An eponym is a person, place, or thing after which something else is named. For instance, the diesel engine is named after an engineer named Rudolf Diesel who developed the technology. Lou Gehrig’s disease—the more familiar name for a condition called amyotrophic lateral sclerosis or ALS—is named after the baseball player whose career came to an abrupt end after 2130 consecutive games when he got the diagnosis. A medical procedure known as ulnar collateral ligament reconstruction—a surgical graft where a key ligament in the elbow is replaced with a tendon from elsewhere in the body—is known by baseball fans as Tommy John surgery after the first player to undergo the procedure. Back in 1974 when he had the operation, it was considered a long shot. But Tommy John went on to play for 14 years after the procedure and was quite successful to where this surgery is now fairly standard for baseball players who sustain an injury that used to be considered career ending.
Another notable eponym is the word simony which means to make a profit from what’s sacred or sell someone a spiritual benefit for their personal advantage. It’s a word that is named after a rather obscure character in the Bible that appears in Acts 8.
Acts 8 is a time of great persecution but also tremendous expansion for the fledgling church. Stephen has been martyred and the followers of Jesus have been forced to flee because of the ensuing persecution. But they took the gospel with them wherever they went. And people responded—they came to faith and numbers grew. To validate their message, these men & women manifested great spiritual power and performed some miraculous signs. And Philip was part of this movement—he fled, went to Samaria, shared the message of Jesus, and met with resounding success amongst a people that most Jews thought existed solely so they could be burned by the wrath of God.
While in Samaria, one of the guys Philip encountered was a guy named Simon—a man who was into sorcery (a term in the Bible that refers to practices of a sinister nature) and given to boasting and self-promotion. He enjoyed a fair degree of fame to where he was something of a local celebrity. What Simon did impressed folks to where many of them attributed his exploits to the working of God. He’d established a track record of doing some dazzling, sensational stuff. But make no mistake—what he was doing was grounded in the domain of darkness and not the kingdom of light.
Philip’s ministry yielded tremendous fruit, and some of the folks who’d previously been so taken with Simon responded to his message. And in time Simon himself responded … or at least appeared to respond—for as the account plays out, there’s some question as to the sincerity of his response. Simon was certainly captivated by Philip. He was enamored with him and his message enough to where the Scripture says he followed him around. But in terms of making a genuine commitment, it appears Philip’s message took a back seat to the display of spiritual power that was a part of his ministry. That’s what really fascinated Simon and piqued his curiosity.
Nevertheless, the news of what was going on in Samaria through Philip’s ministry reached the ears of the leaders of the early church. We don’t know how they came to learn of it, but somehow they were made aware of the incredible success he was having—that he was a channel for breakthrough and large numbers of Samaritans were placing their faith in Jesus.
And what Peter and John discovered is that, while the Samaritans had a legitimate encounter with God under Philip’s ministry, there was also a sense in which their experience was incomplete—i.e., there was more to what God had for them than what they were actually experiencing. As to what the deficiency was, and what took place to address and alleviate it, we don’t really know. All we know is (1) something happened that dramatically affected the quality and character of these Samaritan believers’ lives and (2) the effects of it were easily observable. Just as Jesus’ disciples were noticeably different after the Holy Spirit fell on them at Pentecost, so these Samaritan Christ-followers took a quantum leap forward.
When Simon saw what God had done in the lives of people through Peter and John, he approached them, offered them money and said, “Hey, can I buy your secret?” This guy who had made a living out of doing stuff that had bewildered and amazed folks evidently had never seen anyone who could do what Peter and John did. So he asked, “Can I get in on this?” It’s like he thought the work of the Holy Spirit was some franchise-able commodity and he wanted to snap up the rights for that area before somebody else did.
Simon was obviously impressed. Peter and John had done something the likes of which he’d never witnessed before—something he wanted to leverage and get in on himself. And it makes you question the genuineness of his commitment. Was his earlier profession of faith genuine, or was it the means to a selfish, egotistical end? Had he confessed his sin and placed his faith in Jesus? Or was he enamored by the stuff—the exploits … the spectacular … the supernatural?
Evidently Peter and John believed it was the latter, for they basically responded by saying, “To hell with you and your money! You think God’s power is some commodity that’s for sale—that it’s a product you can buy, trot out, and draw on whenever it suits you? Buddy—if you think the power of God is something meant to serve your agenda rather than your life being a means to serve and advance His agenda, then you need to move on down the road.”
My guess is Peter’s rebuke caught Simon by surprise; it likely would’ve caught most of us by surprise. We wouldn’t scold or reprimand someone who’d made a recent confession such a blistering and intense way. But when Simon tried to buy the power of the Holy Spirit, Peter and John discerned that while he’d had an encounter with God, his heart hadn’t been transformed by God. While he was sympathetic and, at some level, favorably disposed toward God, he hadn’t made a commitment to God.
This story is, in many ways, a powerful and sobering reminder to those of us who think that just because we’ve made some visible steps and done certain public things that we’re right with God. Simon appeared to have jumped through the public hoops, but there was more that needed to happen. There was something that needed to take place on the inside. For what Peter and John discerned is that Simon had never repented of his sins and forsaken his old ways. He’d never renounced his past and expressed his intention to chart a new course. He’d never come before the Lord in true contrition and humility of heart. And how the story ends bears that out.
Peter and John challenged Simon to humble himself before the Lord and get things squared away. But in v. 24, when challenged to do so, he can’t do it. Instead, he asked Peter to pray for him—i.e., he tried to humble himself before God by proxy. Maybe Simon thought Peter had some special access to God that he didn’t have—we don’t know. All we know is that when faced with the opportunity to renounce his pride and get everything squared away with God, he couldn’t do it. He passed the buck and asked Peter to pray—to do for him what he couldn’t, or wasn’t willing, to do for himself. And, of course, that didn’t work. It never works! Yes—we can get people to intercede for us. We can get them to pray for us and call out to God on our behalf. But they cannot humble our hearts before Him—that’s something we can only do for ourselves.
This is kind of an odd story, but it applies to us much more than we’d imagine a story about a Samaritan sorcerer from a couple of thousand years ago would. And here, I believe, is the primary point of application: How many of us regard the power of God as a resource for us to use as we want … as something we can use to serve our purposes or make life more convenient? How many of us have ever come to God because we want something from Him and not because we want Him? How many of us have approached God because of what we hope He can give us and not because of who He is? How many of us have been more enamored with the blessing than the blesser … with the gift than the giver … with the provision than the provider? My guess is there’s a little bit of Simon in all of us. We’ve all tried to pull that stunt at one time or another. And just as Peter and John became infuriated when Simon tried to pull it on them, my guess is God is just as frustrated with us when we do the same thing. I’m convinced part of what it means to experience the converting grace of God is that it alters our motives. We come to God not because of what we believe He can do for us, but simply because of who He is and we long for Him to influence, manage, and control every facet of our lives.
So—what is the basis of your relationship with God? Do you reach out to Him because of what He can do for you—because He’s resourceful … or powerful … or has the ability to assist you when you find yourself in a pinch? Or are you captivated with Him simply because of who He is? My guess is some of us fall into the former category more than we wish we did. And if that’s the case, perhaps the word Christian cannot be applied to us as fully and perfectly as we’d like.
Think of it—the word Christian is also an eponym. It is drawn from Jesus Christ … the One who came not to be served but to serve … the One who considered equality with God not something to be grasped but made Himself nothing … the One who came not to promote His own agenda but advance the Heavenly Father’s agenda … the One who surrendered His life so that we might know life of a substance, texture, and character than would otherwise be possible.
If we’re going to claim a title that is tied to the shape, pattern, and example of Jesus Christ, then lets be the real thing. That means we don’t pursue God primarily because of what we hope He can do for us or what we’d like to gain from the arrangement. It means we do it because He’s deserving and worthy … that we do it because of who He is.