Photo by Julie Whitman
Faithful Love; Radical Hospitality
Acts 16:9-15: 9-10 That night Paul had a dream: A Macedonian stood on the far shore and called across the sea, “Come over to Macedonia and help us!” The dream gave Paul his map. We went to work at once getting things ready to cross over to Macedonia. All the pieces had come together. We knew now for sure that God had called us to preach the good news to the Europeans.
11-12 Putting out from the harbor at Troas, we made a straight run for Samothrace. The next day we tied up at New City and walked from there to Philippi, the main city in that part of Macedonia and, even more importantly, a Roman colony. We lingered there several days.
13-14 On the Sabbath, we left the city and went down along the river where we had heard there was to be a prayer meeting. We took our place with the women who had gathered there and talked with them. One woman, Lydia, was from Thyatira and a dealer in expensive textiles, known to be a God-fearing woman. As she listened with intensity to what was being said, the Master gave her a trusting heart—and she believed!
15 After she was baptized, along with everyone in her household, she said in a surge of hospitality, “If you’re confident that I’m in this with you and believe in the Master truly, come home with me and be my guests.” We hesitated, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
John 14:23-29 : 23 Jesus replied, “Anyone who loves me will obey my teaching. My Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them. 24 Anyone who does not love me will not obey my teaching. These words you hear are not my own; they belong to the Father who sent me.
25 “All this I have spoken while still with you. 26 But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you. 27 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.
28 “You heard me say, ‘I am going away and I am coming back to you.’ If you loved me, you would be glad that I am going to the Father, for the Father is greater than I. 29 I have told you now before it happens, so that when it does happen you will believe.
Well, today’s Scripture readings drop us right into the middle of a moment where everything could have gone sideways—but didn’t. Paul, the ever-zealous apostle, is being sent here, there, and everywhere. The Spirit tells him not to preach in Asia—so he doesn’t. He tries to go to Bithynia, (which is modern day Turkey) and again, the Spirit says “nope!” It must have been a bit like asking your GPS for directions and hearing, “Recalculating…” every five minutes. But eventually, Paul lands in Troas, and there, in a vision, he sees a man from Macedonia pleading, “Come over and help us.”
It’s dramatic and vague—a classic Holy Spirit move. No GPS coordinates. No clear job description. Just a call to go.
And what does Paul do? He goes. No hesitation, no time to second-guess the dream. He trusts the Spirit’s nudge, gathers his friends, and heads across the sea to Philippi. It’s the first recorded journey of the gospel into Europe—and it begins with a dream and an open heart.
Now, if it were me receiving that vision, I might have wanted a little more information—like a name, an address, or even a weather forecast. But Paul just goes. And when he gets to Macedonia, does he find the man from his vision? Not quite. Instead, he meets a group of women praying by the river—among them, a woman named Lydia.
Now Lydia is kind of a fascinating character. She’s a merchant—an independent businesswoman— at a time and place where women weren’t generally accepted in those roles – in fact, she’s a seller of purple cloth, which was pretty much the haute couture of the time. Not only that, but she’s a worshiper of God already. In fact, she leads her household in Sabbath prayer by the river. And when she hears Paul speak, her heart is opened—not by clever rhetoric or flashy miracles, but by the quiet nudge of the Spirit. And once she is baptized—along with her entire household—she insists on offering hospitality. Not as an act of politeness, but as a tangible sign of her faith. “If you judge me to be faithful to the Lord,” she says, “come and stay at my home.”
Now that’s a bold offer. Paul had just met her. These days, we might hesitate to invite someone home after hearing them preach once. But Lydia knows something that we often forget: hospitality is not an add-on to faith. It’s central. It’s how love becomes real. And it’s this kind of holy hospitality – this radical openness – that turns the world upside down.
The Gospel reading today, from the book of John, gives us another piece of the picture. Jesus tells his disciples, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” Again, this deep connection between love, obedience, and home. And then he promises not control, not certainty, but peace. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.” The kind of peace that Jesus offers isn’t about having everything under control. It’s the kind of peace that allows you to step into uncertainty with courage, knowing you’re not alone.
It’s the peace that lets Paul go to Macedonia without knowing exactly what he’ll find. It’s the peace that lets Lydia open her home to a band of wandering preachers. And it’s the peace that lets us—here in Comox—step into the unknown, trusting the Spirit is already at work.
Because let’s be honest: we don’t always know what we’re doing, do we?
And yet, we keep showing up. We keep praying. We keep listening. We keep opening our hearts and our doors, trusting that something holy will happen.
That’s how the church has always worked. From the early house churches in Philippi to today’s sanctuary here in Comox, it has always been about listening for God’s invitation and saying, “Yes.” Even when we’re not sure what we’re getting into. Even when the to-do list is long and the coffee is lukewarm.
The early Christians understood this. In a world ruled by empire, hierarchy, and exclusion, they created communities of radical welcome. They opened their homes. They shared what they had. They treated each other as equals. And people noticed. Not because they were impressive or polished—but because they were loving.
This dynamic interplay between divine direction and human response has shaped the church from its earliest days. In the early Christian centuries, as believers scattered across the Roman Empire, they brought with them not just doctrine, but relationship—hospitality. The hospitality of early Christian communities stood in stark contrast to the violent, hierarchical world around them. These believers created spaces where women and men, rich and poor, enslaved and free, Jew and Gentile, could gather at the same table. The radical equality of the early church scandalized many—but it was precisely this openness that made the movement so compelling.
That same Spirit is still at work. Right here, in our own affirming congregation, we’re trying to listen and respond just like Lydia did. We’ve said yes to being a community that values spirituality, openness, care for the common good, and radical love. Not just in theory, but in practice. And not just when it’s easy.
Every Sunday, when we look at the Life and Work of the Church, we are reminded of the many ministries that make up the fabric of our church life:
- The Men’s Shed, where tools and stories are shared freely.
- The Knitting Group, where stories and laughter are stitched into every prayer shawl.
- Coffee and Conversation at the Golf course, where joys and sorrows are shared along with the coffee and tea.
- The Queer Bible Study, where Scripture is explored with courage and curiosity.
- And the new 444 Project, where we’re imagining bold new ways of engaging with our community—even if we’re still figuring out exactly what that means (but hey, so was Paul at first!).
- And more – just look at the back of your bulletin for a short list.
These ministries aren’t just busywork. They are Spirit-led expressions of our calling. They are places where hearts open, where love is made tangible, and where people feel like they belong.
Now, I know some of you might be thinking, “But I’m not a Paul, or a Lydia. I’m not a preacher, or a businessperson, or even someone who prays by rivers.” That’s okay. God doesn’t need you to be anyone else. The Spirit speaks in visions, yes—but also in emails, committee meetings, and conversations over coffee after church. The invitation to help someone, to offer hospitality, to make room at the table—that’s still happening. Every day.
And sometimes, we respond simply by showing up. By saying yes to that phone call, that volunteer opportunity, that new idea that makes us slightly uncomfortable but also strangely excited. That’s how the church grows—not just in numbers, but in love.
So may we be like Lydia—not waiting for perfect certainty before we act, but moving with courage and faith. May we continue to be a community that welcomes, that listens, that obeys – not out of fear or obligation, but out of love. Let’s be the kind of people who say “Yes” to God’s nudge, even when we don’t have all the details.
And think about this: if God can work through purple cloth and riverbank prayer circles, God can work through committee minutes and bazaars and people who forget your name but still smile like you’re family.
This is what it means to be the church: not simply a gathering of people with shared beliefs, but a community moved by the Spirit, shaped by love, and sent into the world to embody God’s hospitality.
As we step forward into this week, may we listen for the quiet whispers of the Spirit. May we obey—not out of fear or duty, but out of love. May we open our hearts and homes and church to all who are seeking. And may we, like Lydia, be found faithful in the eyes of God—not because we’ve done everything perfectly, but because we’ve been willing to say yes.
And let us be that kind of church. A Spirit-led, love-rooted, hospitality-practising, occasionally-confused-but-faithful-anyway kind of church.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.