Songs at Midnight

Acts 16:16-30

October 2, 2016 (World Communion) • Mount Pleasant UMC

Have you had a “midnight moment”? A time in your life when everything seemed just about as dark and desperate as it could be? It might last a moment, or it might last a lifetime—or somewhere in between. Midnight moments often come unexpectedly. They surprise us with their strength and ferocity, with the ways they take over our entire lives. Have you had a “midnight moment”?

Midnight moments don’t always come at night, by the way. I remember one afternoon, many years ago, in the midst of a conflict with someone I had once called a friend, I faced one of many midnight moments in my life. No matter what I did or tried to do, I couldn’t seem to resolve this conflict, and it was honestly draining the life and the joy out of me. It had made me physically ill as well; the stress had affected my body. So one evening, I actually opened the want ads in the newspaper to see what else I might do for a job. I think I read every single ad in that paper, that’s how dark the future seemed to me. The bad news was this: there was nothing I was qualified to do! Or maybe that’s good news. Some days I’m not sure! But it was a midnight moment, a turning point in my life. Either I was going to go forward in ministry or I was going to make a significant change. I remember another midnight moment, after my heart surgery. The surgery was supposed to make me feel better, and in the weeks that followed, I got progressively sicker. I had actually felt better before the surgery, and one afternoon when it was just me and the dog at home, I remember telling God in prayer, “I can’t go on feeling like this!” It was soon after that midnight moment and desperate prayer we discovered that one of the medications I was on was actually making me sicker. God’s answer to that prayer was to change my medication. Have you had a midnight moment, a time or situation that threatens to upend or change everything?

It’s in the midst of a midnight moment we find Paul and his friend Silas in our Scripture reading today, at the beginning of what is commonly called Paul’s second missionary journey. We are in the middle of a six-week series of sermons looking at the life and message of the Apostle Paul, a man second only to Jesus in his influence and shaping of the Christian faith. Paul wrote more of the New Testament than any other single person, but Paul’s concern, as I said a couple of weeks ago, is not so much that we would see him in his writings as that we would see Jesus—the Jesus who called him, who guided him in his life and ministry. Paul’s life is a life defined by a call—a call which included suffering.

Way back in Acts 9, when Paul first came to know Jesus, he was told this call would include midnight moments. When Jesus sent Ananias to tell Paul what his life would be like from that moment on, this is what Jesus said: “This man [meaning Paul] is my chosen instrument to proclaim my name to the Gentiles [meaning non-Jews] and their kings and to the people of Israel. I will show him how much he must suffer for my name” (9:15-16). For a lot of us, that kind of a call can be difficult to accept. None of us wants to suffer, and I doubt Paul did either. But we serve a savior who called us to “take up a cross” (Matthew 16:24), and a cross did not represent a walk in the park. A cross was an instrument of torture and death. Jesus does not promise an easy life. In fact, just the opposite. He says, “In this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33). He doesn’t promise a life without midnight moments. He promises to be with us in the midst of the midnight moments.

That’s what Paul experienced in the city of Philippi during this second journey. The trip really begins back at the end of Acts 15, when Paul suggests to his preaching partner and mentor Barnabas that they head out again to visit the churches they established on their first journey. Barnabas says, “Great. How about we take John Mark along with us?” John Mark had gone with them on part of their first trip, but for some reason, very likely the whole suffering thing, he had abandoned them. He had, as Luke puts it, “deserted” Paul and Barnabas and headed back to safer places. Because of that, Paul doesn’t want anything to do with John Mark. He doesn’t want to go through that again. Paul and Barnabas, dear friends, can’t agree on this one point, and so they decide to go separate directions. Barnabas and Mark head to Cyprus, while Paul takes another man, Silas, and heads to Syria. Now, this might seem to be a minor historical note, but I want you to notice two quick things here. First, what seems to be a divide is actually a multiplication. While God did not design nor desire this conflict between Barnabas and Paul, he was able to use it. What was one mission became two. Out of this disagreement came the opportunity for more people to hear the Gospel. Thanks be to God! The second thing that comes out of this is the growing up of Mark. While we don’t know much if anything about the journey of Barnabas and John Mark, tradition says that eventually Mark ended up as a disciple of sorts of Peter the Apostle. Mark listened to Peter’s preaching and out of that, he wrote the earliest gospel, the one which bears his name. God, as he always does, even brought good out of this disagreement, this minor midnight moment.

But we’re following Paul, and he and Silas head out, through Derbe and Lystra, and then on to Philippi. At some point, Luke (the author of Acts) joins them on their journey, which we know because the language shifts in 16:11 to “we.” So Paul, Silas and Luke end up in Philippi, which is where we picked up the story today. Philippi was a Roman colony, located in Greece about ten miles inland from the Aegean Sea. It also sat along an important road that connected much of the Roman Empire. It was a small city, about ten to fifteen thousand residents in Paul’s time, with a very tiny Jewish population. We know this because there is no mention of a synagogue in Philippi, and a synagogue in those days could be started if there were ten married Jewish men present. Since there was no synagogue, those who wanted to worship God usually gathered near a river, a place of flowing or “living” water, for their time of prayer (Hamilton, The Call pg. 104; Wright, Acts for Everyone—Part Two, pg. 63). Paul’s normal approach in a city was to go to the synagogue on the Sabbath, but without a synagogue, he heads to the river, expecting to find worshippers there. And so he does, a group apparently of entirely women. He shares with them about Jesus, and one of them, a wealthy woman named Lydia, puts her faith in Christ, has her family baptized, and invites Paul and Silas to her home (16:13-15).

Some time later, when they are again headed to the river, there is a female slave who begins following them. Luke says she “had a spirit by which she predicted the future” (16:16). Get this in your mind clearly: she is possessed by some sort of spirit—perhaps a demon, some might say it’s a form of mental illness such as schizophrenia, or that she’s mentally unbalanced. Whatever is going on, she’s not herself. She is not who God made her to be. She’s enslaved to whatever this “spirit” was. And on top of that, she’s property. She’s owned by someone else, who is using her to make money. In fact, Luke says her owners gained a “great deal of money” by using her. She is twice a slave—once to her owners and once to this spirit (Willimon, Interpretation: Acts, pg. 138). Somehow, she latches onto Paul and Silas and she begins following them around, all the while shouting out, “These men are servants of the Most High God, who are telling you the way to be saved” (16:17). Luke says this makes Paul “annoyed,” and I can only imagine how much! Can you imagine, day after day, a young girl following you, shouting out, calling out, disrupting anything you are trying to do? But it’s not just the noise or the game of “follow the preacher” that annoys Paul. He’s also annoyed by what she is shouting, because he knows the people who are hearing it are also misunderstanding it. “God Most High,” to someone living in Philippi, wouldn’t mean the God of Abraham, Isaac or Jacob, nor would it mean the Father of Jesus. It would have meant the “top god” out of all the Roman gods—perhaps Zeus or whomever Philippi thought was the most important god. And “the way to be saved” would not have meant “trust in Jesus to save you from your sins.” “Salvation,” in that culture, would have meant finding a way to health, wealth and prosperity. Some preachers today still think it means that, but that’s about as far from a Biblical salvation message as you can get. So while what this slave girl is saying is true, it’s going to be misunderstood unless they can hear the full message Paul is proclaiming (Wright 64). That’s why Paul is annoyed, and that’s why he casts out the demon and silences her. This is the kind of publicity he did not need, but the kind he ended up with isn’t what he needed either.

Because it’s at this point, as Bishop Will Willimon puts it, the Philippian Chamber of Commerce kicks into action (139). Suddenly, this is not a religious issue to the local merchants; it’s an economic issue. They move quickly to have Paul and Silas arrested because these preachers have taken away one of their streams of income. Paul sets this girl free from one of her enslavements, and his reward is prison. And not just any prison cell. Paul is considered so dangerous that he and Silas are put into the inner cell, the maximum security section of the prison, a place with no light, no windows, and not much moving air. Prisons in the first century were not like they are now; there were no creature comforts. They were often not much better than a hole in the ground. And Paul and Silas are also considered dangerous enough to be put into the stocks, a form of being chained that caused extreme discomfort. One description puts it this way: “The prisoner had to sleep either in a sitting position or lying down on the floor. Changing position to avoid cramping was nearly impossible” (Fernando, NIV Application Commentary: Acts, pg. 445). The treatment Paul and Silas received indicates that the merchants in Philippi had great power; they were able to get these two preachers treated as if they were violent wrongdoers.

And yet, in the midst of extreme discomfort and obvious injustice, midnight comes and finds Paul and Silas “praying and singing hymns to God” (16:25), and the other prisoners are listening to them. Right there, in the Philippian prison, church is happening. In their midnight moment, Paul and Silas use what strength they have to worship and to witness. I wish I could say the same, that when I’m facing those midnight moments I instinctively worship and witness, but I have to confess that far too often I automatically complain and cocoon. I gripe about my circumstances and I cut myself off from others at just the moment I most need the support, encouragement and strength I could receive from both God and the body of Christ, the church. What do you do when you face those midnight moments? Paul and Silas, I think, give us all a challenge that in the midst of discomfort and pain, strength, peace and grace comes when we worship and witness, when we sing songs at midnight.

There is something powerful in a song, isn’t there? Throughout the history of the church, God’s people have known that to be true. There is something in a song that can refocus us, that can lift our spirits even when everything around us seems lost. There are times when I face a midnight moment that I will (eventually) go back to my favorite hymn, “Great is Thy Faithfulness,” and be reminded of the truth of Lamentations 3:22-23: “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” I remember a particularly difficult day, early in my full-time ministry, and I was driving into the office, not sure what to do about a situation, when on the radio came a song by Twila Paris, “God is in Control.” That song lifted my spirits and encouraged my soul in a midnight moment. Sometimes, these days, when there are questions or things I’m wrestling with, I’ll find myself singing, “Bless the Lord, O my soul, O my soul, worship his holy name! Sing like never before, O my soul, I’ll worship your holy name.” There is great power in music, which is why we sing in the church. In times of revival and renewal, God is always providing new songs, new hymns, new music to speak to God’s people in their own time. It was that way in the time of John and Charles Wesley. As the Methodist Revival broke out across England, God used John’s preaching and Charles’ music to build the church—but more people remember Charles’ music than John’s sermons! There is something powerful in a song, especially a song sung at midnight.

Suddenly, in the midst of the worship service in Philippi, an earthquake happens. Luke doesn’t tell us whether or not God caused the earthquake, but it appears to have some supernatural overtones as not only do the walls come down and the doors fling open, but the chains are broken on each of the prisoners as well. Suddenly, in a frightening moment, these prisoners are free! They can escape, a fact the jailer is all too aware of when he comes to check out the damage. When he sees the broken chains and the open doors, he prepares to do the so-called “honorable” thing. He knows what happens to jailers who lose their prisoners, and a swift death by his own hand is much preferable to the punishment the Roman officials would inflict on him (Willimon 140). So he draws his sword, and just as he prepares to end his life, he hears Paul call out, “Don’t harm yourself! We are all here!” (16:28). And sure enough, after taking a count, he finds out that, much to his surprise and confusion, the prisoners didn’t run. They are all still within the prison compound. That’s when he asks the penetrating question: “What must I do to be saved?” (16:30).

Now, we read that and we hear a plea for saving faith. We’re familiar with the lingo and read it in a particular way. In the context, though, this jailer is really asking a more basic question: “How do I get out of this mess?” “Saved” to him doesn’t yet mean spiritual salvation; it means getting out of this mess with his life intact (Wright 66-67). But Paul sees beyond the current mess the jailer is in. He sees the brokenness of the world, the sinfulness of a system that would punish a man like this jailer for circumstances beyond his control, the hurt of a world where everyone is enslaved to something, and he knows that the jailer’s question needs to be answered on a much deeper level than just getting out of this one mess. That’s why Paul’s answer is always the answer to the question of the brokenness of the world. It’s always the answer to the midnight moments. Paul gives the jailer more than he bargained for: “Believe in the Lord Jesus and you will be saved—you and your household” (16:31; Wright 67). And that’s what happens. In a single evening, God takes the suffering of Paul and Silas, the suffering of the other prisoners (silent witnesses to salvation happening), and the suffering of the jailer and his family and he redeems it all. And once again we are reminded: there is nothing God can’t use. There is nothing he won’t redeem. The Bible says he restores the years the locusts have eaten (cf. Joel 2:25). He takes our suffering, our midnight moments, and he redeems them. He uses “even this” to bring good to the world and glory to Jesus.

When you face a midnight moment, ask yourself: how will God redeem this? Because he will. That’s what God does. There is nothing we go through that God can’t and won’t use. He doesn’t cause the calamity, but he can use it. Paul would later write these words to the Romans to remind them of this truth: We “glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame…” (Romans 5:3-5). Or, as another translation puts it, “Hope does not disappoint” (NKJV). I knew a couple once who had served Jesus faithfully for many years. They had been active in the church and in the Emmaus Community; both had been Lay Directors of Emmaus Walks. They had mentored many, many young couples just starting out in their married life together, welcoming those couples into their home and having honest, faith-filled conversations with them. This couple was well past the age of retirement, at an age where many are sitting back and saying that others could do the work of the church, when they both took on a new mission: to be congregational care ministers, to learn new skills and to work with those in particular who had experienced loss and grief. Then, the unthinkable happened. One snowy December day, she slipped and fell outside a grocery store after he had dropped her off and went to find a parking spot. By the time he got back to the sidewalk, she was unconscious, and she remained that way for the next couple of weeks. He called me one morning, and told me they were going to disconnect life support. Would I pray for her and for him? So I did, and I officiated at her funeral a few days later. And I watched as this man, faithful husband and follower of Jesus for so many years, took his grief and allowed it to build character in him. His hope of the resurrection shone through even in the midst of his own suffering. And he went on in the next year or so to touch many other lives until Jesus welcomed him home as well. Suffering produces perseverance. Perseverance produces character. And character produces hope. And hope will never disappoint us.

I don’t know exactly what suffering you may be going through today. I don’t know what your midnight moments are. But I know and am confident of this: God can and will use it to his glory. He will redeem it. Like the psalmist, we can say with confidence: “I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord” (Psalm 27:13-14).

Today is World Communion Sunday. On this day, believers around the world join together at the table of the Lord, and while it’s a wonderful expression of unity, this also ought to be a time that reminds us that we have brothers and sisters in the faith who are undergoing intense persecution in some parts of the world. I always sort of cringe when we use the word “persecution” to describe any opposition we face here in America, because it really pales in comparison to places like North Korea (the worst offender in the world by every organization’s standards) where Christians are routinely put into prison camps. Or Iran, where men who convert from Islam to Christianity can legally be put to death. Or Egypt, where I’ve seen firsthand the way Christians are ostracized and marginalized. Our Christian guide, when we were there in 2012, said that if we could get him a job in America, he would leave that day. On and on the list goes—of places where believers know what it means to walk with Paul and Silas into the darkest depths of prison, chains and suffering. Yet, their constant call to those of us in safer places, is not for us to pray that the suffering would end. They ask us to pray that they will endure it. Suffering produces perseverance, which produces character, which produces hope, which does not disappoint us. Today, as we come to the table of the Lord, we stand in solidarity with them. Hebrews puts it this way: “Remember those in prison as if you were together with them in prison, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering” (13:3). Let’s recommit ourselves to praying for the church around the world, for they are part of us, and when they suffer, so do we (cf. 1 Corinthians 12:26). Together with them, let’s stand on the hope that God will yet redeem even this, that our songs at midnight do not go unheard. And with that certainty in our hearts, we turn to the table of the Lord, with our brothers and sisters around the world, to remember how God took the very worst and most unjust suffering in history and used it, even this, to redeem the world.