They called it Turkey Red along The Lycus River bed. And strong Men pushed their poles against the mud To guide their boats and gather blood Red cloth from Thyatira for The fortune ships along the shore At Smyrna to the South. The dye Was rare, and Roman brass would buy A thousand pounds with polished gold. And even simple men, who rolled The stones to crush the madder root For tint, could fill a purple boot With profits in a week or two. And clever sellers in a few Short years could be as rich as kings.
And such was Lydia. The rings She wore were forged in Carthage near The coast of Africa. The sheer Silk veil was brought from India, And made a gift to Lydia Three weeks before her husband died. She was a wealthy widow now. Beside The wealth there was a little child, Alert and just a little wild, A daughter two years old. Her name Was Syntyche which meant the same As fortune, good success, or chance. The widow never sought romance Again. She married purple gold. She sailed to distant ports and sold Her cloth to Caesarean lords, And gathered jewels and Spanish swords And crystal balls and magic beans And charms and astral figurines, And brought them home for Syntyche.
Ten years went by. The tapestry Of Lydia was known throughout The world. But no one knew about The silent life of Syntyche. She missed her mother terribly, And sought her missing love in spells, In psychic charms and wishing wells, In magic moods and special tea, With evil men and sorcery.
When she was twelve she disappeared. At first her mother mainly feared A ransom note. And then she wept, She wept the tears that she had kept Inside for years and years, and lay Face down alone day after day, On Syntyche's small bed. She met No one for business deals, and let The boats depart, and ate no food, Until at last she understood What she must do. She rose and took Her shawl and found the Kodesh Brook. She walked across the narrow log, And then straight to the synagogue. She found an officer and said, "Perhaps my daughter is alive or dead, But sir, could someone here teach me Of God? I've cried to Him and He Has led me here." And then she told Him of her work and how she sold Herself to gold and how she lost Her fortune, Syntyche." "High cost For cloth," the teacher said. "I know. But is there hope for one as low as I?" "You do need teaching ma'am. The gracious God of Abraham Gives hope to only such as you. Now listen, here's what you must do. Submit now to the law of God, And it may be that Moses' rod Will rise again and point the way To Syntyche, if you today Will burn the charms and figurines And crystal balls and magic beans. Shall man inquire with pea and pod, And not consult the holy God?" So Lydia began to fear The Lord. Then one long empty year Went by. She worshipped week by week, But every time she tried to seek The face of God it was as though A voice would gently say, "I know You Lydia, but you do not know me." Then once she asked, "Lord, what More may I see, and, Lord, where fly To Thee?" And God said, "Philippi." Her mouth fell open at the word. "Could I," she thought, "have really heard The voice of God?" And then the doubts Were gone. And so was she. The routes to Philippi were common fare For Lydia. Her business there Was good. She owned an ample home And often on the way to Rome Would stay the night.
This time one thought Alone was in her mind, "God brought Me here to Philippi to see his face And that is all I need." The place Was well kept by a Jewish maid Who secretly for years had prayed That Lydia would know the King Of heav'n. Euodia would sing At night. And Lydia had ears. The songs of faith for many years Had done more than she knew.
Once more She came, and, entering the door, Knelt down before her maid and pled, "Euodia, one time you said That every Sabbath day you go Somewhere to pray. I want to know Your God. Tomorrow may I go With you? It may be God will show Us both our deep desire." At dawn The river lay like glass, and on The surface was a blazing fire As though God made a liquid pyre To burn the incense of the prayer That holy women offered there. And as they prayed a band of men Approached and knelt in silence. Then The one named Paul began to plead That God would satisfy the need Of her whose back had felt the rod Of his rebuke and wanted God More than a hundred laden ships Of purple dye. At this the lips Of Lydia fell open wide.
"He knows my heart," she thought, "my pride, My shame. This is a prophet sent From God. O, let him now present The power of your holy Word, And show the glory of the Lord." She opened up her eyes, and all The men were fixed on her. Then Paul Opened his mouth and said, "The Son Of God, the long expected One, Has come. His name is Jesus Christ. He lived in love and sacrificed Himself for sin and rose again To live and reign. Five hundred men Can testify that he's alive. And now with all his might we strive To tell the world that everyone Who turns from sin and trusts the Son Will be forgiven every wrong, And sing an everlasting song. If God did not withhold the King, Will he not give us everything?" When Paul had done his human part, The Lord himself opened her heart, And Lydia believed. They stayed The day with her and taught and prayed 'Til well into the night, then slept For free in stately rooms once kept For monied merchants and their gold. Next morning Lydia was bold To ask the men if she could go Along to pray. "I think I'd grow If I could watch God's power in you." So Paul agreed. "I think that's true," He said, "I sense that we should take The market path and slowly make Our way down to the place of prayer." But half way through the market square A slave girl used for sorcery And owned by wicked men broke free. And with a rasping voice she screamed: "These are the holy men I dreamed About. They save your soul. They curse Your gold and take away your purse. These are the servants of the Most High God. Beware! Beware! You host Of hell." They tried to seize their prize And pull her back, too late. Their eyes Had met. The demon child was frozen in The gaze of Lydia. Her chin Was locked in speechlessness, a gash Was healed along her wrist, a sash Of purple cloth held rags around Her waist. Her arms and neck were bound With bands of charms and magic beans. And little astral figurines Were pierced through both her ears. And Lydia, through burning tears, Could see that she was very thin; Her eyes were sunken deep within Her face as dark and fierce as they Could be. Her cheeks were hollow clay, And there were bruises everywhere, And tiny razors in her hair. "O, Syntyche, what have I done? What can I do? Where can I run To bring you back? O, God above . ." At that the demon tried to shove Her mother down, but Paul cried, "NO! In Jesus' Name be still. Now go! Come out of her you fiendish power. And mark, that from this very hour You shall not torment Syntyche Again." The power of sorcery Was gone. The girl fell at the feet Of Lydia. Her face was sweet, Her eyes were soft, her voice like dew: "Mommy, can I come home with you?" The light of candle four is plain, It has its part of peace and pain: A selfish soul can soon destroy A little girl or little boy. But Christ can open selfish hearts And nullify demonic arts.
Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsBibleVersion = "ESV"; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsLinksOpenNewWindow = true; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsLibronixLinkIcon = "dark"; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsNoSearchTagNames = [ "h1", "h2", "h3" ]; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsCssOverride = true; Logos.ReferenceTagging.tag(); By John Piper. © 1989 Desiring God. Website: desiringGod.org
