Pentecost

Acts 2:1-21
When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”

But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o”clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel: ‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy. And I will show portents in the heaven above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and smoky mist. The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day. Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’


“What does this mean?”

It is this profound question that the people gathered in one place on Pentecost asked after the miracle of hearing took place; when the Spirit of God had rushed into the house and filled the place with miracle, fear, and presence and appeared to the folks gathered as “divided tongues of fire.”

What would you have said?

They were gathered as tradition bound them to do. Pentecost was a Jewish festival in which the people celebrated the gathering in of the harvest and then the delivery of the law to Moses on Mt. Sinai. It took place 50 days after Passover. It was one of those days that brought the whole world to Jerusalem. And by the whole world I mean, of course, people of Hebrew heritage living in Diaspora in every place that allowed travel to Jerusalem. By this time in their history, Jews of far off regions had begun to speak different languages, and there was beginning to be a separation of their story. So these festivals in the holy city were something that held them together in their difference. The tradition of the law, the celebration of harvest—these were things they held in common, even if language prevented them from talking about it.

So, there they are, in a traditional religious gathering. People have come to give thanks to God for abundance and for guidance. I wonder if they actually expected the Presence to be there, too. I wonder if they were all standing around waiting for it to get started, if they were listening to announcements, if some group were explaining how their ritual actions would be taking place. I wonder if they were milling around, looking for a seat or getting the children settled when all of a sudden there was this sound. It was a wind blowing into their presence, into their space, interrupting their preparations. It must have been pretty loud to get their attention away from getting ready to worship.

And then before they could process the Wind, some of the people there began to speak in tongues. Suddenly, people were speaking the now native languages of Jews from every place, languages they likely had no experience with before. It was a miracle—each person was hearing the sermon for the day in a language they could understand! There must have been young people there who were no longer learning or fluent in Hebrew, wondering if they would be bored by a religious service spoken in an unfamiliar tongue. Now they understood everything being said. It was unexpected and glorious. The Spirit of God had made it possible for everyone there to have a meaningful experience of worship and thanksgiving that day in the midst of Diaspora and the Babel separation the people of God have been living with for generations.

Imagine you had been there, not just physically in that place, but in that situation: gathered with people from all over the world, with language as some kind of a barrier, with one purpose—to worship the God who made and loves us all. Imagine that some big annual worship service were about to take place and people were milling around taking their places and preparing for a grand experience of being with other members of the faithful body. Think of yourself as knowing what to expect, as if it were Easter Sunday here at St. Paul—a trumpeter to accompany the organist on “Christ the Lord is Risen Today,” lilies all over the place, white everywhere… Imagine the greatest planned celebration in church that you can think of with all the majesty and meaning that you can, and then spread it wide open with the wind of the Spirit of God. What kind of questions would you be asking?

What is going on? Why did this happen? Is all of our planning and preparation ruined? How shall we make this catastrophe work? What do we do when we are out of control? And my personal favorite, has someone been drinking??

I believe we like controlled environments in worship. We like to know the hymns, pray and sing in language that is familiar to us, have an order that we are used to, and welcome new faces in the midst of the old familiar ones we are used to seeing week after week. We are creatures of habit. We’ve gotten used to the way the Word of God is revealed: through sermon (I hope! You don’t have to nod or “Amen” that one; I know you’re doing it on the inside!) song, prayer, sacrament, and the occasional special addition to the worship service we welcome from time to time. And like our ancestors in faith, we have been doing this for a long time. There is meaning for us just in the fact that we are gathered together in this place week after week. But when was the last time something that we did here together really struck a deeply personal place in you? When have you been in worship, either here or elsewhere, and you felt that you had been changed because you were there? When have you been challenged to hear something that you didn’t expect or want to hear? When have you been swept up in the moment by the Spirit of God who blows where it will, how it will, and to whom it will at any moment given and declared by God?

Does the church need Pentecost II to get us going again? Have we gotten so used to our difference and our indifference that we just continue to live separately as much as we can and together only when necessary? Maybe we are coming here week after week no longer to be of service to one another as we hear and contemplate the Word of God which surely, in its own power, moves us toward those around us, both in the pew and outside these walls. Maybe instead we are coming to hear something that makes us feel one way or another and then grab lunch at the nearest cool place with a patio. If I’m stepping on your toes here I apologize—sometimes I don’t know what the Spirit of God will make me say…

And isn’t that the point of Pentecost? God led them to an experience of Spirit on that 50th day that was meant to renew their hearts and stir up in them a flame of passion for the life, story, and eternity of Jesus Christ that seemed to catch on when they least expected it. Until then, the disciples—his closest friends and allies—had been holed up in a secret place just waiting in fear for what would happen next, possibly not believing that anything ever would. Now, suddenly Peter takes a step forward to deliver the first sermon ever delivered on behalf of God in the risen Christ. And from there, thousands of people began to join in with the followers of the Way as it traveled out into the Diaspora and beyond. What will it take to get us working like that again?

I think that fire is already in us. I think it is in us when we listen to the things we ask one another to pray about when we share our concerns and joys. I think it is in the things we talk about in Sunday school when we are in a smaller setting and charged to discuss this life of faith we live together and separately. I think its in the children who pass through this space to sing and pray a little and then go upstairs into the care of people who love them and want to help them grow in faith. I think it is in us when we step outside these doors and find out what our neighbors need and try to do whatever we can to provide.

Dr. Walter Bruggemann has just put out a new book of prayers. In it is this one written for this day. It’s called, “Blown by the Spirit…We Know Not Where”.

We hear the story of the wind at Pentecost,
Holy wind that dismantles what was,
Holy wind that evokes what is to be,
Holy wind that overrides barriers and causes communication,
Holy wind that signals your rule even among us.

We are dazzled, but then—reverting to type—
We wonder how to harness the wind,
How to manage the wind by our technology,
How to turn the wind to our usefulness,
How to make ourselves managers of the wind.

Partly we do not believe such an odd tale
Because we are not religious freaks;
Partly we resist such a story,
Because it surges beyond our categories;
Partly we had imagined you to be more ordered
And reliable than that.

So we listen, depart, and return to our ordered existence:
We depart with only a little curiosity
But not yielding;
We return to how it was before,
Unconvinced but wistful, slightly praying for wind,
Craving for newness,
Wishing to have it all available to us.

We pray toward the wind and wait, unconvinced but wistful.*


I think that perhaps we find ourselves today where we believe we are supposed to be—at church (it is Sunday morning, after all!), wearing the right clothes, sitting in the right place, singing the right songs (thank you Kevin for stretching us from time to time and Jonathan for providing us the music to be stretched and inspired!), praying the words we’ve been taught, and occasionally sharing the bread and cup. I think that maybe we believe that this is what we’re supposed to do on Sunday morning and that because we’re doing what we’re supposed to be doing while everyone else is in bed, on the porch, in the garden, or already on the patio at the cool restaurants, we may be approaching our religious practice as some probably did way back when—not really sure we’ll understand everything that’s happening but going through the motions because it’s what we know we should be doing. What would we do if the Holy Spirit blew through here like a bunch of fire and required something of us, asked us to do something, asked us to get up and say something about God and that of which we know God to be capable in this world and in our lives?

What would we say then?


*Prayers for a Privileged People. Walter Bruggemann. Abingdon Press, Nashville. 2008. P.33.