When you've been in the pastoral ministry as long as I, there is a tendency to become jaded, cynical. I wish it weren't so, but it is. It's like you've heard it all before.

Take evangelism, for instance. How many evangelism emphases have we had in our

Annual Conference since I've been a pastor? Seems like every time we get a new bishop, some new prorgram comes along to proclaim the beginning of a great wave of religious revival that will sweep our Annual Conference--some new program or technique to bring people in. I remember "The Daring Journey”," when we were supposed to get about a humungous number converts in the late 1970s. Then in the eighties we all teaching “Disciple Bible Studies”, followed almost immeditely by “Alpha” Then it was "Vision 2000." and now I believe we're in the middle of Vision 2020. I confess that a sort of fatigue sets in. One becomes weary, wary of these promised quick fixes for the problem of our decline.

Today's lesson from The Book of Acts is an evangelistic story, a story about Good News, the Good News of Christ coming to someone. But it is not evangelism without some cost, some pain.

Who did the Good News (i.e., Gospel) come to and what was learned about that news?

Well, the story begins with Philip, who is told to arise and go, of all places, to the middle of the desert at, of all times, noon. He isn't told why. But let me just call to your attention that this expedition is not Philip's idea. He is called, told to go there—so he goes.

There, in the desert, Philip meets a strange traveler, an Ethiopian, a member of the court of the Queen of the Ethiopians, a man presumably of a different race, of exotic culture and nationality, of different gender /sexual orientation—he is a eunuch—and if you don’t know what that word means—don’t embarrass us both by asking here in the Sanctuary—go ask your friendly farmer after the sermon.

In any case, the Ethiopian has somehow got hold of a scroll of the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah was Jesus' favorite prophet, though the Ethiopian doesn't know that. He has had trouble making sense of what he is reading, something about a lamb led to his death.

Because Philip is a Jew, the Ethiopian asks, "Who is the writer speaking about, himself or

someone else?"

As a child in Sabbath school, had Philip learned this verse from Leviticus by heart? "When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God"

Philip, whose encounter with Jesus has led him to read Isaiah as prophesy of Jesus, tells the Ethiopian, "It's about Jesus and how he died.” Philip tells the Ethiopian what he knows about Jesus; and what the Risen Lord has done and means, in Philip’s life—no more, no less.

He must have taught well, for the Ethiopian asks Philip to baptize him. Philip politely resists. He says he would if he could, but there's no water in the desert. We wonder if Philip was just as glad not to have water for baptism. After all, what are the newly born church's rules on baptism of Ethiopians, of eunuchs, of these borderline, honorary Jews—known as “Godfearers?

The problem was, there were no rules yet. And Philip was apparently not the kind of guy who gloried in creating precedents. Suddenly, almost miraculously, they notice there is water. Philip perhaps sighs just a bit as he baptizes this man from the margins. As if to confirm this surprising turn of events, the Holy Spirit immediately descends, empowering the Ethiopian to live as a new disciple of Jesus.

Which brings us back to how we got out here in the desert in the first place. This

surprising, stunning act of evangelism was not Philip's or his church's idea. Philip got dragged

kicking and screaming out here to, of all places, the desert to minister to, of all people, this

Ethiopian.

Now what do we learn about evangelism, the spread of the Good News of Christ, from

this story? I'll tell you what I learn. Evangelism, reaching out to the world is God's idea before it is ours. At every turn in the road, when the Holy Spirit turned toward the Gentiles, then to this race and that, the church had to be pushed, prodded there. Maybe it's only natural to think of Jesus as our buddy, or pet, rather than our Lord. So we hunker down with Jesus, just us and our people, and well the story of Jesus might have ended in Jerusalem, with his first followers and their best friends.

But no, this God is not only Creator and Christ, but also Holy Spirit. So the Holy Spirit

comes along and pushes you and me out into some desert and the next thing you know we're having to call this Ethiopian "brother." Throughout her history, every time the church of Jesus came into interaction with seekers and believers of another culture or race, yes, there has been conflict and even discomfort. But ever time that has happened, the faith has spread, and grown, and evolved—every time.

Evangelism engenders growth. And evangelism doesn’t begin with our inclusiveness, but in the heart of God. It’s God's grand resolve to have a people, a nation gathered not as the world gathers people - by race, gender, class - but by the call of God. It's hospitality in the name of Christ. Hospitality toward the stranger, to one who is outside the bounds of our definitions of "insiders" and "outsiders," is a virtue that crosses culture and history. In ancient times hospitality meant greeting and feeding and sheltering and protecting the stranger—because in part, someday you might be the stranger—dependant on the care of someone you do not even know.

In both ancient and modern Jewish and Christian understandings, a follower of God shows love for God and others by extending hospitality—welcome and acceptance at the very least—to outsiders, visitors, newcomers--even if they are complete strangers in every sense. But for us the reason is that they, like us, are children of God. And as an extra goodie, when we open our hearts and homes and churches we cultivate God’s blessings on our own lives and households.

Sometimes people in the church say, "I would be more evangelistic, more willing to share the story of Christ with others, but I'm too shy."

I know that it's not easy to share your faith. But I wonder if the main reason why we are

reluctant to be more evangelistic, more inviting toward the world, is not so much that we'e afraid that we'll embarass ourselves, that we fear it will work.

That is, we're afraid on some the "wrong" people might step forward, might hear the Good News as their might hear the Good News as their news, might say, "Yes, I want to follow Jesus." Then where would we be, our churches disrupted by all these people we don't even know? People of different color, or tongue, or culture or class? People withn noisy little babies and disruptive children? My goodness! Is there no limit to God's, or our, hospitality?

Bible scholar Dominic Crossan believes that one of the reasons why Jesus ran into trouble with the religious authorities of his day was that Jesus practiced open-table fellowship with all, even with "sinners."

A key aspect of Jesus' ministry, according to Crossan, was that Jesus kept inviting all to eat and drink with him at his table. It was, in other words, his hospitality that landed him in difficulty.

I'll tell you a secret. We very well might be more a church of the Holy Spirit than merely another human organization formed for purely human purposes. Luther claimed that he led the Protestant Reformation by sitting in the tavern, drinking good beer and minding his own business. The Holy Spirit did the rest.

We keep forgetting that the church is the product of the Holy Spirit, not of our breathless, earnest pastoral efforts. Sometimes the best thing we in the church can do is invite friends and neighbors and family menbers to visit in order to transform our churches into hospitable, welcoming, loving communities by and than get our the way, letting the Holy Spirit do what the Spirit does.

The risk is that when we bring in the newcomers, those who are different—different in gender, different in generation or family structure, different in life style, color, background-- people on the fringe of what we feel comfortable with-- they very well might challenge us, and grow us. The Holy Spirit, that old, surprising power of God, specializes, loves to leap all-too human boundaries, pushing down walls between people, kicking open another our locked doors. There's a party, and guess who's invited?

Evangelism, the church's attempt to be and to share the Good News, is a program, not of our denomination, but of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit keeps church interesting, keeps

bringing us new sisters and brothers, keeps converting us into a more expansive, embracing

gospel than the one we would have had if we had not been given the Spirit.

In a couple of Sundays, we'll be at Pentecost. The risen Christ had told his disciples,

"You wait in Jerusalem until I give you the Holy Spirit." They received the Spirit at Pentecost.

And things have never been quiet in church since.