The Place Of Prayer
Sermon
Sermons on the First Readings
Series III, Cycle C
Object:
"Where is the place of prayer?" they asked. "We're looking for the place of prayer."
It was Paul's first visit to the city of Philippi. He, Silas, Luke, and some other companions had come there to share the good news about Jesus. They wanted to start by going to the place of prayer.
Originally, you recall, Paul and his companions had not intended to go to Philippi at all. They had been traveling and preaching exclusively in Asia Minor, when one night Paul had his vision of the man from Macedonia pleading, "Come over and help us!" Taking it as a sign from God, they adjusted their itinerary, and prepared to preach the gospel in Macedonia.
That meant crossing the Aegean Sea. More significantly, that meant crossing into Europe.
They made the trip. And their first extended stop in the region of Macedonia was the city of Philippi.
Customarily, when Paul would arrive in a new city, he would go first to the local synagogue. There he would present the news about Jesus to the Jews, for they were his people, they were God's people, and they were the natural first audience for the message about God's Messiah.
In Philippi, however, there was no synagogue. Instead, Paul sought out "the place of prayer" -- that is, the site where Jews in that town would gather to pray and to read the scriptures together.
Paul and his companions went down to the riverside there in Philippi, for in so many ancient cities the place of prayer was by the water.
That has a great personal appeal for many of us. We, too, may have found that some lake, river, or ocean has also been for us a marvelous setting of inspiration and a lovely place of fellowship with God. It's easy for us to imagine Paul and company walking down a grassy hillside, sloping down toward the Gangitis River, and meeting there a devout group of Jews gathered together on the sabbath to pray.
The missionaries shared the gospel with that little congregation, and we know that one particular woman from the group -- Lydia -- responded to what she heard. She is often identified, as a result, as the first European convert to Christianity. It was she who, subsequently, insisted on housing Paul and his friends in her home for the remainder of their time in Philippi.
On another day during their Philippi stay, Paul and his friends were again going to the place of prayer, but as they walked, a young woman began to follow them, making a great commotion. Apparently she was the victim of some evil spirit, and her master capitalized on her condition by charging people to have his slave-girl tell their fortunes. She was a profitable commodity. When the apostle Paul cast out the spirit that possessed the girl, he had interfered with that Philippian's livelihood.
The girl's master complained to local authorities, who in turn had Paul and Silas arrested, publicly stripped and beaten, and then thrown into the inner cell of the local jail.
About midnight that night, the Bible reports that Paul and Silas were singing and praying, and the other prisoners were listening to them. Suddenly, there was a great earthquake, which so shook the prison that the chains and bars and walls began to break apart.
Now in those days, jailers were often held personally responsible for their prisoners. Consequently, when the Philippian jailer saw that the earthquake was crumbling his prison, he thought surely that some or all of his charges would escape. In despair, he reached for his sword, planning to kill himself.
Instantly, the apostle intervenes. Paul calls out for the jailer to halt his self-destruction, assuring him that all of the prisoners were still there and no one was escaping.
By morning -- by morning! -- that Philippian jailer had welcomed Paul and Silas into his home, washed and bandaged their wounds, heard the gospel, and been baptized, along with his whole family.
That is the story of Paul's visit to the Macedonian city of Philippi. Let us review quickly the progression of events on that particular day.
Paul and Silas had set out for the place of prayer, but as far as we know, they never got there that day. By that afternoon, they were in trouble with the authorities. By that night, they were in jail. By the next morning, they were free, and another family in Philippi had come to Christ.
The story is a magnificent testimony to the faithfulness of these servants of God, as well as to God's marvelous versatility, able to accomplish his work and his will at any time and in any place.
In fact, the whole story of Paul's relationship to Philippi is a beautiful one. From the vision of the Macedonian that prompted the trip to the conversion of Lydia; from the liberation of the demon-possessed girl to the baptism of the jailer and his family; and, finally, there is the bit of correspondence we have between Paul and the believers in Philippi: the so-called "joyful epistle."
This morning, I want to tell you what my favorite part of the story is. In the morning, Paul and Silas set out for the place of prayer. In the middle of the night, they were in prison, praying.
Do you see? It was not where they intended to be. It was not where they expected to be. It surely wasn't where they wanted to be. They began by looking for a place of prayer, and they ended up making a foreign dungeon into precisely that: a place of prayer.
A number of years ago, driving in Green Bay, Wisconsin, my attention (and imagination) was captured by a large billboard by the side of the road. It was an advertisement for a brand of brats. (A brat, in Wisconsin, does not refer to an obnoxious child; rather, it is a type of sandwich made of bratwurst.) The billboard's message was simple: "Another perfect day for grilling." Interestingly, however, the billboard also had built into it a device that indicated the current temperature.
As a result, when you drove by the sign, you would see the current outdoor temperature, and you would read that it is "another perfect day for grilling."
It struck me as a rather bold gesture on a billboard located in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Perhaps in Orlando or Phoenix or San Diego you could make such a static, year round claim that it's another perfect day for grilling. But to have a built-in thermometer that draws attention to just what kind of day it is -- and it might be a very cold one in Green Bay -- and still make the claim that it is a perfect day for grilling. Whether it's 70 degrees, 50 degrees, 30 degrees, 10 degrees, or worse, the article of faith remains the same: It's a perfect day for grilling.
Clearly they were committed to the proposition that any day is a perfect day for grilling, and I have met some folks along the way who would concur. I had a good friend in another parish who embodied that attitude. He cheerfully cooked out on his grill in every season and in any weather. He would agree with the billboard: Any day is a perfect day for grilling.
I imagine that the apostle Paul could have carried around with him a sign that he could have stuck in the ground wherever he was: a sign that read, "Another perfect place for prayer." He proved it in Philippi.
If he was in the sacred space of a synagogue; or if he was in the loveliness of the grassy slope by the river; or if he was naked and bleeding, hands in chains and feet in stocks, in a dungeon, in the middle of the night, in a foreign city -- wherever -- it's another perfect place for prayer.
Twenty years ago I was teaching a children's class in a vacation Bible school in Virginia. As I walked through the curriculum with the kids, I came across an exercise that I found rather disturbing. The curriculum had a prayer time built into the end of each day's class session. On this particular day, the teacher's book said something like this: Have the children sit on the floor, close their eyes, and imagine a beautiful, peaceful place. Then invite them to imagine that Jesus comes and meets them there and talks with them in that place.
It all sounded very nice, but I regarded it as a frighteningly misleading approach to prayer. The testimony of scripture is not that God meets us in imaginary, beautiful places. Rather, the profound and magnificent truth is that God meets us in very real places -- some beautiful and some dreadful.
I didn't want those children growing up to think that they needed to escape to some make-believe place in order to meet with God. Rather, I wanted them to discover that they were known and loved by a God who would meet them any place and every place.
Whether it was by the riverside with Lydia or in the dungeon with Silas. Whether it was in the Judean wilderness -- "a dry and thirsty land" -- with David or in the middle of a storm at sea with Peter. Whether it was in the middle of nowhere, where Jacob slept outside with his head on a rock, running away from home to leave his troubles behind him; or at the River Jabbok, where Jacob wrestled all night, as his troubles were just a day ahead of him. Wherever it is, it is another perfect place of prayer. It is another perfect place to walk or talk, to cry or wrestle, with God.
I don't know where you are today. Perhaps it's exactly where you wanted and expected to be. Perhaps not.
Likewise, I don't know where you'll find yourself tomorrow. Perhaps it will be exactly where you wanted and expected to be. Perhaps not.
But wherever it is -- in your marriage, in your work, in your finances, in your health -- Paul and Silas would assure you that it is the perfect place of prayer. Amen.
It was Paul's first visit to the city of Philippi. He, Silas, Luke, and some other companions had come there to share the good news about Jesus. They wanted to start by going to the place of prayer.
Originally, you recall, Paul and his companions had not intended to go to Philippi at all. They had been traveling and preaching exclusively in Asia Minor, when one night Paul had his vision of the man from Macedonia pleading, "Come over and help us!" Taking it as a sign from God, they adjusted their itinerary, and prepared to preach the gospel in Macedonia.
That meant crossing the Aegean Sea. More significantly, that meant crossing into Europe.
They made the trip. And their first extended stop in the region of Macedonia was the city of Philippi.
Customarily, when Paul would arrive in a new city, he would go first to the local synagogue. There he would present the news about Jesus to the Jews, for they were his people, they were God's people, and they were the natural first audience for the message about God's Messiah.
In Philippi, however, there was no synagogue. Instead, Paul sought out "the place of prayer" -- that is, the site where Jews in that town would gather to pray and to read the scriptures together.
Paul and his companions went down to the riverside there in Philippi, for in so many ancient cities the place of prayer was by the water.
That has a great personal appeal for many of us. We, too, may have found that some lake, river, or ocean has also been for us a marvelous setting of inspiration and a lovely place of fellowship with God. It's easy for us to imagine Paul and company walking down a grassy hillside, sloping down toward the Gangitis River, and meeting there a devout group of Jews gathered together on the sabbath to pray.
The missionaries shared the gospel with that little congregation, and we know that one particular woman from the group -- Lydia -- responded to what she heard. She is often identified, as a result, as the first European convert to Christianity. It was she who, subsequently, insisted on housing Paul and his friends in her home for the remainder of their time in Philippi.
On another day during their Philippi stay, Paul and his friends were again going to the place of prayer, but as they walked, a young woman began to follow them, making a great commotion. Apparently she was the victim of some evil spirit, and her master capitalized on her condition by charging people to have his slave-girl tell their fortunes. She was a profitable commodity. When the apostle Paul cast out the spirit that possessed the girl, he had interfered with that Philippian's livelihood.
The girl's master complained to local authorities, who in turn had Paul and Silas arrested, publicly stripped and beaten, and then thrown into the inner cell of the local jail.
About midnight that night, the Bible reports that Paul and Silas were singing and praying, and the other prisoners were listening to them. Suddenly, there was a great earthquake, which so shook the prison that the chains and bars and walls began to break apart.
Now in those days, jailers were often held personally responsible for their prisoners. Consequently, when the Philippian jailer saw that the earthquake was crumbling his prison, he thought surely that some or all of his charges would escape. In despair, he reached for his sword, planning to kill himself.
Instantly, the apostle intervenes. Paul calls out for the jailer to halt his self-destruction, assuring him that all of the prisoners were still there and no one was escaping.
By morning -- by morning! -- that Philippian jailer had welcomed Paul and Silas into his home, washed and bandaged their wounds, heard the gospel, and been baptized, along with his whole family.
That is the story of Paul's visit to the Macedonian city of Philippi. Let us review quickly the progression of events on that particular day.
Paul and Silas had set out for the place of prayer, but as far as we know, they never got there that day. By that afternoon, they were in trouble with the authorities. By that night, they were in jail. By the next morning, they were free, and another family in Philippi had come to Christ.
The story is a magnificent testimony to the faithfulness of these servants of God, as well as to God's marvelous versatility, able to accomplish his work and his will at any time and in any place.
In fact, the whole story of Paul's relationship to Philippi is a beautiful one. From the vision of the Macedonian that prompted the trip to the conversion of Lydia; from the liberation of the demon-possessed girl to the baptism of the jailer and his family; and, finally, there is the bit of correspondence we have between Paul and the believers in Philippi: the so-called "joyful epistle."
This morning, I want to tell you what my favorite part of the story is. In the morning, Paul and Silas set out for the place of prayer. In the middle of the night, they were in prison, praying.
Do you see? It was not where they intended to be. It was not where they expected to be. It surely wasn't where they wanted to be. They began by looking for a place of prayer, and they ended up making a foreign dungeon into precisely that: a place of prayer.
A number of years ago, driving in Green Bay, Wisconsin, my attention (and imagination) was captured by a large billboard by the side of the road. It was an advertisement for a brand of brats. (A brat, in Wisconsin, does not refer to an obnoxious child; rather, it is a type of sandwich made of bratwurst.) The billboard's message was simple: "Another perfect day for grilling." Interestingly, however, the billboard also had built into it a device that indicated the current temperature.
As a result, when you drove by the sign, you would see the current outdoor temperature, and you would read that it is "another perfect day for grilling."
It struck me as a rather bold gesture on a billboard located in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Perhaps in Orlando or Phoenix or San Diego you could make such a static, year round claim that it's another perfect day for grilling. But to have a built-in thermometer that draws attention to just what kind of day it is -- and it might be a very cold one in Green Bay -- and still make the claim that it is a perfect day for grilling. Whether it's 70 degrees, 50 degrees, 30 degrees, 10 degrees, or worse, the article of faith remains the same: It's a perfect day for grilling.
Clearly they were committed to the proposition that any day is a perfect day for grilling, and I have met some folks along the way who would concur. I had a good friend in another parish who embodied that attitude. He cheerfully cooked out on his grill in every season and in any weather. He would agree with the billboard: Any day is a perfect day for grilling.
I imagine that the apostle Paul could have carried around with him a sign that he could have stuck in the ground wherever he was: a sign that read, "Another perfect place for prayer." He proved it in Philippi.
If he was in the sacred space of a synagogue; or if he was in the loveliness of the grassy slope by the river; or if he was naked and bleeding, hands in chains and feet in stocks, in a dungeon, in the middle of the night, in a foreign city -- wherever -- it's another perfect place for prayer.
Twenty years ago I was teaching a children's class in a vacation Bible school in Virginia. As I walked through the curriculum with the kids, I came across an exercise that I found rather disturbing. The curriculum had a prayer time built into the end of each day's class session. On this particular day, the teacher's book said something like this: Have the children sit on the floor, close their eyes, and imagine a beautiful, peaceful place. Then invite them to imagine that Jesus comes and meets them there and talks with them in that place.
It all sounded very nice, but I regarded it as a frighteningly misleading approach to prayer. The testimony of scripture is not that God meets us in imaginary, beautiful places. Rather, the profound and magnificent truth is that God meets us in very real places -- some beautiful and some dreadful.
I didn't want those children growing up to think that they needed to escape to some make-believe place in order to meet with God. Rather, I wanted them to discover that they were known and loved by a God who would meet them any place and every place.
Whether it was by the riverside with Lydia or in the dungeon with Silas. Whether it was in the Judean wilderness -- "a dry and thirsty land" -- with David or in the middle of a storm at sea with Peter. Whether it was in the middle of nowhere, where Jacob slept outside with his head on a rock, running away from home to leave his troubles behind him; or at the River Jabbok, where Jacob wrestled all night, as his troubles were just a day ahead of him. Wherever it is, it is another perfect place of prayer. It is another perfect place to walk or talk, to cry or wrestle, with God.
I don't know where you are today. Perhaps it's exactly where you wanted and expected to be. Perhaps not.
Likewise, I don't know where you'll find yourself tomorrow. Perhaps it will be exactly where you wanted and expected to be. Perhaps not.
But wherever it is -- in your marriage, in your work, in your finances, in your health -- Paul and Silas would assure you that it is the perfect place of prayer. Amen.
