Drawn In: Listen
Sometimes I have big ideas that don’t work out. For example, for several summers I have grown tomatoes with the hopes of canning them and eating them all winter long. I love this idea for me and my family. But for several summers, I have collected tomatoes on my counter daily only to have them rot before I can set aside the time required to blanch them and cool them and cut them and can them.
This year, I gave up on my big idea–sort of. I still grew a lot of tomatoes. But this year when they come into the house, they go into a pot after some light dicing that ignores the skins. They’re not bound for beautiful jars on the shelf either. They’re bound for simmering on my stovetop while I do other things. By the time I come back they’re already a thick sauce I’ll be throwing on top of pasta within the week. It’s not such a profound act of creation maybe, but it’s one that has taught me the power of listening and of adapting my big ideas to the situation before me.
In the Book of Acts, the Apostle Paul had some big ideas, too. It sounds to me like he had thought to go to Asia and other far-flung places to spread the gospel. But according to the text, the Holy Spirit and the Spirit of Jesus barred his way. I’d really like to know more about what that meant. The Book of Acts is full of miraculous signs and stories. Maybe it was one of those. But since it spares us the details, it makes me wonder, if the Spirit acted in more mundane ways on this occasion. Like maybe Paul and Silas ran out of funds or they decided there was some great language barrier or one of them fell ill. The text doesn’t tell us. It does seem to relate that they struck out with big ideas to bring about a great creative work but listened to the Holy Spirit and adapted their plans along the way.
Isn’t that how life so often goes? Our big ideas don’t always work out just how we expect. But sometimes, if we listen, we may find God at work in the changes we make along the way. I find there’s something to keeping a focus on what it is we are called toward while remaining flexible as we listen to the needs of the moment.
In today’s text, Paul has a vision that convinces him to go to Macedonia instead. He becomes convinced that’s where God has called him to proclaim the good news. In his vision, it's a man from Macedonia who pleads with Paul to come. But once there we don’t hear about any major male figure that converts to Christianity because of the work of Paul and Silas. Instead, there’s a woman, who the scripture calls Lydia. We’re told she’s a “worshiper of God.” That likely means she’s not someone who is officially Jewish but rather sympathetic to the ideas of Judaism. She’s also designated as a trader of “purple cloth,” which makes her not exactly a member of an elite class but likely connected to a circle of higher status folks by trade. She is the one who is moved by the good news and who leads her whole household to be baptized as well.
She wasn’t what they expected. But wasn’t her conversion and leadership the heart of what they hoped to achieve on their gospel-spreading journey? I might argue things turned out even better than in Paul’s vision.
Early 16th century artistic great Michelangelo, whose famous fresco adorns the Sistine Chapel and whose sculptures of Pieta and David have remained much revered across the centuries, is reported to have once said: “Every block of stone has a statue inside it, and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.”
Not all of us have the gift of putting our hand to an immense block of stone and hearing the sculpture that wants to be unbound from it. But most of us can learn to listen to the call of God amidst our unique and changing circumstances in ways that help us achieve the wholeness and well-being God would have us seek.
In today’s story, Lydia is actually the star listener. The text tells us, “the Lord opened her heart to listen.”
The Lord opened her heart. Lines like these in the Bible often catch my attention. How does that work exactly?
Centuries of air and ink have been spent trying to win arguments around the accurate mix of free will and predestination we operate with in the world. I’m not entirely keen to wade into that morass. But what I can say is that I have experienced times when my powers of perception are heightened or when something ordinary takes on extraordinary significance and understanding dawns on me in a way that seems it must be owing to something outside my own limited power.
I have to wonder if that’s anything like what Lydia experienced. Did she have goose bumps? Did her blood run cold? Was her heart strangely warmed? Whatever the details, it’s clear she was drawn in. This woman who knew the value of labor and was familiar with markets, was drawn toward this good news Paul and Silas shared.
I highly doubt she calculated that it would be good for business. If anything, I expect it was more likely to cost her business. But she listened, and she was drawn in anyway.
What draws us? What draws us not because it’s easy or addictive or obligatory but because when we listen, we hear the voice of the holy calling us in?
Sometimes it’s hard to hear that voice in the world of the driven isn’t it? I think so at least.
In a world where play and aimless creativity are often unvalued, and where clear goals and answers are valued highly, listening to what draws us in or gives us joy may not come easily. But play and aimless creativity are the very things that can allow us to be ready to listen and adapt when things don’t go the way we expect.
In the thick of the pandemic lockdown, one of the things that drew me in were long, aimless walks. I would just set off without much plan except the knowledge that I needed to exercise and feel some modicum of freedom. So, I walked, and as I did, I listened to my curiosity about my neighborhood, discovering fascinating nooks and crannies and new routes to old favorite places.
I found myself often walking around St. Mary’s Catholic Church near my home. I have still never gone inside but on those walks I discovered the statue of Mary perched above the Fulton Street entrance. She was always there, immovable, and yet always opening her arms to welcome me in. Stopping under her arms grew to be a ritual on my walks that took on a certain healing nature. Her smiling stone face still being there somehow reminded me I was still here in this life and God was still with me, too. That was the message I dearly needed in those days and many days since.
I never met the artist who designed and sculpted that piece above the church door. But I hope they understand somehow what their art has meant to others. I hope they understand the power our creativity has. When we listen to what draws us in and nurture our own God-given creativity, we in turn nurture the spirits of others.
Our creative ventures don’t always take the shape we may expect, but when we listen to the Creative Spirit of God calling us in, we may well have the joyful opportunity to be co-creators in spreading holy love, grace, and joy.
May it be so. Amen.
