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 "Open Hearts, Open Eyes, Open Hands"

Texts: Acts 16:9–15 | Psalm 67 | Revelation 21:10,22–22:5 | John 5:1–9

Good morning, friends in Christ. Today’s lectionary readings invite us on a journey of transformation that begins not with strength or certainty, but with openness. Open hearts that receive. Open eyes that perceive. Open hands that give and serve. Biblical openness is rooted in faith, hospitality, awareness, and action. And it’s not a solo journey—it’s for us as a community, a church, and a people learning to live under God’s grace. Let us walk through our readings and open our hearts, eyes, and hands together.  

Luke, the physician and evangelist, writes this account in Acts. He’s telling the story of the early church’s expansion from Jerusalem to “the ends of the earth.” Paul, Silas, Timothy, and now Luke himself (note the “we” in Acts 16:10) are in Asia Minor. Paul receives a vision of a man from Macedonia calling, “Come and help us.”

Instead of a man, they meet Lydia, a woman. She is a “worshiper of God,” likely a Gentile attached to Judaism. She’s a dealer in purple cloth, which was like owning a Gucci franchise in our day—very expensive and upper class.

Philippi, a Roman colony, was proud of its status. It had Roman architecture, citizens who enjoyed tax breaks, and very few Jews—so few, there wasn’t even a synagogue. Paul and company go to a riverbank, a customary place for prayer, and there they meet Lydia. The Lord opens her heart—that’s key—and she and her household are baptised.

Lydia reminds us that openness starts when we stop insisting things must look the way we expect. Paul saw a man in his dream, but God had a woman waiting. How many Lydias are in our communities, ready to open their homes, hearts, and lives to the Gospel? Lydia’s conversion began with hospitality. We often think faith begins with belief, but sometimes it begins with making room.

A preacher once said, “Sometimes the Gospel shows up not in a sermon, but in a cup of tea.” Lydia’s kitchen became the first church in Europe. Never underestimate a table and a willing heart. As a church, can we be more like Lydia—open to new people, cultures, and directions from God?

The psalm was likely sung at one of Israel’s agricultural festivals—perhaps the Feast of Weeks or Tabernacles—when the people thanked God for the harvest. It begins with a familiar blessing: “May God be gracious to us…” echoing the priestly blessing in Numbers 6. But instead of keeping the blessing in Israel, the psalm expands the vision: “Let the peoples praise you, O God; let all the peoples praise you.” In ancient Israel, the idea that Gentiles would worship God alongside them was radical. Israel often struggled with either arrogance or despair, forgetting they were blessed to be a blessing to others.

This Psalm helps us open our eyes to the wideness of God’s mercy. The church is not a fortress. It’s a lighthouse. We do not just exist to receive blessings. We exist to radiate it. Our prayers and praise should spill over into our neighbourhoods, our workplaces, and even across oceans. An old farmer once prayed, “Lord, bless me—but don’t forget my neighbour, because if his cows are healthy, they won’t break my fence.” Let’s pray for our neighbours not just because it’s nice, but because it’s necessary. Our flourishing is tied to theirs.

John the Revelator is writing to seven churches in Asia Minor. These churches are suffering under Roman rule—persecuted, marginalised, scared. He gives them a vision, not of escape, but of fulfilment. The New Jerusalem descends from heaven, not a new planet, but a renewed earth. There is no temple in this city because God’s presence is the temple. There is no night-no—no need for artificial light—because the glory of God lights it.

A river flows through the city, and trees line its banks. Sound familiar? It’s Eden, restored. But this Eden is urban, filled with people from every nation. The leaves of the tree are for “the healing of the nations.” This vision is not just for the future. It’s for how we live now.

Are our churches places of healing? Are our homes outposts of Eden? Are our hands offering leaves of peace in a world full of wounds? I once heard a little girl describe heaven as “the place where everyone finally stops yelling.” That may be the best theology I’ve heard in years. We long for that kind of peace. Let’s build communities where “no curse is found,” and where the Lamb of God is not just preached, but practised.

The Gospel of John is structured around signs—miracles that reveal who Jesus is. This one happens at the Pool of Bethesda, near the Sheep Gate in Jerusalem. It was believed that occasionally an angel stirred the waters, and the first person in would be healed.

Jesus sees a man who has been ill for 38 years. That’s a whole generation in Hebrew thought. Jesus asks what seems like an odd question: “Do you want to be made well?”

The man doesn’t say yes. He gives excuses. But Jesus doesn’t wait for perfect faith. He heals him and tells him to take up his mat and walk.

Sometimes we get so used to being stuck, we forget we can stand.

Maybe we’ve gotten comfortable in our paralysis—spiritual, emotional, or otherwise. But Jesus meets us not where we should be, but where we are. He doesn’t say, “Try harder.” He says, “Stand up.” Someone once said, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your five-year plan.” This man had a 38-year plan of waiting. Jesus came with a 10-second miracle. Let us be a church that invites people to stand, not in shame, but in hope.

 Recently, I came across a funny little story that made me laugh, but it also made me think.

A pastor had just had a group photo taken with his Sunday school children. Wanting to encourage them to buy a copy, he said, 'Just imagine, years from now you’ll look back and say, "There’s Jennifer—she’s a lawyer," or "There’s Michael—he’s a doctor."' And from the back of the room, a little voice piped up and said, ‘And there’s our Pastor—he’s dead.’

Now, children always have a way of speaking the unvarnished truth. And that small voice might’ve unintentionally reminded us of a very big truth: our time here is short. Even pastors won’t always be around. But the question is—what will we leave behind? What will people remember? What legacy do we live and leave?

That’s what our readings invite us to consider today.

  • In Acts, Paul responds to a vision, opening his heart to God's leading, and because of his obedience, a woman named Lydia opens her heart and becomes the first European convert to Christianity.
  • In John, a man by the pool opens his eyes to Jesus’ question, “Do you want to be made well?”, and takes a step toward healing.
  • In Revelation, we’re shown a vision of eternity where God is always present—no temple, no darkness, only light and life and love flowing freely.
  • And the Psalm reminds us that God desires to bless all nations, so that everyone may come to know God.

Friends, someday someone may look back at our photo and say, ‘There’s James—they were a teacher, a parent, a neighbour, a leader.’ But may they also say, ‘There was someone who had an open heart to God’s calling, open eyes to others’ needs, and open hands to serve and bless.’ That’s the legacy worth leaving."

Open Hearts – Like Paul and Lydia, the photo moment reminds us to open our hearts now, while we can. We’re shaping lives and planting seeds that will grow long after we’re gone.

Open Eyes – The child’s honest comment helps us open our eyes to eternal realities and not take the present for granted.

Open Hands – Whether you’re a pastor, teacher, doctor, cleaner, or student, what we give with open hands now can have ripple effects that outlive us. Amen