he was not changed (Acts 13)? What could be more forceful than the earthquake at the resurrection, the soldiers’ report, the other miracles, the sight of him risen? But these things do not force belief; they are meant to teach it. Why did the Jews not believe when they were told of these things?

That Paul was telling the truth was plain, for he would not have been changed if this had not happened, so everyone was bound to believe. He was in no way behind those who preached the resurrection, and he was more believable because he was converted all at once. He had had no contact with any of the believers. It was at Damascus that he was converted — or rather, it happened to him before he reached Damascus.

I ask the Jew: tell me, what converted Paul? He saw so many signs and was not converted; his teacher was converted, and he remained unconverted. Who persuaded him — and not only persuaded him, but all at once filled him with such burning zeal? Why was it that he wished to go even into hell itself for Christ’s sake? The truth of the facts is plain.

But, as I said, for now let us be ashamed of ourselves when we think of the eunuch, both in his baptism and in his reading. Do you notice how he held a post of great authority, how he had wealth, and yet even on his journey allowed himself no rest? What must he have been like at home, in his free hours, this man who did not rest even while traveling? What must he have been like at night? [s]

You who hold posts of rank, listen: imitate his freedom from pride and his piety. Though he was about to go home, he did not say to himself, “I am going back to my own country; let me be baptized there” — those cold words most people use! He had no need of signs, no need of miracles; from the prophet alone he believed.

But why was it arranged that he meets Philip not before he goes to Jerusalem, but after he has been there? It was not fitting that he should see the apostles under persecution. Because he was still weak, the prophet was not easy for him; and yet the prophet gave him his first instruction in the faith. For even now, if any of you would apply himself to studying the prophets, he would need no miracles.

And, if you like, let us take up the prophecy itself: “He was led like a sheep to the slaughter; and like a lamb silent before its shearer, so he did not open his mouth. In his humiliation his judgment was taken away; and who will declare his generation? For his life is taken from the earth” (verses 32 and 33). He had probably heard that he was crucified, and now he learns that “his life is taken from the earth,” and the rest: that “he did no sin, nor was there deceit in his mouth”; that he was able to save others too; and who he is, whose generation no one can tell. He had probably seen the split rocks there on the spot, and heard how the curtain was torn, and how there was darkness, and so on; and Philip spoke of all these things, simply taking his text from the prophet.

What a great thing this reading of the Scriptures is! The word spoken by Moses was fulfilled: “Sitting, lying down, rising up, and walking, remember the Lord your God” (Deuteronomy 6, verse 7).

For roads, especially lonely ones, give us a chance to reflect, since there is no one to disturb us. This man is on the road, and Paul is on the road; but no human being draws Paul — Christ alone does. This was too great a work for the apostles. And it was greater still because, with the apostles at Jerusalem and no one of authority at Damascus, he nevertheless came back from there converted. Yet the people at Damascus knew that he had not come from Jerusalem converted, for he brought letters in order to put the believers in chains. [v]

Like a consummate physician, Christ brought him help when the fever was at its height; for he had to be subdued in the very midst of his frenzy. Then, more than at any other time, he would be brought low and would condemn himself as guilty of dreadful recklessness. That is why Paul laments over himself, saying, “But for this reason I received mercy, so that in me first Jesus Christ might display all his patience” (First Timothy 1, verses 13 to 16).

Truly one has reason to admire this eunuch. He did not see Christ; he saw no miracle; he saw Jerusalem still standing whole; and he believed Philip. How did he come to act like this? His soul was full of earnest care. Yet the thief on the cross had seen miracles, and the wise men had seen a star; but this man saw nothing of the kind. So great a thing is the careful reading of the Scriptures!

What about Paul, then? Did he not study the law? But he, it seems to me, was kept in reserve for a special purpose, the one I have already mentioned in advance: Christ wanted to draw the Jews to himself by inducements from every side. Had they been in their right minds, nothing was so likely to do them good as this; this, more than miracles and everything else, was fitted to attract them — just as, on the other hand, nothing so easily becomes a stumbling block to people of duller minds.

See, then, how after the apostles we have God himself working miracles too. They accused the apostles after these miracles of theirs; they threw them into prison. Then see God working the miracles. Bringing them out of prison was his miracle; bringing Philip was his miracle; bringing Paul over was his. Notice how Paul is honored, and how the eunuch is. In Paul’s case Christ appears, probably because of his hardness, and because otherwise Ananias would not have been persuaded. Since we know these wonders so well, let us show ourselves worthy of them.

But many people these days, even when they come to church, do not know what is being read. The eunuch, by contrast, even out in public and riding in his chariot, gave himself to reading the Scriptures. Not so with you. No one picks up the Bible. No — anything rather than the Bible. [w]

Tell me, what are the Scriptures for? As far as it depends on you, it has all come to nothing. What is the church for? Tie the Bibles shut! Then perhaps the judgment would not be so severe, nor the punishment so great. If someone were to bury them in dung so as not to hear them, he would not insult them as much as you do now. Tell me, what is the insult in that case? That the man has buried them. And what is it here? That we do not listen to them.

Tell me, when is a person most insulted: when he is silent and no one answers him, or when he speaks and no one pays attention? So the insult is greater in our case, when he speaks and you will not hear. The contempt is greater. “Do not speak to us,” we read, is what they said to the prophets in the old days (Isaiah 30, verse 10). But you do worse. You say, “Speak — we will not do it.” They turned the prophets away so that they would not even speak, because they felt that the voice itself brought them a kind of awe and obligation. But you, in the excess of your contempt, do not even do that.

Believe me, if you stopped our mouths by putting your hands over them, the insult would not be as great as it is now. Tell me, who shows greater contempt: the one who hears, even while he tries to stop it by this action, or the one who will not even listen? Tell me — if we look at it as a case of an insult offered — suppose one person checks the man who is insulting him and stops his mouth, because the insults hurt him; and another shows no concern at all, but pretends not even to hear them. Which of the two shows more contempt? Would you not say the second?

For the first shows that he feels the blow, while the second all but stops the mouth of God. Did you shudder at what I said? Why, the mouth through which God speaks is the mouth of God. Just as our mouth is the mouth of our soul, though the soul has no mouth, so the mouth of the prophets is the mouth of God. Hear this, and shudder. [x]

There the deacon stands before the whole congregation and calls out, “Let us attend to the reading.” The voice he raises is the voice of the whole church together, and yet no one attends. After him the reader begins, “The prophecy of Isaiah,” and still no one attends, although prophecy has nothing human about it. Then after this he says, “Thus says the Lord,” and still no one attends. Then after this come punishments and acts of vengeance, and even then no one attends.

But what is the excuse everyone gives? “It is always the same things over again.” This, more than anything, is what ruins you. Suppose you did know these things; even so you certainly ought not to turn away. In the theaters, too, is it not always the same things acted over and over? And still you do not grow sick of them. How dare you talk about “the same things,” when you do not know so much as the names of the prophets? Are you not ashamed to say that the reason you do not listen is that it is “the same things over again,” when you do not know the names of those whose words are read, and this although you are always hearing the same things? You have admitted yourself that the same things are said. If I had said this in order to find fault with you, you would have had to look for some quite different excuse, instead of this one, which is the very thing you complain of.

Do you not give your son advice? Now if he were to say, “Always the same things!” would you not take it as an insult? It would be time enough to talk about “the same things” when we both knew them and showed them in the way we live.

Or rather, even then the reading of them would not be superfluous. Who was the equal of Timothy? Tell me that. And yet Paul says to him, “Give attention to reading, to exhortation” (First Timothy 4, verse 13). For it is not possible — I say it is not possible — ever to exhaust the meaning of the Scriptures. It is a well that has no bottom. “I said,” says the Preacher, “‘I have become wise,’ and then it departed from me” (Ecclesiastes 7, verse 24). [y]

Shall I show you that they are not “the same things”? How many people, do you suppose, have spoken on the Gospels? And yet they have all spoken in a way that was new and fresh. For the longer a person dwells on them, the more insight he gains, and the more clearly he sees the pure light.

Look how many things I am about to bring up. Tell me: What is narrative? What is prophecy? What is a parable? What is a type? What is an allegory? What is a symbol? What are Gospels? Answer me just this one point, which is a plain one: why are they called Gospels, that is, “good news”? And yet you have often heard that good news ought to have nothing sad in it. Yet this “good news” is full of sad things. “Their fire,” it says, “will never be quenched, and their worm will not die” (Mark 9, verse 44). “He will assign him his portion,” it says, “with the hypocrites” — with those who are “cut in pieces.” “Then he will say, ‘I do not know you. Depart from me, you who practice wrongdoing’” (Matthew 24, verse 51, and 7, verse 23).

Surely we are not deceiving ourselves when we imagine that we are telling you this good news in your own language? You look downcast. You are stunned. You are completely overwhelmed, unable to lift your heads. Good news ought to contain no duties to be done, but should rather speak of good things. Yet these Gospels are full of endless duties to be done. [ad]

And again, to mention other things: “Unless a man hates father and mother, he is not worthy of me” (Luke 14, verse 26); and, “I have not come to bring peace on earth, but a sword” (Matthew 10, verse 34; Luke 12, verse 51); and, “In the world you will have distress” (John 16, verse 33). Fine good news this is, is it not! For good news is something like this: “You will have this good thing and that.” As in everyday life people say to one another, “What will I get for my good news? Your father is coming,” or, “Your mother is coming.” The messenger does not say, “You must do this or that.”

Again, tell me, how do the Gospels differ from the Prophets? Why are the prophecies not called Gospels, “good news,” as well? For they tell of the same things. For instance: “The lame will leap like a deer” (Isaiah 35, verse 6); “The Lord will give the word to those who bring the good news” (Psalm 68, verse 11); and, “A new heaven and a new earth” (Isaiah 65, verse 17). Why are these not called Gospels too? But if you despise the reading of the Scriptures like this, when you do not even know what “Gospels” means, what am I to say to you? Let me speak of something else.

Why four Gospels? Why not ten? Why not twenty? If “many have undertaken to set forth an account” (Luke 1, verse 1), why not one person only? Why were some of the writers disciples, and why were some not disciples? [ah]

But why any Scriptures at all? And yet, on the other hand, the Old Testament says, “I will give you a new covenant” (Jeremiah 31, verse 31).

Where are those who say, “Always the same things”? If you knew these things — that even if a person lived thousands of years they would not be “the same things” — you would not say it. Believe me, I will not tell you the answers to any of these questions, not in private and not in public. Only, if anyone finds them out, I will nod my agreement. For this is how we have made you good for nothing: by always handing you everything ready-made, and by not refusing when we ought to have refused.

Look, you have questions enough. Think them over, and tell me the reasons. Why Gospels? Why not prophecies? Why are there duties to be done in the Gospels? If one of you is at a loss, let another look for the answer, and let each contribute to the others from what he has. But for now we will hold our peace. For if what has already been said has done you no good, much less would it if we added more. We are only pouring water into a jar full of holes. And the punishment, too, becomes all the greater for you. So we will hold our peace.

Whether we must do so rests with you. For if we see your diligence, perhaps we will speak again, so that you may be more approved and we may rejoice over you, giving glory in all things to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. To him be glory and dominion, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.