Acts 16: 6-16

They went through the region of Phrygia and Galatia, having been forbidden by the Holy Spirit to speak the word in Asia. ⁷ When they had come opposite Mysia, they attempted to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus did not allow them; ⁸ so, passing by Mysia, they went down to Troas. ⁹ 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.” ¹⁰ When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them.

It’s tempting to believe that if we could discern God’s plan, life would run smoothly and bring fulfillment. Conversely, when life feels chaotic and out of whack, we think we are off course from where God is leading us. This theology is compelling because it makes logical sense to our organized brain. Find the divine plan, and life will be good. Stray from the path, and we will feel the repercussions. That’s an idea as old as faith itself. Psalm 1 paints that picture: the righteous flourish like trees planted by the waters, the wicked blow away like chaff.

However, that is not how things work out in the scriptures. Other Psalms lament, “Why do the wicked prosper and the righteous suffer?” The Book of Job complains about why bad things happen to good people. Prophets protest that injustice is winning. When we read about Paul’s missionary journeys, we confront a tension. God’s Spirit guides Paul, yet his work is chaotic and challenging. Even when he does the right thing, Paul suffers setbacks, must labor for months to see results, and is often unsure he is on track. Acts do not proceed like a self-help book; promising that once we know the secret of life, we move from strength to strength in our successes.

Our reading from Acts 16 says Paul tried to travel through four Roman provinces but was blocked by the Holy Spirit. Some English translations say the Spirit forbids him, which sounds annoyingly mysterious. We may think that Paul is getting clear directions from the mouth of God about what to do next. But a close read of the text will reveal that attending to the inner voice of God’s Spirit does not produce certainty, immediate success, or even peace of mind. Paul’s great work is full of stumbles and detours.

Why would Paul sense he is pushed away from these four places scattered across modern Turkey? The Great Commission said to share the message worldwide, so why not Phrygia, Mysia, and Bythnia, just because they are hard to pronounce? In context, this is Paul’s second missionary journey. Paul’s first journey through this region had mixed success. He is expelled from Antioch, threatened by a mob in Iconium, and stoned and left for dead in Lystra. There is a pattern to each incident. Paul is preaching in synagogues to Jews and Gentiles. When large numbers of Gentiles respond to the message, the old guard forces him out. (And the reason is not that people reject the message of Jesus per se but because the vision is inclusive. Paul is doing exactly what the early church discerned and suffering the consequences of backlash.

So, after not feeling the Spirit’s call in four different provinces, he dreams of a man in Macedonia calling him to come and help. That sounds like a welcome detour from being stoned. When Paul sets sail, he moves from Asia to Europe, landing in the Macedonian city of Philippi. His first major success is serendipitous. Luke says he goes on the Sabbath by the river where women gather to pray. Notice there is no story of preaching in the synagogue on the Sabbath. To have a synagogue requires ten men to form a minion. Perhaps there aren’t even ten Jewish men in Phillippi. And Paul never finds that man from his dream calling from Macedonia. Instead, he meets Lydia, a cloth merchant and head of a wealthy household. She becomes the first known European convert to the Jesus movement. The Spirit may guide Paul’s success in this story, but it does not unfold according to a careful plan or fulfill his original objective. It happens outside the institutions and customs Paul knows. It is the detour into unknown territory that yields fruit.

Detours are often powerful turning points in life. Frequently, the first sign is clearly marked, getting us off the main route, but then the signs become more sporadic and less clear the longer you go, and you wonder if you are still on the right track.

Just like Paul, I once thought I was on the right road—until I hit a spiritual roadblock. I was news director of the college radio station, reported for South Dakota Public Radio, and worked for a local easy listening station. I was offered a full-time job with KELO. It was a great deal, and I could finish college part-time and launch my career at 21. But, I had a dissatisfaction that I could not define. Maybe it was my growing sense that news was too often a business to gain listeners and advertising rather than a medium for telling the truth. Or it may have been my discomfort with reporting on someone’s pain and tragedy and then moving on to the next story. I also tired of saying, “And now back to more light and easy music, here on KELO-FM, Sioux Falls one and only, where you always have a friend.” (Imagine it in the creepy, easy listening voice!)

I took a detour and followed a vague but deeply present yearning to experience more of the world. Some might take a semester abroad or join the Peace Corps, but I joined a traveling mime ministry. I spent the summer painting my face white and visiting church youth groups from Sleepy Eye, Minnesota, to Queens. We performed in churches, Chuckie Cheese’s, and Jones Beach on Long Island. My friends and family doubted my sanity, but it was the detour I needed.

Some of my experiences were harrowing. One day, I drove our large Dodge Ram van through rush hour traffic in Queens to get to our performance. I was following a church member who was driving a Volkswagen Rabbit. He suddenly dove through two lanes of traffic and took an exit, and I was left going across a bridge with no idea where I was. There were no GPS devices or cell phones in 1985. So, I drove into Harlem at dusk. The shops were closing, and people were pulling down graffiti-covered metal shudders over their windows. Squeegee men were offering to wash my windows. Not only were we the only white people in sight, but we also had our mime faces painted. You cannot stick more as a white person than being a mime. I didn’t feel that white on a trip to Kenya. People pointed at our van and laughed, and others looked as concerned for us as we felt. (When I told this story to a racially diverse, mostly non-white group, they laughed hysterically. “Welcome to our world! This is what it feels like to us in America every day.”)

The short version ending is that we went to McDonalds to find a phone, which is not easy when you are a mime and can’t talk without breaking character. But we finally got directions back to Queens.

This experience stuck with me. Sometimes, when we get into a chaotic, even a little scary situation, we plan to make sure it doesn’t happen again. But other times, an internal discomfort calls us deeper. My lack of cross-cultural experience gnawed at me, leading me to a Boston seminary and a field education ministry with people living on the street. The detour became the new main road. We don’t have time to cover all the turns from mime to Maine. I want to point out a tension in the process. In hindsight, I sense moments when I believe that the Spirit moved and opened a new door for me. But in the moment, it was never 100 percent clear. I’m about 90 percent sure I’m in the right place for now, which is very high for me! Most of my crucial detours began with dissatisfaction that would not go away. I didn’t know how to resolve it at the moment. The resolution often involved walking through a door into the unknown. Whether it was becoming a mime, going to Maine, or Macedonia, neither Paul nor I knew what would happen until we arrived.

And I know I’m not alone. Many of us have stepped into seasons that felt more like disorder than direction. We often look at surrounding chaos as a threat disturbing our well-ordered plans. I don’t want chaos, but sometimes it just exists, whether I like it or not. Chaos is often a tool of injustice, making us feel cynical and demoralized. When a political spokesperson says one thing on Monday and the opposite by Friday, it is calculated to make us crazy and not know what to believe. We can pretend it isn’t there or get stuck in anger that doesn’t lead us anywhere. We can double down on our plans and desire to control things, events, and others. But when chaos stirs, our inner life must be strong and coherent so our actions can be clear and constructive.

The path won’t always be straight. It may not even be visible. But the Spirit still guides—sometimes through blocked roads, strange dreams, or quiet urgings. Even now, even in chaos, we find a next step. And that is enough. The church is where we gather—like Paul by the river—to listen for the Spirit, to name the detours, and to help each other walk them with courage.