Have you ever heard someone say they stayed the same, but their group changed around them? Maybe the philosophy was shifted, or the methods were dramatically altered. The group in question might be a political party, an educational institution, maybe a religious denomination.
The explanation frequently sounds like this: “I didn’t leave them. They left me.” That realization often comes from a place of deep anguish. When one’s identity is tightly woven with a community, that separation can feel like a tearing of the soul. For some, it becomes a crisis of conscience.
Acts 16 has a snippet in which a missionary journey is moving right along until a detour is requested and (as it turns out) required.
“When they had come opposite Mysia, they attempted to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus did not allow them; so, passing by Mysia, they went down to Troas. During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, ‘Come over to Macedonia and help us’” (vv. 7-9).
The “they” in the passage is the apostle Paul and companions, among them Silas and Timothy. The group has been traveling north through Asia Minor and has their sights set on Bithynia, a bustling Roman province on the Black Sea. It features a diverse population and a robust economy. Their intended journey will take them east of the region known as Mysia.
However, something stops them in their tracks. It’s time to change course. We’re told the “Spirit of Jesus” forbids them to go any farther. We don’t exactly know the nature of the prohibition. Is it an inner prompting? Is it some set of visible circumstances? Perhaps a constellation of events is at work. Maybe there’s some serious road construction!
(By the way, this is the only place where the “Spirit of Jesus” is mentioned. There are various theories about why, but we’ll set those aside for now.)
In any event, they wind up veering to the west and arriving in Troas. There, Paul has a vision in the night—a “man of Macedonia” begging for help. They cross into Europe, encounter Lydia and her household, and baptize them. A whole new chapter in the gospel’s journey begins.
[A sudden left turn!]
Who knows what would have happened if they refused to change course?
To be clear, I’m not suggesting this story from Acts perfectly mirrors the situation I described earlier.
We don’t know what would have resulted from going to Bithynia. But we do know Paul and his friends believed they were following the Lord’s leading. And while we aren’t told of any debate or inner struggle at the time, it’s unlikely they experienced any crisis of conscience!
Still, the story calls for consideration. We don’t need a one-to-one correspondence in order to draw wisdom from it.
There are moments in life when we, too, are halted on the road we’ve been faithfully walking. Maybe the group has moved in a direction we can no longer follow.
In the past few years, that has been my experience. My wife Banu and I have served together in the ministry for what will soon be three decades. We are among those who believe our religious denomination left us, not the other way around. Honestly, Banu recognized that shift long before I did. I was the “true believer,” convinced that those departing were giving up too easily.
I should add I hold no bitterness at all toward my former colleagues. (Though I can’t say the same about how my wife was often treated.)
Perhaps disappointment in the overall body best sums up my thoughts. Spiritual formation has been downplayed among the powers-that-be. Even more concerning is that the “big tent” approach—welcoming folks with various theological convictions—is becoming a thing of the past.
Often the Holy Spirit, in a way we don’t always understand, asks us to take a turn we didn’t expect. In those periods, we might feel disoriented, adrift, or even betrayed. But like Paul and his companions, we may find that the detour leads to new life and unexpected embrace.
Discernment doesn’t always come with clarity. Such is the lot of those wanting to stay and wanting to stay on the right path. But faithful openness—even when it means leaving something familiar—can lead us exactly where we are needed most.
Similar to our friends in the scripture text, we just might encounter our own Lydia—someone ready to welcome us into a new chapter of grace and peace!