"When Lydia Prevails: Faith and Hospitality"

First Presbyterian Church
May 13, 2007; Mother's Day
Peter S. Buehler
Acts 16:9-15

"If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord,
come and stay at my home."

Today's scripture passage from Acts chapter 16 reads like a shorthand version of a travel show on the Discovery Channel.

I really enjoy shows where an adventurous traveler, usually someone in his or her 20s visits countries and regions, cities and villages most tourists don't see.
The format of these shows makes it seem as if you're actually traveling with the host, choosing local transportation, dealing with the inevitable delays and frustrations, but also seeing wonderful things for the first time, interacting with everyday people, communicating without an interpreter, tasting strange and exotic foods, staying in simple accommodations.

Programs like this are great for armchair travelers. They also show us what it is like to get outside our borders and boundaries, to experience other people and cultures, and to be reminded what a difference kindness and hospitality make.
When we're worn out from traveling, and really hungry, and not sure where we'll find a room for the night, there is nothing more wonderful than smiles and help and hospitality.

So it's not insignificant that at the end of our New Testament passage, at the end of their first full week on European soil, Paul and his missionary friends were invited to stay at the home of the woman whose heart had been opened to Paul's message, to his preaching of the gospel, a message which itself spans cultures and borders.

How this all happened -- how Paul encountered Lydia, a well-to-do seller of purple-dyed cloth -- is a story in itself. It is also an illustration of one of the basic lessons of successful traveling, according to Rick Steves, the writer: When things go wrong, or your plans hit a snag, or you're facing an unexpected problem or delay: Don't fight it. Relax and make the most of it. Find a way to enjoy yourself.
Meet the people; take advantage of a new opportunity.

Which is what Paul did, with help from the Holy Spirit. Earlier in Acts 16 we read that Paul's travel plans had been disrupted, that moving through the Asia Minor regions of Phrygia and Galatia toward the westernmost territory, called "Asia" (not to be confused with today's continent of Asia), For some reason he was "forbidden by the Holy Spirit to speak the Word" there.

Wouldn't we love to know what happened -- what went wrong at the border, what snafus occurred to make the group say to one another, finally, Guys, this isn't working. Maybe this is a No  from God. How about we change plans and head over to the coast?

Which is what happened, and where Paul, in the port city of Troas, had a vision of a man from across the Aegean Sea beckoning to him, "Come over to Macedonia and help us."

Imagine having your wife, husband, or travel partner say to you: I had the craziest dream last night. Anyway, pack your bags. The Holy Spirit says we need to leave. I don't think Rick Steves says anything in his books about what to do when this happens.

Of course, if the Apostle hadn't paid attention to his dreams, to this particular dream, we wouldn't be here worshipping today, because Christianity would never have gotten beyond Asia Minor, let alone into Europe. As it was, Paul heeded his vision of the man from Macedonia and set sail immediately from Troas to Philippi -- in record time, we might add: 156 miles in two days, including a stopover on the island of Samothrace. Arriving in the port of Neapolis, the group then trekked eight miles to the northwest, including a steep climb over the hill separating the Macedonian coast from the plateau on which Philippi sits.

By the time they got there, the missionaries must have been worn out! And it's not as though they'd planned everything out ahead of time, copies of Europe on 40 Denarii a Day in their backpacks. I have a feeling that if Rachel Ray had been in the group she would not have been so perky at this point.

And to make matters worse, there were no synagogues to be found where they, as faithful Jews, would have been invited to teach and preach. In Philippi the only audience they could find consisted of a few women down by the river. Undiscouraged, Paul preached anyway.

What exactly Lydia brought with her in her heart that day -- nagging concerns, unresolved problems, or perhaps nothing: a light heart on a typical day -- she suddenly found herself warming to Paul's words and listening with an eagerness and excitement and happiness she had never before known. Perhaps part of her joy was the fact that as a woman she was being addressed in person and as an equal, and that there was a winsomeness to this quality of respect.

There was something to this message about Jesus that brought barriers down and lifted people up -- women and men, Gentiles and Jews, slaves and free -- creating a sense of harmony, intimacy and community that was like the kingdom of heaven on earth. Who would not hear these words eagerly! Lydia responded to the gospel by saying Yes to the sacrament of baptism, joining this now international community of believers, committing herself and her household to worship and service in the Savior's name.

Then she did something else, and it's significant that Luke records it in the book of Acts: she invited Paul and his fellow travelers to stay at her home. She extended her hospitality; Lydia not only let these men into her residence, she let them into her life. She responded to the good news by herself bringing down barriers between herself and her guests, treating them like Christ.

Which is what this faith is about. Welcoming others, welcoming strangers, as Christ. People from other lands and faiths, of course, practice hospitality; it's a wonderful way God brings barriers down and erases differences between us.
Christian hospitality, however, always places Jesus in the room. We see him sitting and listening, noticing when we show kindness to strangers.

Because faith and hospitality go together. Believing and serving go together.
Worshipping God and showing grace to strangers go together.

Things do get in the way. There are barriers to hospitality. Today for many of us simply being busy is a barrier. We have plans; we need to get to the next place, the next commitment. Or we need to get home, because we're tired out and we want to get into our grubby clothes and put our feet up. We don't really feel like entertaining, because that would mean having to clean the house and to cook. These things take time! We wonder how people who lived in the past  -- without microwaves, take-out food, and vacuum cleaners -- ever had the time to entertain. Maybe the days were longer back then.

But there's something else that gets in the way. Hospitality, after all, demands something from us -- not simply house cleaning and meal preparation, but openness.  Allowing entry into our personal lives, our personal space.
Hospitality has us pull down barriers we may be comfortable keeping up.

Perhaps we do it unknowingly, perhaps unconsciously, but nevertheless in keeping others at a distance -- in resisting hospitality -- we may be keeping Christ at a distance.

I remember going on a church mission trip a number of years ago with a group of high school students and adult volunteers. Kati's mom, Julia, came along too; she was a woman who had lived in South America and definitely had the gift of hospitality, both giving and receiving. Our trip was to a church in California's Central Valley, to an Hispanic congregation, where we were to do a painting project and then share some activities with their youth group.
Like everyone else, I'd brought my sleeping bag and was prepared to sleep on the church floor; actually I was looking forward to it, to finding a private corner of the church, a bit separate from our somewhat boisterous group. But no sooner had we arrived than the Pastor and his wife invited Julia and me to stay with them at their home. Thank you very much, I said, but I'll be fine here at the church. They asked again, I politely declined again. Until Mom took me aside and, in her gentle way, told me that it would be rude to say No to this invitation, that declining this family's hospitality would be a major blunder. Mom hardly ever pushed anything, especially on her stubborn son-in-law, so I accepted the gracious hospitality being offered and, of course, had a wonderful, memorable time in the home of a beautiful Christian family.

Sr. Ana Maria Pineda, director of the Hispanic Ministries Program at the Catholic Theological Union in Chicago, makes an interesting observation. Writing about the biblical practice of hospitality, she notes that the Greek word xenes, from which we get our English word xenophobia, or fear of the stranger, not only means stranger but also guest and host. It is as though in the word itself there is an opportunity to let down barriers, that in an instant, in hospitality offered and received, people go from being strangers to friends.

We know it's true; we ourselves have met people for the first time and connected, becoming friends, sometimes lifelong friends. Often it happens when we travel, when strangers go out of their way to help us, and suddenly it's as though the entire country is a favorite of ours -- the people are so friendly, we say.

Sr. Ana Maria goes on to say that the New Testament word for hospitality, philoxenia, means literally love of the stranger, love of the guest. What a beautiful word! It can mean as well "love of the whole atmosphere of hospitality and the whole activity of guesting and hosting" (Practicing Our Faith, pages 33-34).

A lot of us think of our mothers and remember the way they enjoyed hosting our friends in our house, serving milk and cookies and snacks and bologna sandwiches in vast quantities, smiling and staying out of the way, overlooking the messes we made, human tornados sweeping through their kitchen.
Hospitality is nothing less than the creation of an atmosphere of love. When we invite someone into our home -- or perhaps out to coffee, or to a restaurant, or maybe to go for a walk  with us (hospitality in our home, after all, may not be possible or practical) -- the invitation, in essence, is showing love. Bringing down barriers; broadening comfort zones. Because the source of love is God, and in Christ the love we know is personal, just as it is at once powerful and patient and kind, not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. Love is all these things; hospitality is the atmosphere in which it thrives.

Shall we practice hospitality in our lives, in our church, in our country? How shall we express this beautiful faith of ours in ways that allow barriers to come down?

Our nation is dealing with the issue of immigration, how best to handle it, what to do when immigration occurs illegally. But as we debate the issue, should not the Christian practice of hospitality be part of the conversation, part of our faith approach to the issue, to our neighbors?

People in our world -- people in our nation -- are fearful. We read news stories about terrorism and it's as though the ink from the newspaper gets under our fingernails and into our bloodstream and our muscles tighten in fear and anger.
We find ourselves becoming suspicious of strangers; we feel safe behind barriers. We don't realize that we're becoming alien to ourselves.

So we ask, especially in light of the gospel: Do barriers make us safe, or do the high walls we erect around nationality and religion, around race and ethnicity not make us more suspicious, more afraid, more reluctant to extend ourselves in friendship, kindness and trust? As followers of Jesus, do we not know in our hearts that it is the love of God and the grace of Savior which make us truly safe?

We can be different; we can make a difference. Every time we do what Lydia did, every time we listen eagerly to the good news and respond by offering hospitality to a stranger, we are helping to save the world.