Beside running water (sermon)

Sermon preached by Josh Seligman at the Iona Abbey on 1 May, 2016.

Acts 16:9-15

The book of Acts tells a history of the early church, and the ways God worked through the apostles. One of these apostles, Paul, once persecuted Christians. But after seeing Jesus in a vision, his whole life changes. God calls him to proclaim the good news of Jesus throughout the world, and he does. In the events leading up to our passage this morning, the Holy Spirit forbids Paul to travel to Asia, but then, as we have heard, Paul has a vision of a man from Macedonia begging for help. Paul and his companions believe this is a message from God, so they go right away.

They arrive in Philippi, a major Roman city, and stay there for a few days. On the Sabbath, they look for a place of prayer outside the city by a river, and find a group of women worshiping. The city of Philippi did not have a synagogue, or a Jewish house of prayer, because there were not enough Jewish men. Ten adult men were required for a synagogue, and if there was no synagogue, Jews would often gather for prayer beside running water.

This picture of Paul and his companions with the women worshiping by the river reminds me of times I have rested beside streams flowing over rocks in the woods. Running water is refreshing, but it also brings with it heaviness, depth, a sense of sadness, perhaps even loneliness, through its echoes and whispers. I wonder if these women also felt sad and alone. They may have been the only Jews in their whole city, the only ones who worshiped God on the Sabbath, the only ones who knew the lyrics and melodies of their songs. Where were their families, the Jewish men, their young children?

They had no building to shelter them, and no holy temple. These women remind me of the Israelites in exile in Babylon, yearning for a home of worship. I think of one of the songs they wrote while in captivity, Psalm 137, which also takes place beside running water:


    By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept
    when we remembered Zion.
    There on the poplars we hung our harps,
    for there our captors asked us for songs,
    our tormentors demanded songs of joy;
    they said, “Sing us one of the songs from Zion!”

    How can we sing the songs of the Lord
    while in a foreign land?


The women welcome Paul and his companions to sit and speak with them. Based on Paul's previous speeches, he probably told them about Jesus, the one through whom God did mighty things, the one people crucified, but also the one God raised from the dead, and that all of this happened as foretold in the scriptures. Paul probably told them that Jesus was the messiah, their promised savior and King, and that through committing their lives to Jesus, they would have abundant life. Then the scripture says, “The Lord opened [Lydia's] heart to respond to Paul's message.”

How does Lydia respond? After being baptized with the people who live with her, Lydia invites—insists—that Paul and his friends stay with her. She says, “If you consider me a believer in the Lord, come and stay at my home.” It's as if her whole identity as a new believer in Jesus depends on whether or not they will accept. Her hospitality is bound together with her faith. Lydia's welcome comes from the working of God in her heart, a spontaneous gift. Perhaps it is also because now she sees Paul and the others as part of her family. She is filled with love for them and gratitude for their message.

I am intrigued by the movement that occurs from the riverside to Lydia's house. That morning, the women had gathered for worship and found strangers coming to sit and speak with them. Then they experienced God at work, opening Lydia's heart. That evening, they fellowship in a new way, by staying in Lydia's home as a sign of her changed life. It's as if these worshipers of God have now found their synagogue. And this synagogue does not require a specific location or ten adult men or even a building; what it needs is the work of God opening their hearts to one another.

We come here this morning from a variety of places and paths. Maybe some of you are like Paul: in a foreign land looking for a place to pray, perhaps where the people sing the songs you know. Maybe you have heard wonderful things about this island, how it is a holy and thin place, rich with history and spirituality, and you want to see for yourself what this means. Maybe you are like how Lydia may have been, going to church week after week seeking God, yearning for true communion.

The women gathered by the riverside, and the men found a place of prayer by the riverside, but the riverside was not the destination. It was the passageway which led to the door. In the same way, it is not this abbey or this island that we seek when we worship God. The sea, stones, wind, and history here are inspiring, but there is no life in these things. Instead, they point us to God, who is our life. What we need is for God to work in our hearts. When God opens our hearts, we change as Lydia changed. We see each other no longer as strangers, but as members of the same family, the same body, gifts from God bound through the Spirit of Jesus. When we gather in his name, he lives in our midst, and we become his temple.

And, like the place where the women worshiped, a river flows through this place too. And not just here, but throughout the world. It is the river of Christ, who is the source of our everlasting life. He invites us to come, drink, and live. No one who drinks this water will ever thirst. His tears have become the source of our healing, and they will wash away our own tears. And he is alive and has shown that, although weeping may last for a night, joy comes in the morning.

So, like Lydia, let us offer our hearts and our homes to one another this morning, this week, for however long we have together. May our hospitality overflow from the life we have in Christ. Come, let us stay with one another, and thus prove that we are believers in the Lord.