And unknown adventure
Pentecost | Acts 2:1-21, John 7:37-39
I don’t know that I’ve ever preached on the gospel for Pentecost. Obviously the story in Acts is where the action is.
But as we worked through the middle of the gospel of John in Easter, I found a theme that continued to resonate with the season. A theme that resonates even more on Pentecost Day.
And to understand that theme, we have to look back at a part of the gospel we didn’t read during Easter. The chapter before this week’s selection.
Feeding
This previous chapter, John 6, begins with Jesus’s most famous miracle: the feeding of the multitudes. When Jesus is able to feed thousands of people from five loaves of bread and two fish. A moment that is as inspiring as it is confounding.
And when they are done, the disciples gather up the leftovers. Enough for each to have a basket to bring with them.
But what then do the people do?
They approach Jesus to “take him by force to make him king.” By force.
That is not the point. Or part of the plan. In fact, it is oppositional to the plan. So Jesus has to leave them.
The next day, the crowds catch up with him, and Jesus confronts them. He says “you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.”
Jesus challenges their motivation. That they aren’t seeking to join in the glorification of God, but to eat free food. Which is not a condemnation of need or hunger. He challenges them about their selfish and self-serving motivation; given what he has come to do. When he is the bread of life. He is the one they are consuming.
He made it so thousands could be fed. And the thousands were like, Maybe there’s more where that came from!
A Rift Develops
As the reader, however, we can see the tremendous contrast between the disciples and the crowds. The disciples were the ones who fed the people. They found the food, distributed it, cleaned up, and brought the leftovers to distribute later. It was actually the disciples who performed the miracle.
What Jesus really seems to be doing is saying to the crowds: if you were followers, you’d be feeding, not seeking more food for yourselves.
And what happens from here, and extends through the rest of John, is a rift that develops between anyone who encounters Jesus. On the one side are the people who see this as a true messianic vision for the world. Following Jesus means partnering in this God-led transformation.
And on the other side are those who don’t. The ones who want Jesus to heal them or feed them and no more. To be nothing more than a simple healer — one that they are lucky enough to have around.
Because, for them to imagine that Jesus is ushering in a transformation is to imagine that maybe their desires don’t match God’s.
This is the moment the Temple leaders decide they need to kill Jesus. When he invites people to follow him more deeply.
And yet, in spite of the danger, Jesus heads to Jerusalem for the Festival of the Booths.
Drinking Living Water
This is the context for when Jesus invites people to drink living water. Words that should remind us of the woman at the well. Like her, a Samaritan, all can drink of this.
These words aren’t easy for everyone to hear because some people don’t want everyone to come. Because they want that water to be for insiders. A well for their tribe alone.
And more to the point, they want to be protectors of the well. Consumers of the well. Not distributors of the water. Or sharers to the thirsty.
They don’t want to welcome strangers, but deny their company.
Contrast that moment with the Pentecost Event in Acts.
As the Spirit’s presence is made known to everyone and the disciples share the living water with literally everyone.
People from all over the world, hearing, not a confusing cacophony of language they don’t understand, but words they improbably do! They aren’t supposed to be hearing their own language in Jerusalem, and yet, somehow, these Jewish nobodies are speaking to them.
Look at that crazy list of countries and peoples. Most aren’t Jewish people. They are all there in this melting pot metropolis hearing about a glorified Christ and are moved to drink from the living water.
All of these people.
Even “visitors from Rome”.
This word, visitors, is intentional. They are naming all these denizens of other countries. People who may or may not live in Jerusalem. But their labels place them as outsiders. Not Hebrews from Judea. None of these people are called “visitors”. Just the Romans.
Of course, we wouldn’t actually call the Romans visitors. They are occupiers. Echoes abound for us today of people claiming territory and squatting on land. There is no way these people could ever be insiders.
But they are included in the Pentecost. Even visitors from Rome are part of the Pentecost. They are invited to drink from the living water.
It isn’t about deserving or preserving. It’s about sharing.
The Spirit’s Work
Jesus challenged people following him, who dropped everything for him. Because they were missing the point of him. He isn’t granting fleeting power some people can lord over other people. He isn’t making miracles for people to ooh and ahh over.
He’s showing people the Kin-dom: God’s dream for the cosmos.
A dream revealed in Jerusalem, when suddenly, disciples are understood. When the good news is shared. When all people are brought in.
The same dream we share. When we welcome. Offer. Serve. When we seek to share in ways that others can understand.
We don’t have to stage elaborate demonstrations downtown. We don’t all have to get on Duolingo and learn a new language—making sure we all pick something different—just in case!
But the Spirit is working through us. When we’re open to her. Aligned with God’s dream.
Not as receivers of good food that we want to keep eating, but bearers of living water. That we are compelled to share.
An example.
Wednesday, at our midweek service, we celebrated Jackson Kemper, the great missionary bishop. He was assigned to the territories of Indiana and Missouri. And was the one who founded this congregation in 1839 and sent our first rector.
Kemper, the bishop so committed to mission that he kept moving, founded dioceses in Iowa, Kansas, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. And he started schools, two of which are still going today.
We remember him, not for the miracles, or even the zeal, but for his commitment to teaching, his trust in God, and his willingness to share the beauty of the Holy Spirit with everyone. Not just people like him.
This radical welcome, generous sharing, incredible vision is in our DNA. As a church. As a people. In this place now.
We’re looking for the signs of living water. Of the Spirit’s presence in tongues of fire and rushing winds. In communities of chaos as much as stability. In languages that are our own and those unknown to us now.
Because our work is in a world growing more diverse than our imaginations; evolving faster than our memories; and building higher than our ambitions.
There is so much opportunity. Not only for what we want. But what the Spirit is putting in motion.
We just need to open up and let the Spirit do the work. And who knows what adventures might follow.