St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church

Rev. Gary Paterson

May 9, 2010

Mother’s Day is always a challenge for the preacher. It’s an important day, with cards, flowers, brunches and lunches – restaurant owners say that this is the busiest day of the year for noontime service. It’s all about mothers today. So you celebrate them, each and every one of them. That’s pretty obvious and straightforward. But I know that there are women in the congregation who have wanted to be mothers, but for some reason or other, that didn’t happen… and for them, Mother’s Day is poignant, and sometimes sad. Then there are those whose mothers are far away, and although phone and skype are good, they’re nothing like a long hug; there are those whose mothers are not well, struggling with pain or depression or dementia; or those whose mothers have died. And there are people in the congregation, I am sure, who have a strained relationship with their mother; who aren’t even sure, some of the time, if they like their mother. It’s difficult to know what to say.

I am reminded of a joke, from Robert Fulghum’s writings… a women speaks to the minister at the door – “Pastor, next week is Mother’s Day; and I am bringing Mother to church. So it better be good; it better be short; talk about God and mothers, and don’t mention the word ‘death.’” Let’s just say Mother’s Day is a day fraught with sermonic peril.

Imagine my relief, my joy even, when I turned to the Lectionary, the set of Scripture readings assigned for this Sunday – and discovered there, in the Book of Acts, in those early years of the church… the story of Lydia. Surely you know Lydia? I mean, look over at the north wall, ground level. There she is -- Lydia has her very own stained-glass window; right beside the window of Dorcas… I’ll bet you don’t know that story either, do you? Funny thing, all those hidden Bible stories about women; the ones you don’t hear that much about. So, by wonderful fluke, Lydia shows up on Mother’s Day – maybe a God-given opportunity to say something about those hidden women’s stories, to begin by lifting up Lydia, the very first person to be baptized in Europe. Did you know that? She was the first person to respond to Paul’s preaching, when he began his missionary journey into Greece in the city of Philippi. Lydia; a merchant woman from Thyatira, in Asia Minor, modern day Turkey. A woman of means… she was a trader in purple cloth; very expensive, high class -- if you were dealing with Lydia, you needed to be person of means. A strong woman; confident enough to travel from one continent to another; to run her own affairs in what was “a man’s world.” Lydia!

Thus, this started to become a sermon about the giftedness of every person, men and women… but maybe on Mother’s Day, with an emphasis on the equal giftedness of both genders, and to celebrate a gospel – “in Christ there is neither male nor female, neither Gentile nor Jew, nor slave nor free.; for we are all one in Christ.” The early church began to live into and out of that gospel, saw how the Spirit called forth women into positions of leadership, and acted upon this new reality. Lydia was a leader, and they told her story; and so were Priscilla and Chloe in Corinth; and Phoebe and Junia in Rome, along with the eight other women Paul names in his letter to the Romans.

And maybe this would be a good time, I thought to myself, to point out how the church all too soon began to back away from the gospel. The church fathers – and it was the fathers… they lost their nerve, lost their vision, lost their hearts, and reverted to old ways, where women were secondary; where patriarchal, sexist norms prevailed, until a century or two later, in the first letter to Timothy, (not written by Paul even though attributed to him,) there you find a complete denial of an earlier liberation: “Let a woman learn in silence with full submission. I permit no woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she is to keep silent.” I can just hear Lydia, and all the women like her, I can hear them saying, “Excuse me… please step aside; we have work to do; we have a gospel to live.”

That’s where I thought this sermon was going. But a strange thing happened on the way to Sunday – so much depends upon a sermon title. It began last Sunday evening, at the end of Jazz Vespers. I was tired; ready to go home; ready to celebrate the gifts of the day. That’s when Tom came up to me, with a friendly smile. “What’s the title of next week’s sermon?” he asked, a gentle reminder that he needed something from me to put out on the Burrard Street sign. Otherwise, a title change wouldn’t happen until Wednesday, and we’d look … well… not very organized…whatever. I needed to come up with a sermon title but all I wanted to do was to shout, “I just finished today’s sermon; I haven’t any brain cells left to think about next Sunday’s sermon.” In truth, I actually had done some thinking about a title, but wan’t veryhappy with the results. I had started with a memory of a favourite childhood song, “Lydia, O Lydia, Lydia, O Lydia,…” but then the next line went, “O Lydia the tattooed lady….” Didn’t work. I had wondered about “Deep Purple”… you know, taking direction from Lydia’s life as a merchant – too clever by far. Or what about “Lydia wins the European Gold”? But I could end up with some disappointed fans. So I smiled back at Tom, and opened my Bible to the story of Lydia… maybe I would find inspiration. And you know what… it happened. I mean, I’d already read the passage many times; but this time there was a phrase that leapt off the page: “The Lord opened her heart.” Exactly, I thought to myself… this a God story before it’s a Lydia story. This is a story about the movement of Spirit, coming to this strong woman, and bringing about softness of heart, an openness to a new story, a new way of understanding life. God opened Lydia’s heart, and she was changed; life was turned upside down; she was baptized. Good title, I thought – “God opened her heart.” Ah yes… so much depends upon a title.

Fast forward to Tuesday morning, when Darryl and I had our regular beginning-of-the-week meeting, a time to think about worship for the coming Sunday, for today, and then, to choose the hymns. Well, last Tuesday Darryl came into my office, sat down, and said, “Great title! And just perfect for Mother’s Day. Did you think of that title?” “Well, actually, no,” said I; “it’s from the Bible.” “Oh, even better,” said Darryl. ‘God opened her heart’ … who would have thought they could be so radical way back then.” Now, on Tuesday mornings, you must remember, I am a bit slow; sort of like the Monday morning for the rest of you; but even so, it quickly became apparent that we had here a case of the ambiguous pronoun and the missing referent. Just whose heart was being opened? – Lydia’s? God’s? “Well, it’s clear,” said I if you read the story, “it’s Lydia’s heart that gets opened, and…” “ Well,” said Darryl, “that may be, but if all you see is a sign that says, ‘God opened her heart’… well, sorry, that’s saying something about God’s heart; her heart. And that’s very neat.” And we laughed together.

But strangely… that moment stayed with me; the phrase settled into my mind. --“God opened her heart.’ Made me think of ancient words from the prophet Isaiah, “As a mother comforts her child so do I comfort you.” And words from the prophet Hosea: “Yet it was I who taught [the people of Israel] to walk. I took them up in my arms; I led them with cords of human kindness, with bonds of love. I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks. I bent down to them and fed them.” Sure sounded like God opening her heart to me.

The image haunted me… God opened her heart and out poured holy energy, “Let there be light,” and there was the big bang, light pouring out endlessly, stars, galaxies, black holes; a sun and a planet, our home, this blessed earth. God opened her heart, as if a vast cornucopia were upended in the heavens, pouring out butterflies and great blue herons; arbutus and Douglas fir; salmon and swallows; rhododendron and peony; giraffes, polar bears, snakes and kittens; and homo sapiens… well, with a few Neanderthal genes mixed in, as suggested by the latest scientific study of early human hanky-panky. Maybe the cornucopia was time itself, with memory, now and tomorrow all interwoven.

And then, to borrow an image from the poet Sylvia Plath, “God’s heart put on a face, and went walking in the world.” God opened her heart, put on a Jesus face, and came among us. And we beheld this face, full of the energy and being of God, and we knew it to be the face of love. God’s heart has a face, and it is the face of love.

And this love is reaching out to us, to each one of us, with an invitation, a welcome; face to face, heart to heart; the connection with the Holy that we hunger for. That Lydia hungered for. Why else would she have gone down to the river? Lydia was described as a God-worshipper… that was first century short-hand for saying that she was a Gentile, not a Jew; one of the outsiders. But Lydia was drawn to the Jewish faith; she chose to worship with the Jews, but kept asking questions; she adopted Torah ethics, but kept her distance; today we might describe her as “spiritual, but not religious.” Maybe.

The Biblical story doesn’t give many details. It was Sabbath… I imagine it to be early morning; the mist lifting as the sun begins to rise; the birds are still singing. Lydia goes down to the river to meet with the women… a time for prayer; giving thanks for yesterday and a good night’s sleep; thanks for this morning moment, for the day just beginning; for sabbath time, when life is seen slightly askew, called to rest, laughter, and renewal. Sabbath; morning, let’s go down to the river to pray, studying about that good old way. Down to the river, that’s where Lydia went, and both God’s and Lydia’s hearts were opened.

Maybe Paul was God’s catalyst; it happens that way, you know. But he was there; he chose to join the women down at the river; to overcome his own social upbringing where to speak to women was a waste of time. But Paul was beginning to know otherwise; he was the one who wrote, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” (Gal. 3: 28) At his best Paul understood that, and acted upon it. He baptized Lydia; he recognized the whispering of the Spirit.

How does this happen? This opening of heart; this connection with God? Well, I imagine there are as many different ways, as there are people and moments. Lydia went down to the river, with the other women, to pray. You remember that old song, eh…

As I went down to the river to pray,

studying about the good old way;

and who should wear the robe and crown,

good Lord, show me the way.

Oh sisters, let’s go down,

Come on down, let’s go down;

Oh brothers, let’s go down,

down to the river to pray.

I invite you to join with me, to sing together, thinking about what it means for you to go down to the river to pray. How might you quiet your soul? What takes you down to the river, what opens you up, what would it be like if you did encounter God? How might your heart be opened, to encounter the heart of God, open and loving? Will you sing with me….

As I went down to the river to pray,

studying about the good old way;

and who should wear the robe and crown,

good Lord, show me the way.

Oh sisters, let’s go down,

Come on down, let’s go down;

Oh brothers, let’s go down,

down to the river to pray.

As Paul was telling the story of Jesus Christ, Lydia encountered the open heart of God; and it was as if something shifted inside of her, maybe just a small thought, a quickly held breath,…”Yes!” Lydia was baptized; her life was changed. And even she didn’t know where it would lead… Lydia, the dealer in purple cloth, a worshipper of God, the first baptized follower of the Way in Greece, in Europe…

Our Methodist sister denomination in the States, Kathryn’s home denomination, a few years ago they developed a logo, a vision statement: “Open Hearts; Open Minds; Open Doors.” It begins with open hearts, a faith, a trust, that God’s heart really is open, and it really does wear the face of Jesus, of love. But that never means that our minds are to be closed, that questions can’t be asked; that injustice … against women, against anyone whose gifts and abilities are sidelined because of some prejudice… that injustice shouldn’t be named, challenged and changed. Open hearts doesn’t mean that we should stop thinking. Open Minds.

But don’t stop with the heart and the mind; open the doors! Let your life be changed. That’s what Lydia did. I love how this story ends -- Lydia is baptized, and the first thing she does is invite everyone back to her place for a great party. Paul and Silas; all the other women who were with her down at the river; and maybe their families. Lydia opened her doors, and invited in everyone whose heart was restless, who hungered for the living God, who wanted a heart-to-heart encounter with the Holy One. Holy hospitality! Welcoming neighbour and stranger; welcoming the curious, the hungry, the hurting, the joyful, the questioning, the faithful.

God opened her heart; Lydia opened her heart… O God, open our hearts. Amen.