Sermons

He and his family remembered every year. It was a day never to be forgotten and he would tell its story to anyone willing to listen.
It had started just as every other day. A light breakfast as the sun rose: some bread, some goats’ cheese, the household busy, the family going about its business, his slaves ensuring everything was ‘just so’. He liked everything to be in its place. He was a man of order: how could he not be so? – years in the army, sent here there and everywhere and then the possibility to settle, some land of his own (he’d earned it) even if Italy was beyond his reach. So Philippi: a colony. In Greece, up near the mountains but more like Rome in atmosphere. Old soldiers and their families populating the streets, the bars, the theatre…and occasionally the prison.
He’d been recommended for the job by a former commanding officer. He lived next to the prison itself so could keep an eye on it even as his staff dealt with the regular turnover of rogues needing a short, sharp shock to pull them back into line or a night in the cells to sleep off a night on the town.
But then he’d been called out of the house to meet the magistrates themselves. They rarely came his way so he knew something was up. ‘These two; make them secure’. He didn’t know who they were or what they’d done. They weren’t your regular type of criminal that’s for sure. But everyone seemed pretty het-up about them. They weren’t going anywhere: he put them in stocks and in chains, but they didn’t pose any threat in the state in which they had arrived: battered, bruised, bloodied by a ‘severe flogging’ probably glad to be protected from the crowd who wanted their blood.
Paul remembered that day vividly too. He and Silas had been made so welcome in Lydia’s home. She had embraced the faith the moment they’d arrived in Philippi and she had welcomed them so generously into her home. She was wealthy, a dealer in the most expensive of cloths, travelling around the North of Greece between her suppliers. But for all the house’s creature comforts this was not a holiday: there was work to do and every day he and Silas would head out into the marketplace to talk, to argue, to preach to anyone who would listen. The people here were so open to the Good News, a little community of believers was forming. The only fly in the ointment was the merchant’s slave girl who had latched onto them forever shouting, ‘These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation’. The poor girl needed saving herself – used and abused by her owners- but the manner of her salvation left a lot to be desired.
He wasn’t particularly proud of himself: Luke, his new companion had noticed and been shocked. He would have to think hard about his temper. But, with absolutely zero grace he had rounded on the poor girl and ordered the spirit of divination out of her in the name of Jesus Christ – and the spirit had left her. Healing was one thing – but from a place of annoyance rather than care?
And finally there had been space to think. But then, seemingly from nowhere he and Silas were swept up by the law, dragged before the magistrates, stripped naked, humiliated before the crowd and then beaten within an inch of their lives. They were in danger. He remembered thinking prison was the safest place for them and was surprisingly grateful to be put in a cell. He needed to think….and he needed to think clearly.
The accusation against them could see them killed and the Philippian church placed under suspicion. If their accusers could persuade the magistrates that the gospel threatened Rome and the Emperor then there would be no mercy. But he had some cards up his sleeve. The magistrates clearly thought that he and Silas were Jewish. …they didn’t know that he had Roman citizenship – a real ‘get of jail free’ card. And whilst the gospel had burst out of Judaism, its origins within it offered some protection too: for the Romans had long given that faith protected status in the Empire. These would be his legal arguments if Paul got the chance to put them.
But, for all that his mind was working overtime, both he and Silas knew deep down that all would be well. God had called them to this place: the vision of the Macedonian calling them across the Aegean to preach in Philippi had been so clear. There was some purpose at work in what was happening- and, if he died now that would be fine, the slave girl in the Market Place had been right. Paul saw himself as a ‘slave of the Most High God’, he had been bought with a price – the death of Jesus His Lord. He had said many times to his fellow believers ‘for to me, living is Christ and dying is gain.’ There was nothing greater than being with Jesus, nothing else counted, it was a privilege to suffer for Christ and the shape of the gospel was something to be lived not just spoken about.
He and Silas had written a hymn to express this ‘Let the same mind be in you as was in Christ Jesus…who humbled himself…even to death on the cross.’ They were singing in the dark and then it was as if the whole world began to shake, the prison shifted on its foundations, the doors burst their hinges and the chains broke from the walls. No one could see a thing. There was dust everywhere and noise. He couldn’t but think of the stories others had told him about Easter morning. His mind bounced through the psalms ‘Why do the nations conspire together against the Lord and his anointed? Be warned O rulers of the earth. Serve the Lord with fear.’
Outside the jailer had drawn his sword. One task: to guard these prisoners with his life and he had failed. How could he live with the shame? No. He would die with honour. Thank God, he heard them inside, shouting: ‘Don’t worry. We’re all here.’ Relief washed over him…and then amazement: These men were gripped by something indestructible – their faith gave them a strength and a confidence that he envied, that he wanted. They could have run, but they were prepared to stand – for their God, for their Jesus, come what may: as a soldier, that had been something he’d always wanted: to live and to fight for something, for someone worth living and fighting for. And here it was in front of him.
As they talked, as he washed their wounds, their words all made sense because they these preachers were living out their message. The strength of God is seen in His willingness to bear our sin. God’s power is most seen in those who love. His glory is in carrying others, not in treading them down. ‘We preach Christ crucified’ Paul had said. …and it both did and it didn’t make sense…and then he was on his knees asking to be baptised. ‘You die with Christ in the water’ said Silas, ‘now live with him and for Him’ added Paul.
They didn’t stay. Paul and Silas had to move on after all that happened. The magistrates? They ate humble pie (and more!) once they found they had given such rough justice to citizens of the Empire. And the church in Philippi doubled in size and found another venue for its meetings: right next to the building site for a new prison.
The jailer and his family remembered every year. It was a day never to be forgotten and he would tell his story to anyone willing to listen. ‘I know, I know, not everyone’s story involves a prison cell, an earthquake or the utter desperation I felt that night. But I’d love to hear your story. What was it that brought you to faith? When did Jesus make sense to you? For everyone here has a story just as miraculous as the next person’s….of how Jesus utterly transformed your life. Luke wrote my story down. Yours is there for the telling…please share it.’