Lydia —My Story

Acts 16

“We therefore set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days.  On the Sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer, and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. A certain woman named Lydia, a worshiper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, ‘If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.’ And she prevailed upon us.”

My name is Lydia and this is my story, written to you from what you call the first century. Of course, in my day, it was not the first century, since time in the Roman Empire was measured from the founding of Rome.

I was originally from the city of Thyatira, in the Asian kingdom of Lydia; hence my name. You see, in my time it was customary for slaves to be given the name of their home territory. So, I was Lydia from Lydia! And yes, I was a slave.

Before I go on, let me interject something important here. Because you must understand this: my story is not my own. No, as you will see, my story is God’s story, though I didn’t know it for the longest time.

How could that be? Let me explain. First of all, as a slave, I was the property of a wealthy family of Thyatira, and later, in Philippi, a follower of the God of Israel and finally, thanks to the Apostle Paul, a follower of Jesus Christ. The entire path of my life was set out by God, though at the time, I couldn’t see it.

Thyatira was a home of the trade in purple: purple dye and purple cloth. The dye, made from the secretions of snails from the coastal waters of Tyre, was prized as befitting royalty, and was very expensive. The family to which I was enslaved were merchants of that business, and had become wealthy in the trade, with rich customers all over the known world.

How did I get to be a slave? My family of origin, was, you see, very poor, and as a result, I was, at an early age, sold to the wealthy family I just described. This practice was not unusual. You might understand that the selling of the children of poverty was common in our Greek culture.

As the years passed, I was given more responsibility by my new owners. In fact, by the time I reached twenty years of age, I had become governess over their four young children. I was trusted, not quite as a member of the family, but almost. And I considered myself very lucky to have been sold to this family. Children sold into slavery were not often treated so well.

More years passed, and then, surprisingly, the family moved from Thyatira to Philippi, in Macedonia. As part of their household, I naturally went with them.

Although Philippi was an ancient city, it had more recently been populated by retired veterans of the Roman legions. As a result, the Jewish population there was very small and had no synagogue. In fact, that’s why, when Paul came to Philippi, he found us, a small group of women, praying outside the city on the banks of the river.

By now, I had embraced the Jewish faith, though I admit that, without the traditional leadership of priests and rabbis, our practice was not entirely in line with what might be seen in Jerusalem. Mostly, we knew that, as the Jews taught, there was one creator God. And that’s what really appealed to me. You might recall that the Romans and Greeks of our day believed in many gods.

The family to which I belonged had, in their will, promised my freedom. It didn’t matter much to me at the time, because they treated me so well and continued giving me more duties, including the supervision of their entire household.

But then, suddenly, they were gone: dead in one of the many plagues that swept through the countryside. Their children and now their entire household, with other servants reporting to me, as well as the employees of their business, all became my responsibility.

Their will confirmed it. In your day, I would be considered a trustee of their estate. I was now a free woman and even though women were not allowed to own property, I had practical control over everything that they had owned.

And let me tell you, this was all God’s doing! But still, I couldn’t yet see it.

Then, Paul and Silas arrived, with another man, Luke, as their traveling companion. Paul’s normal practice when he visited a new city was to visit the local synagogue. Finding none in Philippi, they found us at the river where we were meeting to pray.

Paul got right to the point, explaining his purpose in visiting us. Here is part of what he said:

“While God has overlooked the times of human ignorance, now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will have the world judged in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed, and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.

“Sisters, to us the message of this salvation has been sent. Because the residents of Jerusalem and their leaders did not recognize him or understand the words of the prophets that are read every Sabbath, they fulfilled those words by condemning him. Even though they found no cause for a sentence of death, they asked Pilate to have him killed. When they had carried out everything that was written about him, they took him down from the tree and laid him in a tomb. But God raised him from the dead, and for many days he appeared to those who came up with him from Galilee to Jerusalem, and they are now his witnesses to the people. And we bring you the good news that what God promised to our ancestors he has fulfilled for us, their children, by raising Jesus.

“As to his raising him from the dead, no more to return to corruption, he has spoken in this way; by this Jesuseveryone who believes is set free from all those sins from which you could not be freed by the law of Moses.” 

As I listened, Paul’s words reached deeply into my heart. He preached a message of liberation, freedom from my sins. And I must say that a life spent as a slave helped me to grasp the hope of the freedom of Paul’s gospel.

I invited Paul, Silas and Luke to lodge with me. And they did, for quite some days. Then Paul told me that he had come to Philippi after seeing a vision of a man imploring him to journey to Macedonia to help.

“Paul,” I asked, “Are you certain it was a man? Perhaps it could have been a woman? Perhaps me?”

Paul laughed and said, “No, it was most certainly a man, likely from Thessalonica. We must soon depart from here and go on to that city.”

And so, after a short time, they were gone.

And what happened then? After they left, we knew something important had changed. We couldn’t go back to our old ways of worship. So, we started what you would call a church. It was located in my home, the home that I now managed on behalf of the children of my former masters. All of us had been baptized by Paul, and all of us were eager to share our new faith in Jesus Christ.

But Philippi was still a very Roman town. We had to be careful to keep a low profile, while at the same time, sharing our faith as best we could.

Heilige Lidia

First Century

But something inside kept stirring me to do more. I knew that somehow, our small church in Philippi would never grow much beyond its current size. And there were other towns in Macedonia, places where the name of Jesus had not been spoken. Those places called to me, imploring me, just as Paul had been implored by the man in his vision. I had to respond, and even though it was quite unusual for a woman to travel unaccompanied, and even more unusual for her to preach the Gospel of Jesus, I knew that my calling could not go unanswered. So, I went.

I am writing this letter to you from prison. You must know that I am guilty of nothing less than preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ. You see, I traveled from town to town, sharing my faith with anyone who would listen. Actually, I think that I was quite good at it. And the results bear that out: many of those who heard me chose to be baptized. Churches were started in the homes of these new Christians.

But my success got me in trouble with the local authorities, who followed the Roman law of worshiping the emperor. And the local Jewish populations, small though they were, turned against me, reporting my activities to the magistrates who then had me arrested and imprisoned.

Now, in prison, you might think that I would question God’s plan for me. After all, if our God wanted me to bring people to Christ, then why would he allow me to be imprisoned?

Yet, it has now been in my time in prison that I have finally understood. Yes, I now understand that my story, as I said, is really God’s story. You see, in prison, I have been given the time to reflect on my entire life: all the way back to Thyatira, being separated from my family, sold into slavery, moving to Philippi, becoming the manager of my family’s estate, and yes, finding myself on the banks of the river on the very day of Paul’s arrival. In God’s kingdom, there are no coincidences.

All of that, all of the ups and downs, the hills and valleys of my life, all has become so clear to me. I now can see God’s hand in it all.

You may wonder how I can see God’s hand in my arrest and imprisonment. Now, in prison, I can see so much of what I had missed before. It’s all part of God’s plan, which I now fully trust.

And I know this for certain: my story, which is truly God’s story, is not finished, and will not be finished until he calls me home to join Christ in glory. In the meantime, I visit with my new friends behind bars. And they listen. They listen to my story, the story of God’s love for me, as he charted my course while I couldn’t see where my life was going. And I tell them, like I am telling you, that my story is really God’s story.

And just now, as I am finishing this letter to you, a letter has arrived for me. It’s from my friends back in Philippi. They have received a letter from Paul, and want to share it with me. And guess what? Paul, too, is in prison! In Rome. Here is part of what he wrote to the church at Philippi:

“I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that what has happened to me has actually resulted in the progress of the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to everyone else that my imprisonment is for Christ, and most of the brothers and sisters, having been made confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, dare to speak the word with greater boldness and without fear.” (Philippians 1)

And more:

“I have learned to be content with whatever I have.  I know what it is to have little, and I know what it is to have plenty. In any and all circumstances I have learned the secret of being well-fed and of going hungry, of having plenty and of being in need.  I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4)

Well, it seems that like me, Paul’s story is really God’s story. What about you? Whose story are you living?