“Making Sense” – May 27, 2012 Sermon
May 27, 2012
Scriptures:
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.’
John 15:26-27, 16:4b-15
Jesus said to his disciples: “When the Friend I plan to send you from the Father comes—the Spirit of Truth issuing from the Father—he will confirm everything about me. You, too, from your side must give your confirming evidence, since you are in this with me from the start.”
I didn’t tell you this earlier because I was with you every day. But now I am on my way to the One who sent me. Not one of you has asked, ‘Where are you going?’ Instead, the longer I’ve talked, the sadder you’ve become. So let me say it again, this truth: It’s better for you that I leave. If I don’t leave, the Friend won’t come. But if I go, I’ll send him to you.
“When he comes, he’ll expose the error of the godless world’s view of sin, righteousness, and judgment: He’ll show them that their refusal to believe in me is their basic sin; that righteousness comes from above, where I am with the Father, out of their sight and control; that judgment takes place as the ruler of this godless world is brought to trial and convicted.
“I still have many things to tell you, but you can’t handle them now. But when the Friend comes, the Spirit of the Truth, he will take you by the hand and guide you into all the truth there is. He won’t draw attention to himself, but will make sense out of what is about to happen and, indeed, out of all that I have done and said. He will honor me; he will take from me and deliver it to you. Everything the Father has is also mine. That is why I’ve said, ‘He takes from me and delivers to you.’”
Sermon: Making Sense
by Rev. Doreen Oughton
Such abundance here this morning! Really, my cup overflows. In trying to plan this service, it’s been like having to choose between pizza and an ice cream sundae, between a shopping spree and a fabulous weekend getaway. Of course it is the day before Memorial Day, with its rich themes of sacrifice, remembrance and thanks. And then the lectionery gives us several fascinating and wondrous passages. Now maybe I got a little greedy trying to get a little bit of many things in. I just had to share the Ezekial story with you. Such wonderful imagery – preaching at God’s command to dry bones, watching as they come together and take on flesh; witnessing the power of words provided by God, to call to the four winds to breathe life into these beings; hearing God’s promise – even in those ancient times – to put his very spirit into his people.
And then we have the excitement of Pentecost – the four winds blowing through the upper room, bringing not only God’s breath but God’s fiery commitment to action. The excitement spreads as the crowds of people from every nation heard in their own language about the power and deeds of God. They hear and they understand, and yet they do not understand. How can this be happening, they wonder. What does it mean? In trying to make sense of it, some dismiss it as a drunken experience. But for the apostles, especially Peter, the confusion is gone. He understands what it means and how it is happening. This is exactly what his Lord Jesus promised them – a Spirit of truth that confirms everything about Jesus, that helps them to see all the truth that there is. This is the breath from all four winds, from all corners of the world, come to breathe new life into the dry bones of the house of Israel.
Our Gospel reading isn’t quite as dramatic a story. I find it to be a difficult text, even with the contemporary translation that I read. This is more of Jesus’ farewell speech to his disciples on the night of his arrest. There are allusions to sin and judgment and righteousness, the way the world doesn’t really understand these things, though it thinks it does. Jesus says the Advocate will expose the world’s mistaken thinking about them, and clarify the truth about those things. But I don’t yet understand what Jesus is saying here, so I am grateful that Jesus understands my unreadiness. I find those words so comforting: “I still have many things to tell you, but you can’t handle it right now.” I hear in this statement that my confusion is okay, that I will continue to grow in my readiness and understanding, that I can trust Jesus and the Spirit to understand my readiness or lack thereof and take my hand, leading me at the right time to all the truth I can handle. Perhaps next Pentecost I will have some insight to share about sin and judgment and righteousness.
But I do have some sense today of the dichotomy between the worldly way of seeing things, and the way of Jesus’ truth and light – not all the specifics of their differences, but the truth that they are different. In the Pentecost story we have the skeptics, which I would consider the worldly thinkers, saying these people must be drunk. We have the questioners, those who aren’t sure what to make of it, who wonder how these things can be happening and what it all means. And we have Peter and the apostles, who see immediately in the Godly way.
In the Gospel reading, Jesus is talking to his disciples when they are feeling very confused. He is telling them he is leaving them. He’s been saying that he will be killed and rise up again. He’s talked about a betrayer among them. The authorities are agitated, and it is clear that something is about to happen. We can only imagine their confusion and pain after his crucifixion. And then come the resurrection appearances, where Jesus suddenly appears among them, then disappears! Wonderful, but I’m sure very puzzling also. And then the winds blow in and at last everything is clear. It is clear that all are connected by God’s power and truth – it is heard in every language, it is made known to all who have ears to hear. It is available to people of every nationality, gender, and social status. God is eliminating barriers.
I think this is one of the differences between a godly understanding and a worldly understanding – the absolutely indiscriminate invitation to and accessibility of God’s love. That was the focus of Jesus’ challenges to the religious authorities – to stop trying to erect barriers to God’s grace – to provide people with a sense of being in God’s community no matter what, to help them see that there was nothing that would shut them off from God’s mercy. In the godless world, we find it hard to think like that. We are more likely to try to distinguish between the deserving and the undeserving, the righteous and unrighteous. And we often make that distinction based on worldly ideas of success and reward. Those who succeed in their work must be blessed by God, must have God’s favor and approval. Those who fail, hmm, not so much. In this type of thinking we often narrow our view. We look for the angle, for the advantage, we look to see what will help us move our agenda forward.
This was not the way of Christ. His mission looked like an epic failure to those who followed him. He was killed in the most humiliating way. Even his lowly birth and his life as an itinerant preacher was nothing that people were going to look up to and try to emulate. None of it made sense. Until the wind blew through and it did. It made sense then to Peter and the others that victory can be disguised as defeat, that one can risk and even lose one’s life, and still God can redeem this world. It made sense to them that God was still speaking and acting, bringing dry bones to life, no matter how dry they looked. They understood with crystal clarity that God was creating, sustaining and redeeming and always had been and always would be. They understood that they could not lose by partnering up with God. Even if things didn’t seem to be working out, they could leave it in God’s hands. They could speak to someone from another country and be understood. They could talk about frightening portents – blood and fire and smoky mist – and call people to account for the death of Jesus, and end up baptizing 3000 converts. And they could be arrested, thrown in jail, even put to death, and still know that God is at work, calling his creation to a kindom of love.
As much as I love the dramatic coming of the Spirit in the Pentecost story, the way it galvanized Peter and the other disciples once and for all, I think I relate more to the questioners and wonderers. I am still afraid, I think, to let go so much of the worldly understanding of things. I am afraid of failure, of looking too weird. I am afraid of not knowing how my life will go. I mean I understand that there are no guarantees anyway, but still, to let go of my understanding of “the way things are” and go where my passions call, where Christ calls… I’m not there. And so I am so grateful that the Spirit will meet me where I am, questions, fears, uncertainties and all, take me by the hand, and open up to as much truth as I can handle. And I think it tugs me ever so slightly to even just a little more than that.
I think that one of the indicators that I have not given myself over very much is that I am pretty comfortable in my life most of the time. And when I am not, I fight it, trying to get my comfort equilibrium back. It’s not that I believe that following Christ means you must suffer constantly, that being comfortable is in itself sinful or anything. I just think that comfort is a worldly concern and it often gets in the way of Godliness.
I believe one of the truths that the Spirit leads us to is that we are all so connected, that we are all truly children of God, sisters and brothers to one another. And so how can I be comfortable knowing so many of my sisters and brothers go hungry and homeless, live in war zones, fire missiles and drones at other beloved children of God, rob and kill and abuse and oppress, live imprisoned by addictions, suffer discrimination or discriminate? I know the redemption of all these things lies in God’s hands, not mine, but how much do I really partner up with God, how much do I really put myself out for any of these things? No, I am not there, though I think the Spirit brought me a little closer just in writing this sermon. And I believe the role of the Spirit is not to solve problems, but to help us see and inspire us to act. That might be exciting, enervating, scary, even joyful, but probably not comfortable.
I can’t help but think of another reading in the lectionary today, from Paul’s letter to the Romans. Paul talks about how the whole world is groaning in labor pains. Oh such richness, such truth. He talks about how we can only hope in things unseen, how we don’t even know sometimes what to hope for. Our desires and hopes are beyond our words, our understanding. But we groan, we wait for that once-and-for-all clarity about being part of God’s family, and we don’t even know what it would look like. But Paul assures us, as Jesus did his disciples, it’s alright. You don’t have to know in order to trust. The Spirit is with you, the Spirit has come, the Spirit will intercede with sighs too deep for words. And so I give myself over in this moment, not to a pithy sermon ending, not to feeling comfortable with what I have preached. I give myself over to a groan, to the truth that something is trying to be born here – in me, in us, in this church, and I don’t know what it should look like, what it, what I, should do. Come Holy Spirit, come. Add your sighs to our groans. Help us in our weakness, lead us to all the truth we can stand. May it be so.
