June 28, 2009 | 9:30 and 11:00 a.m.

Not My Area

Brian Blount
President, Union Presbyterian Seminary and
Presbyterian School of Christian Education

Psalm 68:28–32
Acts 8:26–40

God works outside the boundaries that humans set up for each other. The Ethiopian represents a world where people are not locked into areas, a world where the gospel message is not locked into areas either. The Ethiopian represents a world where the gospel message can move to people anywhere and any people can move to God at any time

Brian Blount

The movie Michael is the story of an angel who comes to earth and the only people who get the story work for a tabloid newspaper like the National Enquirer. The paper dispatches two male reporters, a dog, and a female dog trainer masquerading as an angel specialist to the scene of an old lady’s Midwestern home. The lady has apparently written several notes to several papers, notifying them that the archangel Michael is a guest in her house. The two reporters don’t want to go because neither of them believes this lady is housing an angel. The woman who is not an angel specialist only goes because she has been told that if she can get the dog, who only responds to the two reporters, to respond to her, then she has their job. The dog, a famous pooch whose face and exploits are the stuff of legend in their city, goes because he’s a dog and dogs go where the people who own them take them.

This wild setup to the story takes an even more preposterous twist when the two reporters, the dog trainer, and the dog arrive at the lady’s house and find an unkempt man who parades around in his underwear, belches when he eats, loves the taste of sugar, and has two apparently authentic angel wings protruding from his back. As the story slowly unfolds, it appears that indeed the archangel Michael has come to earth.

As people often did with Jesus in the Bible, so the nonbelievers from the newspaper demand from Michael a sign, some proof that will authenticate his angelic claim. When, for example, the lady who has been hosting the angel dies, the newspaper reporters demand that the angel give something back to this woman who has given her house to him. They demand that Michael raise her from the dead. A quizzical look on his face, Michael proclaims softly, but firmly, “That’s not my area.”

The rest of the movie is a journey with two objectives. The three want to get this real live angel, and what is clearly the story of the century, back to their newspaper headquarters so they can show him off. It’s a long journey, because this particular archangel, outfitted with beautiful wings, doesn’t like to fly. Since he won’t go by plane, they’ve got to drive over a thousand miles. While they are on the way, they try to achieve their second objective. Since every time they ask him to do something special he declares that it is nothis area, they are determined to find out what, exactly, his area is.

Ever since my wife and I saw the movie, I like to quote the archangel Michael from time to time. Every once in a while, when she says it’s my turn to do the dishes after a meal, I’ll look up from the table and declare in a firm angelic voice, “That’s not my area.” She gets the joke, and then I get up and get the dishes. Sometimes, when I’m weary of politics and someone asks me what I think about a national or state or local matter that I can’t do anything but whine about anyway, even though they don’t know the joke, I declare in a frustrated and defeated tone, “That’s not my area.” The flicker of disappointment in their eyes fires up my sense that there must be some way I canmake a difference after all. Sometimes, when someone asks me to do something I don’t have the time to do or asks me to speak when I don’t feel I have something to say or begs me to participate when I don’t have time to contribute, and deep down even though I know that through their requests God is calling, I think to myself, “That’s not my area.” I always, somehow, seem to find myself doing, speaking, and contributing anyway. And in the midst of that doing, speaking, or contributing, I wonder to myself, why won’t God just let me stay safe in myarea? Why does God keep calling me out?

I would imagine that the two people who populate this brief but powerful story must have asked themselves the very same question. Each of them, because of God, finds himself outside of his natural area.

Certainly this barren desert strip is not Philip’s discipleship area. Philip had a conversion contract, and this wilderness road wasn’t on it. In the book of Acts, in chapter 8 at least, Philip has signed up to save souls in Samaria. And he’s a hit. Crowds flood out in excited human waves to hear him. In the midst of these crowds, he performs great signs. He heals the sick. He exorcises demons. He empowers the paralyzed to walk. He provokes unbelievers to believe. In Samaria, Philip is a righteous, redeeming, revelation-revealing rock star. The city is his area; the Samaritans are his charge. It is a glorious thing when a person finds his fit, when he loves his work, knows where his work is to be done, and does his work so well that he succeeds beyond the wildest of expectations. That kind of work deserves a big reward and a big allotment of time with all of the people who adore you because of what you have done for them. Philip gets neither adoration nor reward. He gets orders to ship out. He is shoved out of his city and pushed away from his people. And then he finds himself on this deserted road in the middle of nowhere with a strange man from an even stranger place. Clearly, this is not Philip’s area.

Philip has become accustomed to preaching to large gatherings in a fairly large community. How has it happened that his ministry has now been reduced to a single conversation with a single man? Why has God called him out of his area?

Something big is happening in this small encounter. By talking to this single Ethiopian, by transforming this single Ethiopian, Philip sets the stage for the movement of the gospel to the ends of the entire earth.

Humans tend to connect size with importance. Big churches, big mission endeavors, big programs, big speeches, big crowds, big mission budgets, big attendance, big evangelism numbers, big, big, big. That’s our area. Big. We like the big. We wonder about the small. The bigger the better. Bigger television screens to watch bigger sports stars in bigger living rooms inside bigger houses. Bigger is our area. But not necessarily God’s. God works through this one small encounter with this single eunuch in a way that changes the belief destiny of an entire world. From this moment on, the spread of the gospel cannot be contained inside any geographical boundary or focused on any one kind of people.

Philip’s story teaches us about our own efforts to spread the good news of the crucified and risen Christ. You don’t have to preach to great crowds to make a difference. Telling the story to a single person, sharing the good news with one interested individual, can, in the way God works, have an impact far greater than anything we might imagine. We can make a difference in the world by making a difference in a single person’s life. Don’t wait for the crowds to speak and live your faith; crowd your way into the places beyond your comfort areas where you can make a difference even if the persons you find there are different from you and the situation is very different from what you expect. Philip found that when he moved outside his area into an unknown area, he could make a difference. I trust that we will find the same thing if we trust enough to move outside our areas of operation and expectation, too.

The Ethiopian was most certainly outside his area. As Beverly Roberts Gaventa writes in her commentary on this text, “The fact that this man is identified as an Ethiopian indicates that he comes from regions south of Egypt and has dark skin” (Beverly Gaventa, Acts, p. 141). Throughout the ancient world, when an author wanted to symbolize something that was far away, he used the image of Ethiopia. In the Odyssey, Homer spoke of the “far-off Ethiopians . . . the farthermost of men.” The Latin author Strabo said that the Ethiopians came from the extremities of the inhabited world. Old Testament and early Jewish texts portrayed Ethiopia as the border of the known world (Gaventa, pp. 141–142). Clearly, then, Palestine is not his area.

Though Palestine is a land of people whose skin would have been darkened by the sun, the Ethiopian’s skin would have been even darker. He would have stood out wherever he had been in Jerusalem and in the surrounding neighborhoods of southern Palestine. Everyone would have immediately recognized that he was not of their area.

Even more notably, Luke says that the Ethiopian was a eunuch. A eunuch was a castrated male. The destruction of his genitals had implications not only for his work but also for his standing in society. Eunuchs often had major responsibilities in the ancient world. Very often these mutilated slaves had strong intellectual or physical abilities that were put to use by the rulers or authorities. The castration meant that the rulers or authorities did not need to worry as much about sexual mischief from the slave. A queen, for example, would not fear undue attention from her servant, only his loyalty and work.

In the faith of the Hebrew peoples of the time, a eunuch was someone who was so defiled that he could not have full inclusion in the worshiping community of God’s people. Leviticus 21:20 and Deuteronomy 23:1 proclaim that no such person shall be admitted to the assembly of the Lord.

So, as I read this text about this individual man from Ethiopia, I was compelled to ask a question of global significance. What was he doing out of his area?

I am not surprised that he has a biblical text and cannot understand it. I am not surprised that when Philip asks him if he understands the text, that he responds, with what I would imagine would have to be a bit of anger in his voice, “How can I understand it if no one will teach me.” I understand why no one will teach him, don’t you? He is a eunuch! A eunuch from Ethiopia who has gone to Jerusalem, apparently to the temple, the ultimate place to symbolize the community of the Lord, and has sought counsel on the word. He doesn’t belong there in that community. How could he possibly find someone in the communitywilling to teach him? No one would teach himbecause I can’t imagine that anyone would have wanted to be near himin that holy place.

Perhaps that is why, when he finally got the point and left town, he didn’t travel on a community highway but tried to skip out on some deserted wilderness road instead. What nerve! A eunuch coming to the temple. Talk about stepping out of your area. Can’t you imagine the put-down he received?

We’ve all been out of place at one time or another. Gone to a party where you knew instantly you were in the wrong crowd. Gone to a job where you felt like no one gave you a chance to fit in. Gone to a city where the traditions were so established and the families of stature went back so many generations that you knew you’d always feel like an outsider. When you leave such a party or job or town, you don’t leave on the parade route; you find a quiet pathway back to where you can feel safe again. I imagine that’s why the Ethiopian was out there on that lonely road reading a text that he could not understand because no one he’d asked was probably willing to teach him. In fact, maybe he got precisely what he deserved. Any fool should know the communal expectations before he goes trespassing into a community unannounced.

But then, just when the world is right again, when the Ethiopian is out of the temple area and moving back to his own area, God steps in and recalibrates everybody’s area. God miraculously arrives in the form of Philip to give the Ethiopian the teaching that no one else would share and the feeling of community that no one else would extend. The Ethiopian is not changed. Philip, who has the power to heal and do all sorts of miracles, does not make him a non-eunuch and then accept him into God’s community through baptism. Philip baptizes him just as he is.

But before that baptism, notice what happens. Like anyone who has been wounded, the Ethiopian doesn’t come out with a direct question. He doesn’t say, “Will you baptize me?” Even though Philip has taught him, it’s still not clear whether he can be a part of the community of the Lord that Philip is a member of. And it’s not clear that if he asks directly that he won’t be hurt by a stinging rebuke. So, with care and caution, the eunuch asks humbly instead, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?”

Well, I could think of a few things. Ethiopian, you are a eunuch. Have you not been paying attention?!! You’re OUT OF YOUR AREA!!! And as far as baptism is concerned, you’re OUT OF LUCK!!! That is how the conversation should have gone.

But it doesn’t. Philip doesn’t even answer. He just baptizes him. Luke writes the story in such a way as to commend the eunuch for wanting to be a part of the community of God’s people and to commend Philip for making it possible. The eunuch who was looking for God in the big city among the big crowds finds God on this lonely road with this single individual and becomes a part of the symbolism of the gospel reaching out to all people of every physical, social, religious, and human circumstance. The more I read this scripture text, the more I realize that this is a radical, radical story. God is doing an amazingly radical thing by moving this Ethiopian out of his area into God’s area.

In fact, God’s area of operation is so broad that it makes most of us limited-horizon humans uncomfortable. God works outside the boundaries that humans set up for each other. Gaventa notes what I hope most of you noted when this scripture was read: the baptism occurs here without a profession of faith. In most cases, ancient and contemporary, baptism is preceded by a confession of faith. Even in infant baptism, where the infant cannot speak for him- or herself, the parents speak on his or her behalf. It is a part of the area of our expectations that we have the profession of faith and only then do we have the baptism. Not here. God allows the baptism of the eunuch without the profession of faith. Can you imagine a church session or a presbytery allowing this kind of theological nonsense? We’d be prompted to make God go back and do this right.

But God operates outside of even this theological, ecclesiological boundary. It is as though God is saying, “I want to make it clear that when I operate outside the expected areas, I don’t just put a toe across the line; I shatter the line. I erase the line so completely that anyone who follows me won’t know that a line ever existed.”

I’ll admit it. This kind of God operating in this kind of story shakes me up a little bit. I like order. I am an ordered person. And you know what I find as an ordered person? I find that ordered people often get on the nerves of disordered people. Often disordered people will intentionally disorder things that ordered people have taken a lot of time and energy to put in order just to rile the ordered people up. In fact, the more neurotic you are about ordering things, the more neurotic disordered people seem to get about making your ordered things disordered. The way to discombobulate someone who likes order is to go in and disorder their stuff.

We have two contraptions to hang keys on in our house. It’s right by the door so we can hang up the keys as soon as we enter the house. One is the family key hanger and one is my key hanger. On my own key hanger, I know which hook is for which key. My family members, being devotees of disorder, cannot use my key hanger because they don’t obey the rules of which key goes on which hook. That’s why I put up their own key hanger. Theirs is a chaos key contraption. One day my son’s keys are on the first hook, then the next day my daughter’s keys are on the first hook, and then the next day my wife’s keys are on the first hook. The other five or six hooks are in a similar kind of continuous key disarray. Now who can live like that? On my key hanger, every key is in its proper area. Work car key, first hook. Keys to house, second hook. Extra key for running around in the yard, third hook. Key for personal car, fourth hook. Every once in a while I am scandalized when I come in the house and somebody has subverted my key positions and my keys are on the wrong hooks. God forbid someone actually uses one of my keys and not only puts it on the wrong hook, but hangs it on the wrong key hanger.

God is like my family like that. You get your life all ordered up, get your church all ordered up, get your world all ordered up, get people whom you want in and people whom you don’t want out, and God comes in and starts moving stuff around to where God wants it. How are you going to be able to figure stuff out for your life if you put the pieces of your life on the life playing board one way and God comes in and shuffles stuff up while you’re not looking so that nothing is in the area that you expected it to be in? How can you work like that? How can you live like that? What’s the world of the holy going to look like and be like when broken, crushed people like Ethiopian eunuchs start crashing their way into it—at God’s invitation?

But that is the good news! The Ethiopian represents the kind of world God is forging, a world where people aren’t locked into areas, a world where the gospel message isn’t locked into areas either. The Ethiopian represents a world where the gospel message can move to people anywhere and any people can move to God at any time. The Ethiopian represents a world without boundaries.

But the world we live in likes areas and likes to keep people in their areas, in their places. The world treats us like cattle or sheep on a huge ranch. You can roam around and feel free because there is a lot of space on the ranch, but eventually you get to the fence line and eventually you realize you’re trapped inside. You can roam around as long as you don’t get out of bounds, out of hand, out of the limits, out of control.

What is your area? Are you trapped in it, defined by it, or are you like the Ethiopian, willing to step outside it?

Are you a church member trying to figure out what area of ministry is right for people who believe what you believe and think theologically the way you think? Cross out of your comfortable area and enter the arenas where there are others of God’s people who believe and think differently than you do and see whether the areas of both your communities might be expanded.

Whatever your area is, don’t let it confine you. Don’t let it hold you. Let it be a place that identifies you, but not a space that controls you. Be willing to step outside the boundaries, believing that God will meet you there, just as God, through Philip, met the Ethiopian. Sometimes when you make such a move, it’ll look like God isn’t coming. The Ethiopian had to think when he couldn’t find anyone to explain the word, when he wasn’t accepted because of his condition, when he had to slip out of town on a deserted road so he wouldn’t be constantly reminded that he was out of his area, that God wasn’t coming. But God did come. God will come. That is what those who break out of their areas must always believe. Can you believe enough that you would leave your safe area and see what God may have in store for you in areas beyond your control?

Don’t just range around safe-space sanctuaries; operate behind the enemy lines of poverty and social injustice.

Don’t just tether yourself to tradition; create new traditions to engage the world in new ways.

Don’t just journey on mission trips; find a way to journey toward being a missional church.

Don’t commit to the idea that the church area ought to be one where everyone looks alike and thinks alike; drag people of every physical hue and theological complexion into community the way God dragged Philip out to that wilderness road.

Don’t squat on the sidelines while politicians and lawyers and activists decide our social fate; the political and social world is our area too.

Toward the end of the movie Michael, the dog who had been accompanying the archangel, the two reporters, and the alleged angel expert is accidently hit by a truck and killed. While his colleagues weep, one of the reporters picks up the little corpse and takes it to Michael and demands that he bring the animal back to life. Though he, too, has a heavy heart, Michael responds as we know he must: “It’s not my area.” But the grief of the moment and the desperate pleas of these humans inspire Michael to step across the boundary lines that have been set for him. He takes the corpse, caresses it, and gives a precious measure of his own angelic life power to the little animal, and the little animal comes back to life. It is this resurrection miracle that finally convinces the characters in the story and us observers of the story that the archangel is who and what he says he is. It is only then that the real miracle of the story, the miracle of love, can unfold.

Beyond our areas, if we are willing to step across the boundaries and go out there where God would lead us, miracles are waiting. New people to meet. New lives to change. New possibilities to imagine. A new community of the faithful where anyone who believes can belong. This story is calling us to step outside the areas we have crafted or others have crafted for us so that we can find the thing, the people, the cause, the life that God has in store for us.

Identify your area. And then identify a way to step with God outside it.