The Desert Road

Acts 8:26–40

Phrases that spoke to me today:
• Rise and go toward the south
• "Do you understand what you are reading?"
• "How can I, unless someone guides me?"
• he went on his way rejoicing

Applying the Word to My Life:
One of the oldest Christian communities on earth traces itself back to a stranger who appeared beside a chariot on a desert road, gave an afternoon to someone he would never see again, and then vanished.

An official returned to the court of Queen Candace — treasurer of the kingdom, a man of standing and responsibility — carrying something he had not left with. On a desert road between Jerusalem and Gaza, something had happened. And from that one man's return — one conversation, one afternoon, one explanation given to someone the world considered an outsider — the Ethiopian church was born.

How did that happen?

Philip was in the middle of a successful mission in Samaria when an angel redirected him: go south, to the desert road. Then the Spirit said: go join that chariot. Philip ran.

He ran toward a man he didn't know on a road that went nowhere obvious. When he got close enough he heard the man reading aloud from Isaiah and asked: "Do you understand what you are reading?" The answer: "How can I, unless someone guides me?" He invited this sweating stranger up into his chariot.

What Philip gave was not complicated. He gave his attention, his time, and everything he knew. He entered a stranger's world and stayed there until the stranger had what he needed. That is kindness — not the grand gesture, but the full presence.

He explained Isaiah. He explained Jesus. They came to water and Philip baptized him. Then the Spirit suddenly carried Philip away. The official never saw him again. He went on his way rejoicing — alone, heading home to a country Philip would never see.

Philip didn't know about Ethiopia. He gave what he had to the person in front of him and trusted God with the rest.

A few years ago I arrived at my first Benedictine Oblate gathering not knowing anyone, not knowing where to go — just walking down a hallway alone hoping I was in the right building.

A woman came around the corner. I asked if she knew where the meeting was. It turned out she was an oblate herself. She gave me a warm welcome and a hug, walked me to the right room, and introduced me to everyone. Within minutes it felt like I had known these people for years.

It was a special occasion. They included me in their celebration and, at the end, in the group photo — same as the people who had been there when the oblate group was founded. No distinction. No waiting. Just: you are one of us.

What she did was not complicated. She saw someone in a hallway who didn't know where to go — and she saw a beloved child of God. She gave her full presence: a hug, a walk down the hall, a place in the room. She was trying to be Christ to a stranger. That is kindness.

Being on the receiving end of that made me want to give it. Every time I go back I watch for the person standing alone. In my day-to-day, when I stop to talk to someone, I try to focus exclusively on them and let the rest of my concerns be out of mind. Kindness spreads by contagion.

My youngest son has started coming to the meetings. He didn't come because I explained the theology. He came because he saw what this community had done to me.

Philip gave an afternoon to a stranger and went home not knowing he'd planted a faith in Ethiopia. A woman appeared around a corner for me and went home not knowing what she'd set in motion.

That is what kindness rooted in the Spirit can do. Most of the time we will not see Ethiopia. We give a moment of full presence to someone we may never see again and trust God with what comes next. We stop because we see a beloved child of God in front of us. We stop because we are trying to be Christ to the person in front of us.

Philip ran. A woman appeared around a corner. Neither of them knew.

You don't have to go to Ethiopia. Just be present wherever you happen to be.

My Response for Today:
Today I will follow one prompting toward someone I might otherwise pass by — and trust God with what comes next.