It is easy to get distracted by the rushing wind and tongues of fire. But the true revelation is that there is a force that would propel us at all.
the power behind the Pentecost
Pentecost | Acts 2:1-21
read, listen, or read while you listen!
Today we celebrate the great revealing of the faith. The great bursting forth of the Holy Spirit into the world. Not as the birth of an institution, which marks its ongoing existence by yearly festivals but like the birthing itself. The Spirit propelled the disciples out in a push of incredible force.
This is the story of the Acts of the Apostle, of the Pentecost; the coming of the Holy Spirit and her inspiring of the disciples.
I love Pentecost and its evocative symbols: tongues, fire, wind, voices, and many languages. And the image of breaking out and going into the world is always a good word for us of more humble hearts.
But there is something ill-fitting about the story in the midst of a pandemic. Here in Vigo County, Indiana, our state has moved into stage 3 of re-entry. Our stores and restaurants are opening and expanding their sales.
So we might be in mind to burst out of our upper rooms and come into the crowded town square to proclaim the glory of God! Just because we are allowed.
But this week’s new infection rate is higher than last week’s, which was higher than the week before. The County Health Department reports that these new infections are not the product of increased testing, but all came from people getting tested because of their symptoms.
So we’re receiving this message of being thrust into the world at a time when it looks less and less possible for us to safely do that.
a strange moment
As we prepared for Easter, we wondered how we might celebrate the risen Christ after this lentiest of Lents. And we did, with joyful song and perhaps brunch at home. In a sense, it didn’t feel like a resurrection because our physical space wasn’t going to change.
But we also discovered that our physical space wasn’t the whole of the story. Neither are the Lillies by the altar or the champagne brunch. Even the hats and the white dresses were not the whole of the story.
Easter happened in our world, even as we couldn’t experience it in the usual way.
Again we are being invited to one of our greatest celebrations of the power of God in the midst of a pandemic that keeps us physically distant. This one seems like an even stranger feast at home. This moment is so communal!
But what if this obsession with the physical presence means we’re missing something in the story. That we’re missing something in our own stories?
apart, distant together
The disciples gathering in the book of Acts, like a similar experience in the gospel of John, finds the disciples apart, separate from the world. Our focus is always on the big and the bold moment, of the tongues of fire and the rushing wind, and the cacophonous talking that somehow shares with everyone the good news at the same time.
But what if we pause briefly between the Spirit and the response. Imagine what these tongues are doing resting on their heads. These divine translators that will soon bring understanding to everyone. Pause here. Stay still with the rushing wind, the swirling power, preparing to propel us out. Feel the force on our backs, the shudder in our knees as we stand straight, resisting it a moment longer.
In this moment, the rush out into the community seems natural, aligned. But is it? Could it be less aligned with the Spirit’s movement and more to our desire to be out in the world?
A different image comes to mind.
A former hometown of mine, Midland, Michigan was flooded when days of rain brought the rivers higher than local dams could restrain. Images of the flowing water, houses and parks submerged, the beloved Tridge unknowable in what suddenly looked like a lake.
And the image that startled me most was that the water didn’t break the mechanics of the dam. It broke the wall next to it. So all of this water was flowing through a different way.
I imagined all that pressure built up behind that wall. I thought about the power growing there, building, pushing, weakening concrete, constant, until suddenly it bursts through, like Mother Nature giving birth, or rebirth to her rivers.
the power is given
The image of the power granted to the disciples, in tongues of fire, or breathed by Jesus, is itself the most potent of reflections. The miraculous public moment is the revealing of the power: it isn’t the power itself. Nor is it the part that Christians need to focus our attention on.
The real moment happens before all the talking, before the release.
It’s in the giving of power. An overwhelming power. The kind that can break out of its shackles and through the walls we build to contain it.
And this power comes to us in a world that is birthing new church. We’re proclaiming to people our buildings can’t reach and with a spirit of grace that we’ve longed to offer. Tongues of fire have loosed our bonds through the digital world, already giving us more community and intimacy with a wider reach than ever before.
If we’re willing to see how the Spirit is breaking our dams, not in the places we think are most vulnerable, but in the walls themselves. The infrastructure, the buildings; fortresses we expect to stand forever.
She punches through them with the full ferocity of nature. Walls we build to protect our possessions, our commitments, and our customs. The practices we think are normal. The dreams we’ve inherited from our parents. Those things we cherish without thinking.
The Spirit is bringing the power to transform this world of ours. It is building up, growing stronger, and the pressure is incredible. And even now, the walls are buckling, the container is failing, and that kin-dom is pushing through; unrestrained, like a mighty river. Reborn.