DATE: May 5, 2013
SCRIPTURE: Acts 16:9-15
Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton
[Sung] Let’s all go down in the river and pray, studying about that good ‘ol way and who shall wear the robe and crown: O, Lord, show me the way.
O, Sisters let’s go down, let’s go down, won’t you come on down. O, sisters let’s go down, down in the river to pray…
Lydia went down to the river that Sabbath day; went out the gates of the city of Philippi, that leading city, bustling, Roman city… Lydia went out the gates of the city, away from the noise of creaking wagon wheels and barking merchants, away from the smell of sweat and rotting food mixed with sea air; past whistling Roman soldiers and blind beggars stationed at the gate and down to the river to pray. Down to the river with the other women, Jewish women. Lydia was Greek, Gentile not Jewish, but she gathered with the other women outside the gates of the city because she found a kind of peace on the riverbank, among the other women, that she found nowhere else. They called her a ‘believer,’ and maybe she was; certainly something had drawn her to this place, something inviting, powerful and a bit mysterious that the other women called ‘God.’ All Lydia knew for certain was that her heart felt more open when she sat and prayed with the other women; her mind stopped racing. She felt more grounded, somehow, less fierce.
Mostly, she had to be fierce. Lydia was a business woman, a purveyor of purple cloth – purple for wealth; purple for status. Purple was the in-color among the rich and royal, so Lydia moved in elite circles, knew how to flatter a wealthy Roman citizen, when to drop her gaze and when to look her client in the eye, just long enough to close a deal. Her fine fabrics and her shrewd business sense had earned her a name in that region, Lydia of the Purple Cloth. She did well for herself, well enough to support herself and her household.
But that Sabbath day Lydia left her purple cloth and went outside the gates of the city, down to the river where she could be herself, and as she dropped down next to the other praying women, and the notes of their songs and the gurgle of water filled her ears, the weight of her station fell from her shoulders like a heavy cape dropped to the ground. No need to keep up appearances here. No need to impress the clients; no need to stand firm against men who would cheat her out of a fair price, just because she was a woman; no need to endure their lewd invitations, or the thinly veiled contempt of noble women.
Here, she could breathe freely, deep draughts of river air.
Until the men arrived. It was…unexpected. Unorthodox. Men belonged with other men. Women worshipped with women, outside the gates, because they weren’t permitted to establish a synagogue in town without the requisite ten men to serve as founders. Lydia suddenly felt fiercely protective of that tiny parcel of water and riverbank. But as these three approached, she perceived in their faces none of the arrogance that she’d come to expect. They had laughing eyes and their faces lit up with something like joy. That Sabbath day, three men came down to the river where the women prayed and they began to speak.
They began to speak about a man named Jesus who used to hang out with women and lepers and tax collectors; a man – they’d been told – who welcomed children, healed the sick and once fed thousands of people on a few loaves of bread. He’d preached peace, frightened the empire, been executed for treason. Only, that wasn’t the end of the story: three days later, he’d been seen by several of his followers, alive! Jesus, the Christ, the one Death could not defeat; God’s definitive Word that love is stronger than death; the risen Christ had met them, breathed into them the Spirit of Peace and sent them out to love and serve and share the Good News.
Lydia listened, drank it all in and felt her heart open. This God she recognized. It was the same God that drew her to the river; the same God that spoke to her in the ripple of water, the circle of women and the rhythm of prayer. It was the God in whose presence she could be Lydia and also somehow forget Lydia, in whose presence she could just be. She listened, and a hunger sprouted somewhere at the center of her being. To know this Christ, this son of God who was no respecter of persons; to follow this One who would never cheat or demean her; this one who had known loss and pain – and also love, always love. To be loved liked that, and then to share it. To spend her whole life learning to live like that… Lydia’s heart opened and one word bubbled up as if from the riverbed: Yes.
When Lydia left behind her purple cloth and went down to the river that Sabbath day, she had no idea what was in store. Now she kicked off her sandals and waded into the water, all the way, lowered beneath the surface by the man with the laughing eyes, and the hands that held her as she sunk underwater, they did not force, or grope, or shrink away; but held her firmly and promised not to let go. When she resurfaced, water streaming down her face, hair clinging to her cheeks and shoulders, wet as a newborn child, she looked that man in the eye and laughed out loud. Where had her dignity gone? Washed down stream with the grime of other people’s expectations and her own rough edges? No: not gone. Restored. In fact, she felt more like Lydia than ever before.
Lydia went back up from the river that Sabbath day with three men in tow, three followers of The Way, three joyful but weary travelers who needed food and a place to stay. She had done well for herself, well enough to support herself and her household, and now she had occasion to share her wealth. She threw open her doors, first to those men, to Paul, Timothy and Luke, and then to others, until her house became a hub of activity: women and men, merchants and farmers, even the occasional Roman noble, all rubbing elbows and swapping stories. In Lydia’s house, they were all treated with the same extravagant welcome, fed at her table, where she always made room for one more hungry soul. Together, those who gathered under her roof practiced the Way of Christ: praying and praising, loving and serving. In time, they came to be known as the Church of Philippi, the first Christian community established on European soil. Paul visited when he could, and always he was greeted warmly by the woman he’d first met down by the river: her expansive generosity, wide open welcome and Christ-like love had earned her a name in that region: Lydia of the Purple Cloth – church founder, faithful servant, woman with the laughing eyes.
[Sung] Let’s all go down in the river and pray, studying about that good ‘ol way and who shall wear the robe and crown: O, Lord, show me the way.
O, Sisters let’s go down, let’s go down, won’t you come on down. O, sisters let’s go down, down in the river to pray…
Scripture Texts
Paul, Timothy and the author of Acts, whom we’ll call Luke, were traveling around the land, sharing the Good News, when Paul had a dream that they should go to Macedonia, in Europe…
Acts 16:9-15
9During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” 10When 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. 11We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, 12and 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. 13On 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. 14A certain woman named Lydia, a [Gentile] 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. 15When 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.