“What Is to Prevent Me?”
Have you ever noticed how often life takes a turn you didn’t see coming?
You had a plan—a direction—and suddenly you found yourself on a different road, in a different place, with a different set of questions than you ever expected to ask. It could be something joyful—a career breakthrough, an unexpected opportunity. It could also be a desert road—grief, a disruption, a moment when everything you thought you knew gets unsettled.
That’s where we meet Philip today: in the middle of a divine interruption
And on that wilderness road, we encounter one of the most powerful and unexpected stories in the Book of Acts. A chance meeting that wasn’t chance at all. A question that unlocks the Gospel. And a baptism that says: There’s nothing keeping you out of God’s family—not your past, not your body, not your culture, not your status. Nothing.
This story has been treasured by the Church in Ethiopia for nearly 2,000 years. In fact, Ethiopia has one of the oldest Christian traditions in the world, tracing its roots back to this very moment. A road in the desert became the birthplace of a movement.
But this is not just a story about then. This is a story for now.
Because many of us carry that same question in our hearts:
“What’s in the way?”
“What’s keeping me from joy… from purpose… from belonging?”
“What is to prevent me from being baptized, from being used by God, from being changed?”
And the Gospel answers with power:
Nothing—except our reluctance to trust the Spirit’s leading.
So this morning, I want to walk with you through this road—this moment of encounter between Philip and a man on the margins. And I want us to ask with honest hearts:
What is to prevent me—from becoming who God says I already am?
Let’s open the Scriptures together—Acts chapter 8, beginning in verse 26.
Acts 8:26-39
26 As for Philip, an angel of the Lord said to him, “Go south[a] down the desert road that runs from Jerusalem to Gaza.” 27 So he started out, and he met the treasurer of Ethiopia, a eunuch of great authority under the Kandake, the queen of Ethiopia. The eunuch had gone to Jerusalem to worship, 28 and he was now returning. Seated in his carriage, he was reading aloud from the book of the prophet Isaiah.29 The Holy Spirit said to Philip, “Go over and walk along beside the carriage.”30 Philip ran over and heard the man reading from the prophet Isaiah. Philip asked, “Do you understand what you are reading?”31 The man replied, “How can I, unless someone instructs me?” And he urged Philip to come up into the carriage and sit with him.32 The passage of Scripture he had been reading was this:“He was led like a sheep to the slaughter.
And as a lamb is silent before the shearers,
he did not open his mouth.33 He was humiliated and received no justice.
Who can speak of his descendants?
For his life was taken from the earth.”[b]34 The eunuch asked Philip, “Tell me, was the prophet talking about himself or someone else?” 35 So beginning with this same Scripture, Philip told him the Good News about Jesus.36 As they rode along, they came to some water, and the eunuch said, “Look! There’s some water! Why can’t I be baptized?”[c] 38 He ordered the carriage to stop, and they went down into the water, and Philip baptized him.39 When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord snatched Philip away. The eunuch never saw him again but went on his way rejoicing.
I. The Holy Spirit Disrupts Our Comfort for the Sake of the World
Philip is on a roll.
He’s preaching in Samaria. People are coming to Christ. Demons are cast out. The sick are healed. It’s revival—lively, visible, powerful. The kind of moment every preacher dreams about.
And then—God interrupts him.
“An angel of the Lord said to Philip, ‘Get up and go south to the road—the desert road—that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.’ So he got up and went.” — Acts 8:26–27a
No details. No destination. No map. Just: Go.
Now, if it were us, we might have asked for clarification.
“Go where, Lord? For how long? Will I be back by dinner?”
But not Philip. He simply gets up and goes.
That’s how the Spirit works in Acts. He doesn’t always send us deeper into success. Sometimes He sends us into silence. Not always into the crowd—sometimes into the desert.
And this isn’t metaphorical. Luke says it plainly: “the desert road.”
A literal dry, dusty, hot road. The kind you don’t choose unless you’re following someone greater than you.
But in Scripture, deserts can be sacred spaces.
Moses met God at a burning bush in the desert.
Elijah heard God’s whisper on a desert mountainside.
Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be prepared for ministry.
The desert isn’t punishment—it’s preparation.
So when Philip steps onto that road, it may look like a detour. But it’s really a divine appointment.
And here’s what that means for us:
Sometimes, God will pull us away from the obvious fruit to tend to something quieter—and just as sacred.
Sometimes, He’ll ask us to leave the stage and sit with one person in the shadows.
Sometimes, He’ll send us down a road without signage, applause, or assurance—because someone is waiting there who needs hope.
We live in a world obsessed with results. Bigger, better, measurable. But the Spirit often whispers:
“Go. Just go.”
Philip didn’t know who he’d meet. He didn’t know why.
He just trusted that the same God who called him would also be there waiting.
And He was.
II. God Is Already at Work on the Other Side of the Road
When Philip steps onto that dusty road, he isn’t walking into nothing.
He’s walking right into something God has already been preparing.
“Now there was an Ethiopian eunuch, a court official of 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.” — Acts 8:27b–28
Now that’s quite a resume.
This man is educated. Wealthy. Powerful. He holds a high-level position in the royal court of Ethiopia. He manages the queen’s entire treasury. And—he’s a seeker. He’s just come back from Jerusalem where he went to worship.
But he’s also something else—something that’s often overlooked or misunderstood.
Luke tells us he’s a eunuch.
In the ancient world, eunuchs were often enslaved or altered by empire so they could serve in royal households without threat. It was a cruel practice. It left men physically marked—and socially excluded.
This man held high status in one world…
And was completely shut out in another.
He could go to Jerusalem—but not into the inner courts of the temple.
He could hold the scroll—but not be counted among the whole.
Still, he’s reading Isaiah.
Still, he’s searching for something more.
Still, he’s on the road—spiritually and literally.
This is key: Before Philip ever shows up, God is already working.
The man’s heart is open. The Scriptures are in his hands.
He’s already leaning in.
Philip didn’t create this moment—he just walked into it.
“Do you understand what you are reading?” Philip asks.
“How can I,” the man replies, “unless someone guides me?” — vv. 30–31
That’s not just a polite reply. That’s a sacred crack in the door of the soul.
And Philip—faithful, gentle, Spirit-led—steps in.
Let’s pause here and name the miracle:
This is what evangelism really looks like.
It’s not a performance—it’s presence.
It’s not pressure—it’s partnership.
We don’t have to drag God into anyone’s life.
He’s already there. Already stirring. Already planting seeds.
Our job is to recognize the moment when the scroll is open and the heart is, too.
And don’t miss this: God chooses to reach this powerful-yet-wounded man not through Peter… not through a famous teacher… but through a deacon walking down the road.
God can use anyone, if they’re willing to walk and willing to listen.
This matters for us today.
It means we don’t need to fear having the perfect words.
We just need to trust that the Spirit’s already been whispering before we ever speak.
It means we can’t write people off.
Someone who seems put-together on the outside might be hungry for hope on the inside.
And it reminds us that no one is too far, too broken, or too different to be part of what God is doing.
The Gospel isn’t fragile.
It’s strong enough to ride in a chariot through the desert with a man who’s been through more than most of us ever will.
And that, is very good news.
III. Questions Open the Door to Transformation
By now, Philip and the Ethiopian are side by side—one walking, one riding, both listening.
“Then Philip ran up to the chariot and heard the man reading the prophet Isaiah. ‘Do you understand what you are reading?’ Philip asked. ‘How can I,’ he said, ‘unless someone guides me?’ And he invited Philip to come up and sit with him.” — Acts 8:30–31
That simple question—“Do you understand?”—breaks everything open.
It’s not an accusation. It’s not condescending. It’s gentle, honest, and curious.
And the Ethiopian answers not with pride, but with vulnerability:
“How can I unless someone helps me?”
That’s humility. And hunger.
Two people—strangers moments ago—are now in sacred conversation. And not just any conversation. They’re reading Isaiah 53—the passage about the Suffering Servant:
“He was led like a sheep to the slaughter… he was silent before his shearers… he was humiliated and received no justice…” — Isaiah 53:7–8
This man, who knows what it means to suffer, to be humiliated, to be denied a legacy, is reading about someone who has walked that same path.
And he asks:
“Who is this about? The prophet? Or someone else?”
That question—that searching, aching question—is the opening Philip’s been waiting for.
“Then Philip began with that very passage of Scripture and told him the good news about Jesus.” — Acts 8:35
A. The Gospel Often Begins with a Question
We sometimes think evangelism is about delivering a message.
But more often, it begins with listening to a longing.
The Holy Spirit works through questions:
Not just theological ones, but personal ones:
Why am I suffering?
Does anyone see me?
Is there a place for me in God’s story?
This man didn’t need a religious lecture.
He needed someone to walk beside him and help him connect the dots.
That’s what Philip did.
💬 He didn’t change the subject. He didn’t fast-forward to a formula.
He stayed right there—in the pain, in the story, in the text—and pointed to Jesus.
B. Scripture Comes Alive in Relationship
This is not a lecture—it’s a conversation.
They are riding together now. Chariot and foot. Heart to heart.
And as Philip shares, Scripture is no longer a scroll on a lap—it’s a living word lighting up the soul.
This is how faith is formed:
Not just by reading the Bible, but by encountering Jesus in the Bible
Not just by information, but by invitation
And all of it happened—because someone asked a question… and someone else was brave enough to say, “I don’t understand.”
🔥 Embedded Application:
What would happen if we became better at listening?
What if we stopped rushing to answers and started sitting with questions?
You don’t need a theology degree to help someone find Jesus.
You just need ears to hear, a heart that’s open, and the courage to step into someone’s story.
Like Philip, you may be surprised how often people are already reading… already wondering… already halfway down the road to faith.
They’re just waiting for someone to ask, “Do you understand?”
And to stay beside them long enough to say, “Let me tell you about Jesus.”
IV. The Gospel Rewrites Identity and Redefines Community
The moment has come.
After a long journey, deep questions, and a Spirit-filled conversation about Jesus, the Ethiopian sees water.
“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?’” — Acts 8:36
That question—“What is to prevent me?”—might just be the beating heart of this entire passage.
It’s not just curiosity. It’s a question born from a lifetime of exclusion.
This man knows what it’s like to be pushed to the margins.
He’s been to the temple, but likely kept at a distance.
He’s been trusted by queens, but labeled “unclean” by religious law.
He’s read the promises of God and wondered, Do they include me?
So when he says, “What is to prevent me?”, he’s not just asking if he can get wet.
He’s asking:
Do I belong?
Can I be fully included?
Is there room in this new community for someone like me?
A. The Question Carries Wounds—and Longing
In Deuteronomy 23, the law said that eunuchs couldn’t enter the assembly of the Lord.
That wasn’t just a regulation—it became a rejection.
But now… he’s heard about Jesus.
The One who was wounded, rejected, and cut off…
The One who makes space for those who’ve been pushed out.
He sees water. And he dares to ask:
“Can I be part of this?”
And here’s the most powerful part:
Philip doesn’t even answer.
Luke skips right to the action:
“He ordered the chariot to stop. Then both Philip and the eunuch went down into the water, and Philip baptized him.” — v. 38
No pause. No hesitation. No theological debate. Just grace. Just inclusion. Just yes.
B. The Gospel Doesn’t Erase Who You Are—It Reframes Who You Are
This man doesn’t stop being Ethiopian. He doesn’t stop being a eunuch.
But now, those things are no longer barriers. They are brought into the new creation.
His identity is no longer built on exclusion. It’s built on belonging.
💬 He is now a baptized child of God.
Not half-human. Not outsider. Not question mark.
Beloved. Named. Claimed. Sealed by grace.
This is what the Gospel does. It doesn’t demand that we conform to enter. It transforms us when we do.
And it redraws the boundary lines of community—not around ethnicity, gender, background, or history—but around the cross of Christ.
C. Baptism Isn’t Just Ritual—It’s Revolution
This moment is more than symbolic.
It’s a declaration that the old divisions have been broken.
It’s the visible sign that he’s in.
And it’s not just a personal story—it’s a kingdom story.
Because now, the Gospel has officially reached the ends of the earth.
To a royal official… in a foreign land… whose body bore wounds the world misunderstood.
And the Church says: Yes. You too.
🔥 Embedded Application:
Church, if the Spirit said yes to him… we have no business saying no to anyone.
If the water was open to this man, it must stay open for every man, every woman, every child who longs for grace.
“There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” — Galatians 3:28
This Gospel tears down walls.
And if we claim it, we must live like it.
So let’s be the kind of people who say:
Yes to the overlooked.
Yes to the wounded.
Yes to the ones the world forgot.
Because there is nothing—nothing—preventing them from being baptized into the love of Christ.
V. Spirit-Led Ministry Leaves Joy, Not a Signature
After everything—obedience, conversation, baptism—you might expect a neat, emotional wrap-up. Some final words. A goodbye. A picture for the scrapbook.
But the ending? It’s surprisingly abrupt.
“When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord suddenly took Philip away, and the eunuch saw him no more, but went on his way rejoicing.” — Acts 8:39
Just like that, Philip is gone.
No hand-off. No business card. No follow-up program.
Just joy.
And a man who will never be the same.
A. The Mission Is Always Bigger Than the Messenger
Think about it—this is a massive spiritual breakthrough. A barrier-breaking baptism. The Gospel reaching the African continent through a royal official.
And yet... God removes Philip from the story.
Why?
Because the Gospel doesn’t need our name on it to be effective.
It just needs our obedience.
💬 We plant. We water. God makes it grow.
Philip didn’t stay to manage the outcome. He didn’t need to.
The same Spirit who led him to the chariot would now go with the eunuch back to Ethiopia.
That’s the freedom of Spirit-led ministry:
You don’t have to control it.
You don’t have to brand it.
You just have to say yes—and let God carry it from there.
B. True Ministry Leaves Behind Changed People, Not Dependent Ones
What did the eunuch do?
He went on his way rejoicing.
He didn’t need Philip to stay. Why?
Because he had Jesus now.
He had a new identity.
A new joy.
A new story.
The best kind of ministry is the kind that points people to Jesus so clearly… that when we fade from view, their faith still burns bright.
C. The Gospel Is Already Going Further Than We Can See
Church tradition tells us this eunuch became the first missionary to Ethiopia. That he carried the Gospel back to his nation. That a movement was born from that baptism on a dusty desert road.
And to this day, Ethiopian Christians trace their faith back to this moment.
So while Philip disappeared from the scene, the Gospel did not.
It kept going.
It keeps going.
Even now.
🔥 Embedded Application:
This is what Spirit-led ministry looks like:
You may not get credit.
You may not see the fruit.
You may never hear the full story.
But if you follow the Spirit…
If you obey when God says, “Go”…
If you sit beside people others overlook…
If you share Jesus with humility and joy…
Then someone walks away changed.
And the Spirit walks away with them.
And that, in the Kingdom of God, is more than enough.
Conclusion & Altar Invitation: “What Is to Prevent Me?”
This story begins on a desert road—an unexpected place, in an unexpected moment.
A man named Philip follows the Spirit.
A man from Ethiopia reads the Scriptures and asks the kind of question that changes everything:
“What is to prevent me from being baptized?”
And with that question, we’re brought face to face with the power of the Gospel.
A man who had always been told he didn’t belong…
who had been kept at arm’s length…
who had carried wounds in both body and soul…
Is met by Jesus through the witness of another—and is welcomed in.
Fully. Joyfully. Eternally.
And somewhere in the middle of this road—between obedience and rejoicing—is where most of us live.
Because at some point, all of us ask:
“Do I belong?”
“Am I enough?”
“Can God use someone like me?”
“What’s keeping me from the life God is offering?”
And the Gospel answers—not with hesitation, but with joy:
Nothing.
Nothing is stopping you from being loved.
Nothing is stopping you from being included.
Nothing is stopping you from being changed.
Nothing—except whether you’ll say yes.
Two Invitations Today:
1. If you feel like the Ethiopian eunuch…
Maybe you’ve felt overlooked or outside. Maybe you’ve been searching.
Maybe you’ve been told there’s no place for you.
But here you are. The scroll is open.
And Jesus is being revealed.
The Spirit says: “Come.”
Come to the water.
Come to grace.
Come and receive your new name: Beloved.
2. If you feel like Philip…
Maybe the Spirit is nudging you—gently but clearly—toward a road you didn’t expect.
Maybe He’s asking you to walk alongside someone you wouldn’t normally notice.
Maybe He’s calling you to say yes to something unknown…
to plant a seed…
to baptize and disappear…
to let go of the outcome, and trust the Spirit with the harvest.
As we listen to the song “Come As You Are” I invite you to respond.
Come to the altar.
Come to be prayed over.
Come to be led.
Come to be sent.
You don’t have to understand everything.
You just have to take that first faithful step.
“Look, here is water. What is to prevent you?”
Nothing.
So come.
Closing Prayer (Even If No One Comes to the Altar):
Gracious and loving God,
Thank You for the stillness of this moment.
Thank You for Your presence that does not depend on our movement,
but on Your mercy.
You were still speaking—
in the quiet places of our hearts,
on the desert roads of our souls.
Thank You for the Gospel that tells us we don’t have to have it all figured out.
We just have to listen.
We just have to trust.
We just have to say yes, in whatever way we can.
Lord, for every person here carrying the question—
“What is to prevent me?”—
I pray that Your Spirit would continue to draw them,
reminding them that there is room.
That they are loved.
That nothing can separate them from You.
As we leave this place,
may we walk with the same joy that filled the Ethiopian.
May we be ready, like Philip, to say yes to wherever You lead.
May we see every road as sacred,
and every person as someone worth walking alongside.
You are still building Your Church.
You are still sending Your Spirit.
You are still writing stories that begin in the most unexpected places.
We give You thanks,
and we walk forward—changed, even if quietly.
In the name of Jesus,
Amen.
