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It was
early Sunday morning and a mother was hurrying to her son’s
room. “Come on, come on,” she said, rustling the covers.
“It’s time to get up for church.”
Whereupon a
voice came from underneath the covers and buried under the
pillow: “But I don’t want to go to church.”
“I
don’t care. You need to get up. It’s time to go to church.
What do you mean you don’t want to go to church? That’s
ridiculous. Get up and get dressed and let’s go.”
“But I
don’t want to go.”
“Why
not?” the mother asked.
“Well,
because they don’t like me there.”
“Well, I
never heard such nonsense. You just have to go. That’s all
there is to it. After all, you’re 51 years old. And besides
that, you’re the pastor.”
Like
this man (I say it’s a man….I’m not 51 yet), the
disciples in tonight’s Gospel reading are hiding upstairs,
separated from others, afraid to speak out of fear. Afraid of
the Jewish leaders and what they think. Afraid of what demands
might be placed on them. Afraid to witness or spread the good
news. Afraid to reach out to others and to show care. Afraid
of their neighbors, co-workers, or whatever demands might be
made upon them. In fact, they’re so scared that nothing
short of a miracle would move them. And indeed, that is just
what happens. Listen as I read the scripture to you from Acts
2:1-13.
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 those 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.” And all were amazed and perplexed, saying to one
another: “What does this mean?” But others sneered and
said: “They are filled with new wine.”
Wow!
Don’t you wish you’d been there? Can you imagine the
experience? It had to have been one of a kind, something so
incredible and miraculous that happened to only a select few.
And yet a miracle that would last a lifetime—a church’s
lifetime. The lifetime of the Christian church, nearly two
thousand years.
But
then, that’s what miracles are, aren’t they? Those things
that are so incredible that they’re almost beyond what the
mind can grasp, or least what it would hope for. Something
that supercedes explanation or rationalization and that
we’re really lucky if it ever happens to us, or if we have
the opportunity to bear witness to it in a lifetime. Miracles.
One-of-a-kind experiences. Paraplegics that walk again.
Persons who come back to life after being announced dead. One
who gets the unknown strength to pick up a car on a crushed
victim. Surviving three days in below-zero temperatures in a
snowstorm. And the list goes on.
Or
is that all that miracles really are? What was the miracle of
Pentecost? Was it these awesome displays of God’s power
shown in the mighty wind, the tongues of fire, or the speaking
in various languages of all the people who were gathered? Was
it the moving from 120 believers to nearly over 3,000 in a
day? It certainly would seem to suggest that these displays
were nothing short of a miracle. It certainly captures the
imagination to wonder about the enthusiasm and the excitement
of that first Pentecost. And it is easy to imagine how we
might have gotten caught up in the incredibleness of it.
In
fact, when I read about the customs of tenth century Rome, I
found my own imagination running wild of how we, too, this
evening might recreate such an experience of Pentecost as they
did in those days. You see, in tenth century Rome, the church
really knew how to recreate the experience of Pentecost. In
order to make the coming of the Holy Spirit dramatic and a
dynamic event for their congregations, the leaders of
Pentecost services used not only their music, but their
architecture.
The
custom of painting heavenly scenes up in the domed ceilings
was not just to inspire meditation and blessed visions, but it
was in order to disguise a trap door. There were the small
openings that were drilled into the cathedral ceilings that
went up into the rooftop. And during the service, at just the
right moment on Pentecost, the trap door would be opened and
live doves would be released through the holes. From out of
those painted skies and clouds in the dome would swoop these
symbols of the Holy Spirit down to the people below. And at
the same time that the doves were coming down, choirboys would
break into whooshing and drumming sounds as if a holy
windstorm was moving throughout the building. Then the holes
in the ceiling would once again be opened and bushels of rose
petals would come down from the ceiling. Those red, fluttering
bits of flowers symbolized the tongues of flame falling on all
those who waited below. Can’t you just imagine the
celebration, the chaos? Wouldn’t you like to see our
ceilings open up tonight?
But
then, even as I read this piece of history in preparation for
tonight’s sermon, I also read another story, a story of an
old Jewish poet standing with his friend before one of the
great cathedrals in France. The Jewish poet turned to his
friend and asked him: “Heinrich, tell me, why people can’t
build cathedrals like these anymore.” Whereupon his friend
answered: “It’s really very easy, my friend. In those
days, people had convictions. We moderns have opinions. And it
takes more than an opinion to build a great cathedral.”
Today,
apart from the economics of building a cathedral or even its
usefulness in modern times, there is a message in this story.
It takes more than opinions to build Christian community. And
so I find myself asking the question again: “What was the
miracle of Pentecost and what is the importance of it for us
today as we seek to live life in the Spirit?”
A
few years ago, Disney did a remake of the story of Helen
Keller entitled The Miracle Worker. It is the story of
a small girl who has been struck ill at a very early age, and
it has left her blind, deaf and mute. Her family has nearly
given up hope. There is no cure. She is not ever going to get
her hearing or her sight or her speech back. Each day, she
draws further and further away from her family and her family
draws further and further away from each other in their
frustration and their heartache.
And
then one day, a young woman by the name of Anne Sullivan comes
to be her teacher. When she arrives, Helen Keller’s family
tells her there is not much she is going to be able to do,
because only a miracle would change it. That’s what the
doctors had said, and it doesn’t look like a miracle is
going to happen. She’s never going to see again. She’s
never going to hear again. They had lost her.
But
most of us know the story of Helen
Keller and her teacher. It’s a beautiful story, one
about a frustrated young girl who not only comes out of her
isolated world of darkness and learns to communicate, but also
learns to teach others like her.
I
ask you, was the miracle making Helen see again? Was it making
her hear? Was it making her speak? Not really. Was not the
miracle what happened when Anne, her teacher, dared and
challenged Helen’s family to face their darkness, their
fears, their uncertainty, and dare to risk what they
couldn’t see, know or control? Was not the real miracle when
the frustration, the anxiety and the hopelessness gave way to
surrender and trusting in a power, a strength and a hope
beyond themselves? The power of love. Was not the miracle
found in the conviction of the tears of love that became the
common language that even Helen could speak and understand,
and gave her courage to reach beyond her own walls of darkness
and to trust?
When
we think about the Pentecost story with its flames and its
mighty wind, it’s easy to get caught up in the miraculous
sight and power and incredibleness of it. We might even long
for such an experience in our own faith. Wouldn’t you just
love to have God all of a sudden grab your attention with a
flame of fire or a mighty wind? Haven’t we all sought some
kind of assurance that God was real in a miracle event? But if
we really look closely at the story in Acts, I think you will
agree. The true wonder, the real miracle, is the courage, the
conviction and the trust that the disciples receive—a gift
that empowers them to reach beyond the barriers of the walls
of the Upper Room and to venture out into the streets and the
lives of people in all walks of life. To venture out and to
speak a common language that all can understand. What is the
language? Consider yet one more story.
There
is a five-year-old girl who had the opportunity to play with a
little girl her own age. There was just one problem. The
little girl was from another country and didn’t know
English. Yet the two gathered together and all afternoon they
played tag and chased butterflies. And the little girl’s
parents marveled at how well they seemed to get along, and yet
they never spoke a word to each other the whole day. Later,
when the little girl came in, the mother asked the girl:
“How did you enjoy your afternoon?”
“Oh,
I had so much time and so much fun.”
The
mother asked her, “Could you really understand anything that
the little girl was saying to you?”
Whereupon
her daughter replied, “No.”
“Did
she understand you?”
“No,
I don’t think so.”
“But
you played so nicely together.”
Whereupon
her daughter said, “Oh Mommy, we didn’t have to understand
each other in what we said. We understood each other’s
giggles.”
*
* * * *
(drama
skit)
“Excuse
me, I’m preaching. What are you doing?”
“Well,
I lost my contact and I was wondering if you could help me
look for it. I don’t want to interrupt or anything, but I
need to find this contact. It’s kind of hard to see with one
eye.”
“Where
did you lose it at?”
“Let’s
see. I remember it was right about….over in that corner over
there.”
“If
you lost it over there, then why are you looking for it over
here?”
“Well,
the light’s much better over here.”
“Why
don’t you try looking over there?”
“I’ll
go look over there.”
*
* * * *
My
friends, we all are living on the edge of a miracle. It’s
not an incredible event that happens once in a lifetime.
Living on the edge of a miracle is when we wait, when we are
willing to wait, upon the strength of a God who helps us to
venture beyond the light into the darkness to find what it is
we are really searching for. What is it we search for? Isn’t
it to be able to speak a common language, a language of love?
And don’t we find the strength to do that when we experience
it in our own lives?
Sometimes
we think of the disciples gathered in that Upper Room, scared,
afraid to go out. But if you study the scripture ahead of the
story, you know that what the disciples are really doing in
that Upper Room are praying together, supporting one another,
and discerning God’s presence in their lives with one
another. They’re living on the edge of a miracle. And when
we do that with each other, we all live on the edge of a
miracle. We live in an opportunity to be empowered and
strengthened and loved in a way that helps us to go beyond any
barriers that separate us from loving others and sharing
God’s will and God’s message to all who speak another
language.
Are
you living on the edge of a miracle? Are you waiting for God
to empower you? Will you allow God to break down the
barriers—barriers of fear, barriers of anger, barriers of
judgment or prejudice, or you name what the barrier is. Are
you willing to venture into the dark, the unknown, the unsafe,
and trust that God’s language of love for you is a language
that you could speak and share with others? That is the
miracle of Pentecost.
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