On any given day here in Copley Square, you can observe a group of human beings that are somehow distinct from the rest of the population. As the majority of men and women hustle and bustle in and out of the T stations, brushing past one another with heads down, lips pursed and bags clutched close to their sides, this other group stands stark still in the middle of the sidewalk, mouths agape and faces turned upward and outward in all directions. Usually traveling in packs, they huddle close together, a tangled mass of index fingers pointing outward, each in a different direction. Cameras, water bottles, shopping bags, tickets to the Duck Boats hang precariously from every available appendage. And some lucky leader of the group holds the prized possession: a map. The leader can be seen twisting and turning this tattered piece of paper, trying in vain to figure out which of the two tall buildings is the Hancock Tower and which the Prudential. Ah, the tourist.

But before we all shake our heads in dismay at the foibles of Boston tourists, I would remind any of you that have ever traveled to a new city that you too probably have been that awkward tourist yourself. They can be found in any city, sporting the same attire and the same confused look. Perhaps some of you with us today are tourists here in Boston, and we are glad to have you. I enjoy passing these travelers, and have made it my habit to seek out these map-twisting groups and greet them with a simple question: "Do you know where you're going?" Occasionally I am met with a glaring "yes," but more often than not, the group I have approached replies with a deep, sighing, "no," at which point I offer my assistance. I love our city, and I want others to enjoy it as much as I do. Sometimes these encounters turn into longer conversations, with the out-of-towners seeking advice about the most sumptuous seafood restaurant, the best place to find theater tickets, or the secret to finding your way around Chinatown. I am happy to offer up all the requested information, and usually a few additional unsolicited opinions. I imagine many of you are the same way. Even if you do not approach lost-looking tourists on the streets, when asked, you are probably most willing to offer your advice on navigating Boston's choicest spots.

In the story that Lois read for us this morning, the apostle Philip encounters just such an out-of-towner. The writer of Acts describes him as an Ethiopian eunuch, a court official for the queen of the Ethiopians. This man Philip meets on the road was powerful in his own country, in charge of the largest treasury in all Africa. He was returning home after a pilgrimage to Jerusalem for worship. Likely surrounded by an extensive caravan, the Ethiopian man sat atop his chariot immersed in the scriptures. But Philip noticed something awry in his reading. In the ancient world there was no such thing as "silent reading." Instead, it was the custom of the day to always read aloud, so Philip could likely hear what the man was reading. While he was not likely twisting the scroll around like a confused tourist with an unfamiliar map, the Ethiopian man perhaps uttered the words without the intonation of understanding, perhaps his face became contorted with confusion as the words trickled off his tongue. But his was a deeper kind of confusion than your average tourist, a more profound searching than a wayward vacationer.

Philip noticed his searching, and like a kind local guide, stepped forth to ask a question, "Do you understand what you are reading?" The man replied with a deep, sighing "no, how can I, unless someone guides me?" and he invited Philip to join him in the chariot. Together they hovered over the passage of scripture the Ethiopian has chosen, a section from Isaiah describing the Suffering Servant. It is a story of violence and victimization, brutality and brokenness. The author of Acts tells us, in simple, plain language: "Philip began to speak, and starting with this scripture, he proclaimed to him the good news about Jesus." We don't know exactly what he said to make sense of this violent passage, we don't know how the good news of hope came through in his words, but we know that it did. As they continued to travel, the Ethiopian eunuch saw a pool of water and committed himself then and there to the good news he has heard by being baptized.

Like spotting a group of lost tourists on the sidewalk, Philip spotted a lost spirit on the road from Jerusalem to Gaza. Like asking a confused looking band of travelers, "do you know where you're going?", Philip asked a questioning spiritual seeker, "do you understand what you are reading?" Like offering a recommendation for a restaurant or museum, Philip offered the good news of Jesus Christ.

Doesn't he just make it look so easy? But somehow sharing our faith with those around us just doesn't come quite so naturally as sharing our opinions on other things. We all share loads of advice and insight with friends, coworkers and even complete strangers. We're happy to recommend our favorite Italian restaurant, dry-cleaner, cheese shop, pharmacy, flower shop, hardware store and internet service provider, but do not recommend our local church. We proclaim the name of our hairdresser or manicurist, our mechanic, realtor, lawyer, doctor, veterinarian, accountant, acupuncturist and carpet cleaner, but can barely manage to whisper the name of our God. Normally in life, when we find something good, our first impulse is to tell others about it: "You've got to try this new thing I've found!" "Guess what I just heard!" But not so with our faith, not so with the good news of Jesus Christ.

What makes people hesitate to share their faith? Billy Graham, the most famous evangelist of our day, asked a broad spectrum of Christians to name the greatest hindrance they felt to sharing their faith. Not one person said it was because they didn't care. Only 9% said it was because they were too busy. Twenty-eight percent felt they lacked the information they needed to tell the story of Jesus. Twelve percent said their own lives were not together enough to represent Christianity adequately. But by far the largest group, 51%, said that their biggest problem was the fear of how the other person would react. Not a big surprise--none of us likes to be rejected, ridiculed, ostracized. No one wants to be perceived as pushy, or prejudiced, or nosing into other people's private business. And no one wants to seem a hypocrite, trying to share the message of the church when in your own life, doubt seems far more present than faith.

Here is where Philip's model of sharing the faith is instructive. Philip begins by observing. He notices a man who is seeking, questioning and struggling, looking for answers. Under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, Philip approaches. How does he approach? With a question: "Do you understand what you are reading?" Philip opens the door for sharing his news, but he does not march right through with the scripture scrolls waving. With full boldness, he asks a question, and with full humility, he waits to be invited for further conversation. He does not criticize the faith of the Ethiopian man, nor does he imply that the man is condemned in his current ways. Philip simply senses the man's spiritual hunger, and asks for the opportunity to share how he himself found satisfaction. Philip sees the lost gaze and hears the searching tone, he stops to inquire if the man could use some help to make sense of it all, and once he is invited, Philip shares the ways that God has touched his own life. He is not pushy, he is respectful of other traditions, he does not issue words of exclusion. He simply wants to pass on the good he has discovered to those who are still seeking.

Philip gives us an example that is almost formulaic: identify a spiritual seeker, ask a question to open the door, wait attentively for an invitation, offer the good news you have found. We don't need to have all the right answers, or have absolute, unquestioning faith in order to share the story of our faith with others. Sharing our own questions and doubts makes room for the doubts that others bring. All that it takes is courage, to set aside that fear of rejection and ridicule and ask the question. I won't pretend it's easy, or even risk-free, but it is essential. In a book written in 1995, Gil Bailie comments that contemporary Christians are the modern heirs to Philip's task. He says, however, that the modern heir to Philip's task will not encounter a eunuch returning home to Ethiopia and reading with incomprehension a passage in the Hebrew Scriptures. He (or she) will more likely encounter a modern commuter returning home reading a newspaper and being confounded by the stories of fierce ethnic violence in foreign lands, or savage and sometimes gratuitous violence in urban America. If Philip's modern counterpart is to offer bewildered moderns what Philip offered the Ethiopian, he or she will have to bring specifically Christian revelation to bear on these sources of contemporary bewilderment. He (or she) will have to comment as decisively on those newspaper stories that are as much a source of consternation to moderns as the Suffering Servant Songs were to the Ethiopian.

Bailie wrote those words six years ago, but I would add that his words are even more haunting today, as our nation and the world struggle to make sense of the death and destruction that we witnessed on September 11 and the on-going war that resulted. The newspapers and television broadcasts and radio airwaves are filled with terrifying news day in and day out, we hear violence and hatred and tyranny. More than ever, the world around us needs to know the good news of Christ. More than ever, we need to be bold, reaching out to offer that good news to the spiritual seekers around us. More than ever, we need to share the comfort and sustenance we have found in the church.

When all that the world offers us are tales of violence, war and despair, we who follow Christ have good news to share. What is that good news for a violent world? It is the news of a God who would rather suffer at the hands of violence than perpetuate the cycle of abuse. It is the news of a God who consequently knows the pain and suffering that we feel. It is the news of a God who stands beside us offering comfort, healing and hope. It is the news, in the words of the poet Rumi, that "God is nearer to you than yourself." The good news that Philip shared with the Ethiopian eunuch thousands of years ago is the good news of Jesus Christ, that the violence of the cross is not the end, that God's grace reaches out to save us even as we continue to brutalize one another and God's own son. It is the good news that God's love is for everyone. God's love is for those whom society loves and those whom it casts aside, for those who have it all together and those whose lives are falling apart. God's love is for the sinner as much as the saint, the outcast and the ruler, the righteous as well as the reckless. As individuals and as a church, we stand as a living witness to the good news of Christ, a beacon of hope in these troubled times. Don't you know someone who needs to hear that good news?

Don't we all know a co-worker, a friend, a neighbor who could use a little good news? Don't we all know someone who doesn't quite know where they're going? And aren't we obligated to share with them the good news that we have heard? During the coming Advent season, take note of those who are seeking, struggling, hurting. If we have found comfort in the arms of the church, perhaps they might as well. So ask the question: "Do you know where you're going? Could you use a little help? Are you struggling/seeking/hurting?" Extend an invitation to the musical Advent Vespers next week, or a Wednesday evening communion service, or even to Sunday morning church. While it will require more courage and more risk than sharing your discovery of the latest holiday bargain, it might just be the most valuable news you have to offer.

Let us pray:

Gracious God, we give you thanks for your bounteous love revealed to us in the good news of Jesus Christ. Give us the courage to share the love that we have found with those around us who are seeking you. Make us sensitive to the struggles of others, and bold enough to disclose our own imperfect journeys of faith. In the name of Jesus Christ we pray, Amen.

Scripture Reading
Acts 8:26-40

Then an angel of the Lord said to Philip, "Get up and go toward the south † to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza." (This is a wilderness road.) So he got up and went. Now there was an Ethiopian eunuch, a court official of the Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, in charge of her entire treasury. He had come to Jerusalem to worship and was returning home; seated in his chariot, he was reading the prophet Isaiah. hen the Spirit said to Philip, "Go over to this chariot and join it." So Philip ran up to it and heard him reading the prophet Isaiah. He asked, "Do you understand what you are reading?" He replied, "How can I, unless someone guides me?" And he invited Philip to get in and sit beside him. Now the passage of the scripture that he was reading was this:

"Like a sheep he was led to the slaughter,
and like a lamb silent before its shearer,
so he does not open his mouth.
In his humiliation justice was denied him.
Who can describe his generation?
For his life is taken away from the earth."

The eunuch asked Philip, "About whom, may I ask you, does the prophet say this, about himself or about someone else?" Then Philip began to speak, and starting with this scripture, he proclaimed to him the good news about Jesus. As they were going along the road, they came to some water; and the eunuch said, "Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?" He commanded the chariot to stop, and both of them, Philip and the eunuch, went down into the water, and Philip † baptized him. When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord snatched Philip away; the eunuch saw him no more, and went on his way rejoicing. But Philip found himself at Azotus, and as he was passing through the region, he proclaimed the good news to all the towns until he came to Caesarea.

SCRIPTURE READING