A Fourth Church Sermon by Abbi Heimach-Snipes

Sunday, May 26, 2019 | 4:00 p.m.

Abbi Heimach-Snipes
Pastoral Resident, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 67
Acts 16:9–15

I imagine it was lonely being an independent woman of her time, traveling around dealing purple cloth. I imagine it was hard to find community. It was tiring having to continuously convince people, “No, I don’t need a man to live my life. I can run my cloth business on my own. I can run my household as I like. And although I wish you’d all give me your blessing, I’m not bound by what you think of me—my body, my life, my choices.” Maybe Lydia had to put up a front for her cloth to be marketable, for her to appear less vulnerable. Maybe she had to be just soft enough that she was approachable in her business but tough enough to handle the harassers. Yet all this work convincing others she’s strong but hiding the fact she’s still human with longings and needs—maybe that’s why she walked right outside the gate of Philippi that sabbath day, taking the risk of being outside the perceived safety bubble of empire and Roman security, because it only preserved a certain kind of safety. Maybe that’s why she went down to the river to pray that day. Maybe she felt flooded by all the messages of how she was supposed to live her life, run her cloth business, and care for her body, and leaving the city gave her space to just be herself. There, by the river, she gathered with other women. Those women could have been in a similar situation as she and needed a place to vent, to be real, and to search for something larger than the world in which they found themselves. Why do we have to fight so hard to just exist? Why can’t we be trusted with our own bodies and decisions?

I imagine the Spirit already present with those women, because I have seen the Spirit many times in feminine spaces. That feeling of comfort and connection. That space where you can share stories of life’s reality that aren’t quite socially acceptable to be honest about in public. There’s no doubt in my mind that a group of traveling men didn’t have to bring the Spirit to this space. Paul and his community might have had a vision calling them to Macedonia, into Europe for the first time ever to proclaim the good news—maybe not just to spread the good news of Jesus Christ though, but to witness how the Spirit was alive and active already in Macedonia, where they could learn from the diversity of the body of Christ. If Paul were traveling with all men (we know of men like Silas and Timothy joining him, but this doesn’t mean there weren’t women along as well)—if Paul were only with men, Lydia might be skeptical of this group of strange men walking up to her group of women outside of the city gates. But maybe to Lydia these men were indeed strange, but not in the strange-creepy way but the strange and surprisingly safe way. With all the ways Lydia was closed off and protected, that Spirit that she was noticing and feeling with the women opened her heart, found her beneath the shell. The Spirit reached out to her, comforted her, affirmed her being. That spiritual security gave her an openness that allowed her to listen and hear what Paul was sharing. It gave her the space to breathe and imagine the possibilities of this Jesus-good-news.

I can imagine Paul sharing about Jesus, retelling the stories of Jesus’ encounters with women—such as Jesus encouraging Martha to get out of the kitchen and come and share stories with the rest of them, and the story of the Syrophoenician woman standing up to Jesus, who had just called her a dog, and he realizing his mistake and healing her daughter afterwards. Stories of Jesus turning over tables in his anger that the temple was used as a marketplace instead of solely as a house of prayer. Stories of healings and exorcisms, presence and persistence. Stories of a man Paul was calling God, who loved the people so dearly that he died as a cultural agitator on the cross because he knew that the ways of empire, death, and debt were not what God wanted for God’s creation.

You can almost see the women’s faces changing. “You mean this feeling we get when we’re together, this longing we have for the people in our community that are suffering, the glimpses of internal affirmation and confidence we have, that’s not something to fear? This Jesus has something to do with that? You mean God loves us and is guiding us to work toward the restoration on earth? Count me in.”

That was it for Lydia. The Spirit had opened her heart, and she was able to discern a radical life shift so quickly, so assuredly that she was ready to be baptized. But it wasn’t just enough for her to be baptized; she convinced her whole household, her chosen family, to be part of this Jesus Way with her. The openness of hearts became contagious, and they welcomed Paul and his Jesus people to come and stay with them. Lydia became the first European to be baptized that we know of, and her strength, her wisdom, and her hospitality led the early church in Philippi.

I’m struck by the way the Spirit opened Lydia’s heart, and thus I imagined this particular contextual story of Lydia that we don’t really know about besides what it probably meant to deal purple cloth and lead a household. Although the scripture tells us that the Spirit opened her heart, I imagine it also took a particular posture for Lydia to allow herself to be opened up by the Spirit, an openness for change. I remember a time in my own life when I needed an openness, a way out of no way, an opening that could also help me discern a radical shift in my life.

The year after I graduated college, I joined a fast-track teacher program, where I would become a teacher in a school with high needs without having a teaching degree. It didn’t take long into the school year for me to realize that I was not equipped to help my students in the ways they needed, that I had no idea what I was doing, and that I was completely miserable trying to figure out how to do my job too. I felt trapped and also holding to the false reality that it was up to me to save my students. One day I was visiting my best friend out of state, and I found myself crying in the car with her as it was getting closer to me having to drive back home. She said, “Abbi, you don’t have to do this job. You can quit.” Quitting was not part of my reality, had never crossed my mind. Although I wasn’t open to it yet, something about the presence of my friend opened something in me.

I went home and asked for help, and a friend of a friend connected me to a pastor. I opened up to her about my struggles, and she offered to meet with me every week and do an Ignatian spiritual practice called the Daily Examen. The examen is a practice in which you survey your day and ask, Where do I sense God’s presence? Where do I feel most alive? Where do I feel empty? Sarah and I met each week to pray and notice God working in our lives. This practice was a posture that helped me discern to eventually quit teaching after one year and later apply to seminary to become a pastor, because in surveying my weeks, I saw that I felt most alive listening to my students share about their lives, encouraging them to follow their interests, cheering them on, and being with them when they cried. I loved being their advocate and pushing them beyond what they could imagine for themselves, but I hated teaching them how to read. Sarah helped me understand that I felt most alive utilizing pastoral skills not school-teacher skills.

The Spirit found me in my pit of despair with the company of a friend. My heart opened, and I could shift my life to keep listening for the Spirit. This practice helped me finally hear how God was calling me toward a different career. The Spirit opening my heart correlated with the realization that I had agency, that God loved me deeper than I understood, and that God affirmed me. In fact, God had created gifts within me already for the needs of the world. I knew then how to shift my life with confidence.

God finds us. The Spirit is present in our lives, already opening our hearts for direction and guidance, often for a shift or change. But our posture can impact how we listen and notice God. For Lydia, the effort to go outside the city gates and seek the company of the women might have helped her embrace the Spirit’s opening. For me, asking for help was the posture that turned me toward the Spirit leading me to a mentor and spiritual practice. We don’t all have the same journeys, and God doesn’t reach out to us in the same ways. But ask yourself, what is your posture toward listening for the Spirit’s guidance?

All of these examples involve the power of community or a friend, and I’m reminded that our hearts don’t open all by ourselves. Struggling on our own, thinking we’ve got to dig ourselves out of a pit by ourselves, just isn’t going to do it. As Christians, we don’t practice our faith disconnected from community. We’re accountable to one another and need to have each other’s backs. So what’s our posture towards each other? Are we listening to one another’s stories? Do we hear each other’s truths, hear how the Spirit is calling you?

The book of Acts is filled with stories all about the Spirit opening people’s hearts who then share their stories with people with open hearts, and the cycle continues on and on and right now! The Spirit finds us. The Spirit is with us. The Spirit is opening our hearts. Are we listening? Amen.