She was given a name. And I wonder why. I wonder why she was given a name. The author of Acts gives her a name. The scriptural witness gives here a name. Luke gives her a name. Unlike the woman in Luke’s gospel who was known only as the widow of Nain. Jesus brought her son back from the dead. “Young man, I say to you rise!” And he sat up right there in the funeral procession. He had no name and neither did his mother; the widow of Nain. The woman with the hemorrhage who had suffered for twelve years? She had no name. She came up and touched Jesus from behind. She touched only the very edge of his clothes and she was healed. At the invitation of Jesus she declared right there in front of God and everyone that she was the one who touched Jesus. That she was the one who was healed. But Luke gives her no name. “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace” Jesus said.
      But not this one, not this woman. Here in Acts, chapter 16, Acts, volume II of Luke’s Gospel, here in chapter 16, this woman has a name. Just like Mary. Just like Martha. Just like the women at the tomb on Easter morning; those that Luke named; Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James. This woman was named. The crippled woman who had been bent over for 18 years, after Jesus touched her, Luke tells us she “stood up straight and began praising God.” But he doesn’t tell us her name. That widow who put in the two copper coins, the widow who dropped “all the living that she had” into the offering plate, Jesus said “this poor widow has put in more than all of them.” But history never did learn her name. So why this one? Why this one woman whose role in the play could so easily be tagged as that of an extra? Why her? Why a name for her? Who spends much time pondering or preaching about her? Why did Luke give her a name?
      The Apostle Paul was on one of his mission trips. He had a vision one night of a man who was begging him to come to Macedonia. Paul was absolutely convinced that God was calling him through that vision to cross over to Macedonia and proclaim the Good News. Paul and his traveling companions, they arrived in Philippi, “a leading city in the district” as Luke tells it. They stayed there in Philippi for a few days. When it came to the sabbath day, they didn’t head to the synagogue, they went outside the gate. They went outside the gate and down by the river. Supposedly there was a place of prayer down there, a place where women gathered to pray. It was there on the outskirts, somewhere beyond sacred ground. It was there that Paul sat down and talked to the women who gathered to pray.
      One of the women, she was noticed for her listening; for her attentiveness. “She was listening to us” is what the text says. She was a Gentile, not from Philippi, but from Thyatira. The biblical description includes a note that she was a “worshiper of God”. It could refer to a broad and casual interest, or more probably it connotes some kind of relationship to the synagogue and its attendees. She was something less than a stranger to the community of faith.
     This woman, this notable one at the center of the gathering of women just outside the gate and down by the river, she sold purple cloth. She made some kind of living, it would seem by Luke’s mention of the detail; a dealer in purple cloth. Some have taken that to infer that she was a woman of significant means. Purple cloth, after all, was meant for royalty and the powerful and the wealthy. One reference book even calls her “the rich lady from Thyatira-- Paul’s benefactor in Philippi.” Wouldn’t that just lift up the human element of the scriptures, that we learn her name, that Luke records her by name just because of her wealth accumulation?
      Luke doesn’t refer to what Paul talked about there with the small group of women. He does record the visit, however, as radical as that must have been amid the cultural norms of antiquity, sitting and speaking to the women who regularly came to this place of prayer. It wouldn’t be the last time in history that a group of women gathering somewhere on the edge of church life could be perceived as a threat to the powers that be. Luke doesn’t write about the content of the conversation. He does tell us that “The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul.” There it is again, her listening. It was her listening that drew the attention.
      Or maybe it was the household that came with her when the gathered crowd went to wade in the water; when it was time for baptism; time for affirming faith in Jesus; time for responding to the gospel; time for conversion. Maybe it was that gaggle of folks entrusted to her care, to her charge as the head of household. Maybe it was the extended family that drew some attention. To be baptized with your whole household, it’s a biblical practice that comes when the one in charge is washed in the waters of grace; like Cornelius, and the jailer who was supposed to stand watch over Paul and Silas, and Crispus the synagogue official who became a believer in the Lord. Household baptisms. The purple cloth dealer from Thyatira, she was something of a matriarch in her family, a caretaker. The one responsible for the welfare of others entrusted to her. If not a mother, she was mother-like to some flock, some household. She and her household were baptized that day in the river just outside the gate next to that gathering spot that was a place of prayer.
      “ If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.” It’s an odd invitation, with that conditional nature; with that connection to an assessment of her faithfulness. “If you judge me faithful, will you come?” If they said no, would it have indicated her lack of faith? Nonetheless, it was an invitation not just to dinner, but to come and stay. It was an invitation to abide at her house. It was an invitation to live with her. Not only did they go and stay there, her house was the place to which Paul and Silas returned after their Spirit-filled release from prison. It was there at her house, right before Paul and Silas departed Philippi, it was there at her house where the sisters and brothers in faith gathered to encourage them. As tradition would have it, her home was considered to be the meeting place of the house church at Philippi. When Paul wrote his Letter to the Philippians from prison, he began with these words, “I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now.”
      The letter, I wonder if Paul sent it to her house. There’s a reason to remember her name. And the first day? That sharing in the gospel from the first day until now in Philippi, the first day, it must have been that day there outside the gate, by the river, at the gathering place of prayer when “the Lord opened her heart to listen to what was said by Paul.” Maybe that’s why? Why the name? Maybe because she was THE founding member of the church at Philippi.
      After the baptisms and just after her invitation to Paul and friends, Luke sums up the encounter with the woman. Just before launching into the memorable story of a young slave-girl and the spirit of divination that made her owners a great deal of money, Luke puts the finishing touch on this brief encounter with her. Luke describes the collective response to her. Luke tells it with such brevity, how Paul the Apostle and his companions, how they reacted to her post-baptismal hospitality, the invitation to stay with her. “She prevailed upon us” Luke writes. She prevailed upon us. She persuaded us. She constrained us. She, as one version of the bible puts it, “she would take no refusal”! As certain as Paul had been with that vision, that God was speaking to him and telling him to cross over to Macedonia, that is as certain, and convincing, and persuasive as her hospitality. It wasn’t just contagious, or infectious, there was more than a certain doggedness to it, a persistence. It was an unwavering kindness and welcome. “Come, abide in my home”.
      That’s why Luke gives her a name. She prevailed upon them. Others were good listeners. Remember Mary who chose the better portion. Other heads of household had more notable conversions. Others lay claim to the foundation of the church and besides Christ alone is head of the church. But Luke and Paul and their partners along the Way, they were completely overcome with her intent and desire to share what she had, to open her home. The extent of her reach. Her persuasive and prevailing, faith-filled, grace-bestowed, baptismal waters still dripping, heart still pounding in response to the gospel kind of hospitality. She prevailed upon them.
      That’s why Luke tells us her name. He wasn’t going to forget. And neither should we. Because when you’ve been touched by grace, and baptized in the Spirit, when your heart has been opened and moved by the very power of God, when you have been filled with the Good News of a great joy for all people, when you have been a witness to the healing ministry of Jesus and convinced by his concern for the poor, and motivated by his call for justice and his vision of hope for the world and the coming kingdom of God, when you know yourself to be a follower of the One who gave of himself that we might be saved, when your heart burns within as you yearn to hear and live the Gospel of Jesus Christ, things like hospitality and kindness and sharing and welcome matter. They matter a whole lot. How you treat people, how you welcome strangers, how you love one another, how you respond to those you disagree with, your concern for those so easily labeled other; in the community of faith, in the neighborhood, at school, in the nation, in the world; enemies, allies, refugees, immigrants, friends, family, democrat, republican, those who are in, those who are out, people of every color, old, young, rich, poor, gay, straight, Christian, Muslim, Jew….it all matters a whole lot. A doggedly persistent, unwavering kindness and welcome; prevailing hospitality; it is a window on faith.
      She prevailed upon them. And Luke will never forget. Neither should we. Her name was Lydia.

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