Listening, Shepherding, Prevailing

Acts 16:9-15

During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them.

We therefore set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. On the Sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer, and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. A certain woman named Lydia, a worshiper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, “If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.” And she prevailed upon us.

Sermon

Imagine a world with me. This is a world like ours in almost every way, but with a few key differences. Let’s walk around in this new, odd world.

First, we walk down Spring Street for lunch. There’s a wait for tables, and we add our names to the list. As we sit down, we twiddle our thumbs, until the host calls a name out: “Smith?” We look around, everyone heard, but no one budges. “Johnson?” Again, everywhere heard, but no one budges. “Peterson?” No one budges. Around and around it goes, everyone hearing, no one budging.

We get tired of this, so we decide to skip lunch and go to the library. As we’re thumbing through some books, we’re jolted by a loud, blaring fire alarm. We see the lights, we hear the alarm, and start working our way out of the building. But on the way, we see everyone going on with daily life. We look at the librarian behind the desk. “Don’t you hear the alarm?” We ask. The librarian replies, “Yep.”

I have a hunch that all of us prefer to make it out of a building when a fire alarm goes off. I don’t know about you, but I want to live in a world where listening matters. And not just in an abstract sense, but where listening moves hands and feet, and where listening stirs us to act more faithfully.

That’s what’s at the heart of this text.

We pick up after last week in the Book of Acts with Saul. Saul was that great persecuter, who went across Galilee and Judea, entering homes, binding Christians in chains, and forcibly dragging them to a far-off, unfamiliar Jerusalem for imprisonment and death.

That very same Saul was called by the voice of Love, the risen Jesus Christ, blinded, and made whole in the midst of his terror, and changed forever. Now here he is, betraying everything he knew, for the sake of Jesus Christ and for the healing of the world. His transformation was so profound that the New Testament changed his name. He is no longer Saul; now he is the changed, transformed Paul.

Today’s events are kicked off by Paul’s vision of a Macedonian man, pleading for help. At the time of Paul, visions were a common, generally-accepted phenomena among people of every kind; and so, the Book of Acts inserts an important footnote given that context: this is no ordinary vision. Paul becomes “convinced” of God’s work in that vision.

For example, cookies disappear from cookie jars all the time; but when crumbs show up on your five-year-old’s face, you become convinced of someone’s handiwork.

Paul has this vision, and though visions were commonplace, he notices some crumbs on God’s face, and becomes convinced: God is at work here. Paul doesn’t hear the voice of God commanding him, Paul doesn’t receive a vision of an angel, and he doesn’t receive a small, still whisper in prayer. It is instead through this Macedonian man’s pleas, his voice, his humanity, that Paul discerns the communication of the Spirit. Paul hears the Spirit through the cries of the Macedonian man; and that humanity and anguish of the Macedonian man is what drives Paul to take an extraordinary turn, changing the very trajectory of his ministry.

“At the time of Paul, visions were a common, generally-accepted phenomena among people of every kind; and so, the Book of Acts inserts an important footnote given that context: this is no ordinary vision.”

Macedonia was not a place of great piety. Macedonia certainly wasn’t Paul’s country. That’s what makes this so extraordinary. Paul “should have” listened to what he grew up believing. Paul “should have” listened to conventional thinking. Paul “should have” listened to what his friends believed. Paul “should have” followed the rules of Rome and stayed quiet about this new religious movement. Paul “should have” put his own people first, and the foreigners second. But Paul didn’t.

Paul listened to this Macedonian man—a Gentile and a foreigner—and in listening so well, Paul heard the very voice of the Spirit. Paul listened not for the sake of empathy; Paul listened for the sake of faithful word and deed. He changed course. Swiftly; uncomfortably; urgently.

…

Years and years ago, I had a very particular relationship to taking medicine and pills. I have a hunch other people in the room can relate to this. When I was sick, and came down with the flu or a cold, I really hated taking medicine. I didn’t want to take Tylenol for a headache. I didn’t want to take cough medicine. I didn’t want to take flu medicine to help me sleep overnight. I couldn’t ever give an especially good explanation — I just didn’t want to take anything. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to admit I was sick, or maybe I was worried about relying on it as a “crutch,” or maybe it was something else. But I was not going to take the stupid tylenol.

When a doctor told me, “if you do X, Y, and Z, you’ll feel so much better,” I would say, “okay, I hear you.” And then I would be miserable for the next week and a half.

But at a certain point, I realized something: I wasn’t listening to doctors at all, if I wasn’t willing to do anything.

It’s Mother’s Day, and I suspect parents—especially mothers—can relate with kids. “You’re not listening if you don’t do what I say.” “You can’t complain if you don’t do what the doctor orders.” “Don’t just hear me, listen to me!”

I still didn’t want to take medicine when doctors told me to. And I didn’t always like how medicines felt or tasted at first. But something did happen. I wasn’t miserable for a week and a half; I could sleep better and do more.

Today, we know Paul listened because he “followed doctor’s orders,” so to speak. The depth of his actions testified to the depth of his listening, especially when it came from someone he probably didn’t want to hear — that strange, Macedonian man.

“Paul ‘should have’ put his own people first, and the foreigners second. But Paul didn’t. Paul listened to this Macedonian man—a Gentile and a foreigner—and in listening so well, Paul heard the very voice of the Spirit.”

This brings us to Lydia, another character who followed doctor’s orders and who saw the crumbs from the cookie jar. And Lydia is a mom to be reckoned with. 

In today’s scripture, we hear this about her:

• She’s religious

• She’s a businesswoman

• She’s a dealer of purple cloth, which is an especially expensive trade

• She manages her estate

• She had her family baptized

• She hosts these men in her own home

Lydia is one of the few saints who doesn’t have a tragic plotline. She’s someone we can mirror, and follow, and trust in our walk of faith. She shows us the light of the risen Christ; especially what it might mean to listen today.

Before anything happens, we know that Lydia is religious. We don’t know how she practiced, or the extent to which she was religious, but we believe she was at least sympathetic toward Judaism. She sought the truth—not some half-hearted truth, or the supposed truth she heard on television—but truth that pushed her to cross cultural and ethnic boundaries.

We know that Lydia then listened to Paul, in part, because we know she acted. She has her family baptized, and takes the plunge into this new religious movement of Jesus Christ.

Pretty immediately, we see Lydia entangle listening with shepherding: in this case, she goes and shepherds her family. She immediately began a life of ministry and service, and if we had to guess, great listening. She becomes a patron of Paul, and financially supports the early church as it spreads.

But because she listened—that active, rousing, listening—she also risked a great deal: her business, her reputation, her long-held religious beliefs. As a seller of purple cloths, she worked with aristocrats, the wealthy, the politically-informed; those who were no doubt entangled in Rome’s persecution of the church. She was embracing the life, teachings, death, and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth, who was despised and humiliated by Rome. She didn’t simply believe in Jesus and move on with her life. She listened—into the depths of Paul’s lived experience, into the uncomfortable corners of his witness, into the full mystery of his encounter on the Damascus’ road—and in doing so, heard the Spirit when it was inconvenient and uncomfortable. God cried out in the voice and witness and humanity of a strange, suspect, foreign man from Jerusalem. Had she tuned him out, she would have missed the very risen Christ who was moving in her life.

From that listening, and its call to shepherd others into baptism, Lydia persistently asks Paul and his fellow evangelist to stay with her. They refuse, repeatedly, it seems, until that final verse in our Bibles: “She prevailed” upon them.

In listening and in shepherding—which are really one in the same—Lydia prevails upon the apostles. She is persistent, knocking until someone answers. Lydia is convinced that she and these strangers are drawn together in Christ; she is convinced that in gathering with strangers, she would find fellowship with the risen Christ and the Spirit of God. 

…

As the church of Jesus Christ, we are impelled to this same path as Lydia. We listen, not for sake of mere empathy, but for the sake of doing what is faithful. As both Lydia reminds us, we listen to Jesus Christ and not to Rome, or to society, or to sensationalist news, knowing fully well that following Jesus will be inconvenient to our comfortable beliefs. We listen to Jesus Christ knowing that he expects something of us; we can’t find healing for our souls while ignoring the Great Physician.

“Lydia is convinced that she and these strangers are drawn together in Christ; she is convinced that in gathering with foreigners, she would find fellowship with the risen Christ and the Spirit of God. ”

In the witness of Lydia, we also see that discipleship is found in spiritual mothering or fathering. Just as Lydia mothered her family toward baptism, we draw each other back to the calling of our baptisms, time and time again. We are always pointing each other to Jesus and his church. This spiritual mothering and fathering brings mature disciples alongside those who are just embarking on a journey of faith. Spiritual mothering means getting involved with the governance of the church, serving on a committee, and setting a future vision. Spiritual mothering is learning and growing, maybe even teaching like Lydia does in her family, by opening our Bibles, studying scripture, practicing prayer, and opening our minds each Sunday.

Spiritual mothering is not about doing things for others, but in equipping others to live as full members of the church. That might mean we think about handing off responsibilities, setting aside time to train new leaders, and getting involved with outreach. As a word of assurance, spiritual mothering and fathering is not about being perfect, but in being “good enough,” in our fellowship, worship, discipleship, and nurture.

None of this is determined by age. We mother and father each other, at every life stage, and in a diversity of ways. No one is a single mother or father in this church; paradoxically and mystically we are all fathers and mothers and siblings and children of one another; bound together in the nurture and love of Jesus Christ and our Creator.

When we follow Lydia’s pattern, and in our mothering and fathering of each other, we will be reminded that the Spirit speaks not in ideology or politics, but in the lives of Macedonian men, so to speak — the lives of foreigners, strangers, outcasts, and even our enemies. As we see in the full breadth of scripture, the Spirit has always spoken in the lives of those who are unlike us — those foreigners, strangers, outcasts, and enemies. And the Spirit does that, today, too.

Whether we want to hear the Spirit in the lives of strangers or enemies is beside the point. Because the Spirit does speak, and will speak, and will continue to speak through their lives. And just as God was known in the fellowship between the strangers of Lydia and Paul, God meets us, too, in forming fellowship with strangers and foreigners.

That leaves a set of questions for all of us to consider. They’re not rhetorical questions, even if they seem open ended. They are real questions, that will shape the soul of this congregation: 

• Will we listen? 

• Will we shepherd?

• Will we mother and father?

• And like Lydia, will we prevail?