Did you know that there are two
places in the world where over 800 languages and dialects are spoken? One of them is New Guinea and, the other is
the five boroughs of New York City. In
New York City, many of these languages are in danger of extinction as more and
more people give up their unique languages in deference to the more widespread
English, Spanish, French, Italian, etc.
It’s not hard to understand why small discreet languages go the way of
the times—folks wanting to understand and be understood and all; but, it
saddens me, nevertheless. Pentecost is
about the opposite—the Holy Spirit arrived apparently in wild and wonderful
glory and the Gospel was told and re-told in as many languages as it took for
all of those present to be able to hear and comprehend. Pretty amazing stuff! What a riot, quite literally, it must have
been. I stood up here this morning and
watched you all greeting each other and thought, “Pentecost must have been just
a little like this—the noise, the laughter, the excitement!” And although we all speak the same language,
our experiences of the breath of God are all different and as you greet each
other, you can feel the diversity in the air.
Pentecost, in all its amazing,
chaotic, sound and color, has long been thought of as the birthday of the
Church (capital C). Everyone is there
following the directions that Jesus gave them before he left this earth. And they are waiting, and waiting, and waiting. They, being the disciples and all, have
absolutely no idea what they are waiting for.
Imagine if I called all of you to come and told you nothing else except
I was going to give you a gift. Assuming
that some of you actually would come, you would have little to go on; and,
waiting would seem the only thing to do.
You can imagine that speculation on the nature of the gift would die
down after the first few days and you would be left pretty much with playing
games on your phones and posting endless Facebook statuses of “We’re still
waiting!”
The disciples, having no such diversions,
must have been pretty bored and restless.
I can well sympathize with the boredom.
Waiting is just not something that many of us do very well. Suddenly, the area is filled with smoke and
winds, strong winds of fire—looking like giant tongues of fire. People are overtaken with emotion and
different languages abound. And, “all
heard in their own tongue”. But, listen
closely: the focus of this story lies in
the hearing, not in the speaking. The
miracle is not that so many languages are being spoken; the miracle is that
everyone, no matter where they came from, could hear the message in their own language. The gift is of understanding and
welcome—hospitality, if you will.
There are so many messages within
the Pentecost story that one could probably preach a different sermon for many
weeks and still not be finished with all that the story of Pentecost has to
tell us. This year, however, in the
spirit of a God without fences, we will look most of all at the diversity
within the messiness of the day. It was
a crazy day; I suspect that most of us cannot even imagine it, much less have
we experienced something like it. You
know the saying, ‘it was a three-ring circus’?
Well, this was a six-ring circus.
The tongues of fire were dancing around, the noise of the wind was
roaring like a category 5 hurricane and the voices filled the air in, perhaps,
dozens of languages. And, in the midst
of the craziness one fact was clear: God
made sure that every single person there was able to understand what the Spirit
was saying. If they wanted to know and
if their hearts were open, God made it plain.
Are you as impressed with this as I am?
Every single person was counted as important. Nowhere does the story tell us that everyone
except the darkest-skinned, or oldest or female persons knew. It says everyone! And, there doesn’t seem to have been any
waiting in line—all were treated to the message at the same time—counted equal
before God.
You see, for God, there are no ‘also
present but not pictured’. You know how
in newspapers and such, you always see a group of people, their names, and the
‘also present’ line for those who unfortunately went for a drink of water or
some other need when the picture was snapped.
And, so, they became the ‘also present’ face-less ones. To God, everyone has a face and everyone is
entitled to the same gifts as all the others.
This is a radical thought—there’s that word again! Radical in its very universalism and
inclusivity. Everyone matters. What would happen right now, if in the midst
of this very service, the wind started to blow and God began to seek out each
one of you individually, speaking to you in your own language—in the language
of poetry, of song, of dance, of contemplation, of silence? I’m going to suggest that lives would be
changed—your lives, my life. This, then,
is the work of the Church in a place where God is free of the barricades of
self-centeredness, discrimination, hatred, prejudice, or exclusivity.
But wait! There is a second miracle of Pentecost. Not only was the Gospel message of God’s
universal love communicated in ways that all could understand, people actually listened
and heard. Hearts were softened by the
Holy Spirit and people joined in the rejoicing as they came to understand God’s
love for them. Even more miraculous was
the focus of the crowd that day. Instead
of waxing long and eloquent as experts trying to convince others of their
position, the people listened. They
listened so that their lives were changed relieving them of the desire to
change others. This, too, is the work of
the Church—allowing God to speak so that others can hear and learn of God from
God. The need is eliminated for the speaker
to try to win followers to his or her own viewpoint. Every trip I make to Facebook or the news
convinces me anew that we have far too few people listening and far too many
talking.
What is the meaning of Pentecost for
us as a community of faith? The answers
are not necessarily the ones we want to hear.
The cultural and linguistic diversity of Pentecost suggests that the
community Jesus envisioned was not one of structure and order that would
clearly delineate who is in and who is out.
Our story today suggests that the community that was left in the wake of
the life, death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus Christ was a church on
fire, one that speaks in enough tongues so that all can feel welcomed and
understand. Our story suggests that an
apropos comparison of the church is to a hurricane. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t felt
like a hurricane in a while.
Is this what happens when the
questions get too hard? What if the
answers to the questions require us to leave our need for certainty
behind? What if we are called to take
fire and energy from this chaos of the spirit and learn to live in the
challenging, inspiring world of ambiguity?
What if we are called to let go instead of rein in? What if Pentecost shows us the true nature of
church—the uncomfortable, down and dirty messiness and diversity? Are we willing to let God be in control or
must we jump to our feet and yell “Quiet!
I need quiet!”
The church has always been
multi-cultural and diverse, holding great differences within the unconditional
love of God. You may be thinking, “RC
needs new glasses! There is no diversity
here. Look at us. Perhaps our age is different for a few, but
we look mostly a lot alike. She must be
crazy.” Aha, crazy, perhaps? I think we don’t look very hard for
differences; it’s much easier to believe that Open Circle is a
one-size-fits-all kind of place. That,
my friends, is not the Church of Pentecost.
The Church of Pentecost is like a violent wind roaring through the place
turning people’s lives upside down, turning the causes we work for upside down
and fanning the flames of awareness, creativity, and inspiration.
Pentecost is not just a church
holiday or holy day. Pentecost is a
calling—a calling to real church, real faith, real love in a very real
world. For this church, Pentecost can be
a revival of the spirit that grew this church to where it once was. I remember when most of you invited people
every week. I remember when many of us
spoke powerfully of the community here—the love, the unconditional acceptance that changed our lives for the
good. We are called to be a church of
Pentecost—to catch the wind of a great revival of passion for those who do not
know that they do not have to be alone.
We are called to be a church of Pentecost—to let the voice of God speak
in diverse tongues—to sing, to shout, to pray so that all may hear and be
heard. Amen and amen and Namaste!
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