That the Lord would put his Spirit on them | Pentecost

Readings here

“Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord would put his spirit on them!”

Today’s readings, taken together, give us a sense of the character of the Spirit of God, who is always on the move.

In Numbers, she rests gently, like a butterfly, on the heads of elders surrounding Moses, as God prepares the tired and hungry Israelites to receive a feast in the wilderness. In the Psalm, she is sent out, like a dove, to create new life, adding to the number of varied and marvelous creatures of the earth. In John, she flows out, like water, from the hearts of Jesus’ followers, providing refreshment to those without hope. In Acts, she erupts – like gale-force winds and rampaging wildfire – causing the disciples to tumble out of the isolation of their gathering place.

And, of course, she speaks – in dead languages and living ones – uniting the people in Jerusalem, not in a common language, but in common understanding. Flowing and flying and rushing and disrupting – the Spirit is not the gentle presence we might imagine. To paraphrase theologian Will Willimon: where the Spirit is, something is coming to life (Acts: Interpretation, 30).

(Just so you know, I am using feminine pronouns for the Holy Spirit today because the Hebrew word is in a feminine form. That doesn’t mean that the Spirit is a woman – it just means that the Spirit is not an “it.”)

Our scriptures make clear that the Spirit of God has been present since the beginning of time: The Spirit is where God is. But until this day in the Book of Acts – which we call Pentecost – the Spirit was thought to be something that might land on you for a little while, and then depart. And, if the Spirit of God was “on you,” you would almost certainly begin to prophesy.

We see it in our Numbers reading: “Then the Lord came down in the cloud and spoke to him, and took some of the spirit that was on him and put it on the seventy elders; and when the spirit rested upon them, they prophesied.”

But what does it mean to prophesy?

First, let’s define some terms. To prophesy is to proclaim a message from God. The person who prophesies is called a prophet. And what the prophet proclaims is called a prophecy.

Rabbi Abraham Heschel says that:

“The prophet is no hireling who performs his duty in the employ of the Lord…The fundamental experience of the prophet is a fellowship with the feelings of God, a sympathy with divine pathos, a communion with the divine consciousness which comes about through the prophet’s reflection of, or participation in, divine pathos” (The Prophets, 31).

What he means by this is that the prophet is so close to God that it is as if they share the mind and heart of God. They become more than a messenger or mouthpiece for God – because the Spirit resting on them connects them to God’s reality.

In other words, the Spirit enables them to look at the world with the vision of God – and this new vision reveals the smallness of their human point-of-view: the pride, competition, and needless division that leads to conflict on the ground.

This new vision forces the prophet to “tell it like it is” with divine clarity. It compels them to tell the truth. And from this truth-telling, an opening is made for something new.

When the Spirit of God arrives like a storm at Pentecost, she lands on the disciples – not as a butterfly – but as fire. Hot, burning, and wild – the disciples move like sparks, tumbling out into the street where they start to speak at least 15 languages. They surprise themselves before shocking the crowds.

It is the Jewish Festival of Weeks in Jerusalem, and a jumble of people from many places are in the street to celebrate God’s gift of the law to Moses.

When the disciples speak, the chaos of their outburst has the surprising effect of unifying the crowd. Because, suddenly, everyone can understand what the disciples are saying. In fact, the disciples are even speaking dead languages – almost as if the Spirit is calling all of history to attention.

And then, from the chatter, one clear voice rings out. It is Peter! Jesus’ friend who put on a brave face when Jesus was with him, but denied him three times as soon as he was alone. This man Willimon calls “cowardly” is now speaking boldly in the public square – the Spirit has gotten ahold of him!

He uses the words of the prophet Joel to frame this event as evidence of the old prophecies coming true. “Don’t you see?” He says: “In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh.”

He also uses Joel to proclaim that the Kingdom of God has come near, through the person of Jesus Christ: and “all who call on his name will be saved.”

The Spirit of God is on the move once again – connecting humanity to the heart of God. And now, she is available to all, without reservation or limitation, and without an expiration date.

As Willimon puts it: “…in Jesus the Christ, there is a power loose in the world which is power for them.” (36).

This miracle of many languages proves Peter’s proclamation. The people in the crowd are from different places, have different concerns, and speak different languages. But all of them understand God calling to them, because the Spirit uses the language of their hearts to bring them into the very heart of God.

And there, they are brought into the unity of the Body of Christ.

We are blessed beyond measure to be a congregation that relives the miracle of Pentecost every time we get together.

On any given Sunday, we worship together in two or three languages: English, ASL, and even Spanish. With the help of our human interpreters – and the Spirit of God – we are able to participate, together, in the life and love of God.

And because of this, we know that barriers don’t have to be burdens. We know that the Spirit doesn’t privilege some languages, people, and cultures over others: She will always speak in a way we understand – even when her call is beyond words.

We know that Jesus made a Way for us to join in the hard and joyful work of his kingdom. And we know that, in our own ways, we are called to prophesy.

Drawn into the heart and vision of God, we are called to tell the truth about what we have seen in this place, even and especially when it defies the world’s tired old stories. So that an opening is made for new life to grow amid the world’s decay.

No matter what brought you here today, know that you are unconditionally and endlessly loved by the God who existed before the world began, and you are held by the Spirit who rushed in like the wind to get to you.

And no matter what anyone says, you are called to participate in God’s own life. You are called to give water to those who thirst, in body and soul. And to follow the Spirit, who is always on the move.

But you are not called alone. Above all, you are called to participate the Body of Christ – which is to say, the church. Here in the church, we are delighted to discover surprising unity in our differences, and reassurances that these differences are not insurmountable.

Our differences are a gift of the Spirit. By softening the barriers between us, they make us brave like Peter. They allow us to speak in the multi-lingual voice of God, which transcends the smallness of our individual points-of-view, a nd beckons us back to the heart of God: to the source of Love that will be our salvation.

Amen.

Our Times are in God’s Hand: A Sermon on Apocalypse

Blessed Lord, who caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. 

Readings here.

The year was 2002. I was 13 years old.  The country had recently survived Y2K, a contentious presidential election, the September 11 terrorist attacks, 4 major hurricanes, and dozens of tropical storms, one of which was a direct hit on my home. My dad had just lost his job and had to start commuting nearly four hours roundtrip for his new one. My grandpa died. 

And then, one day in the spring, I was home alone, when the sliding glass door on my house began to shake. Suddenly, I heard a deep, resounding BOOOMMM coming from far away. I looked outside and didn’t see a soul on my cul-de-sac, even though the workday had ended. 

I came to the only, logical conclusion.  It was the end of the world. And all the Christians had been raptured – taken up to Heaven before the Great Tribulation on earth. All the Christians. Except, of course, for me. 

The apocalypse was here.  

Things had not gone as planned. Maybe I had prayed a prayer wrong, or maybe my pastor had failed to seal my Baptism in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Whatever the case, here I was, the last member of my family still earthside.  And all I could do was wait for the violence and destruction to begin. 

“There shall be a time of anguish, such as has never occurred since nations first came into existence.” 

“For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.” 

A half-hour later, the kitchen door opened, and my mom and sister walked in. My dad got home from his new, faraway job, just a little later than I expected.  A neighbor called to ask if we had heard the “sonic boom,” when the space shuttle reentered earth’s atmosphere, on its route back to Kennedy Space Center. 

Ohhhh…so it wasn’t the apocalypse after all. Just a cascade of disorienting circumstances that had sent my anxiety into a tailspin. 

After hearing today’s scripture readings, maybe your heart rate went up a little, like mine did on that day in 2002. 

Our Daniel and Mark readings are undoubtedly “apocalyptic.” They prophecy a chaotic and violent end and warn their readers to stand at the ready for all that is coming. It is tempting to avoid these passages, because they are disorienting. They stress us out and make us feel bad.  And worse than that, they make us feel obligated to prepare for a future of unthinkable difficulty.  

What does apocalypse have to do with Christian hope? 

Well, I think we have often misunderstood the apocalypse. So, let’s talk about what it means for something to be apocalyptic… 

In informal conversation, when we say “the apocalypse,” we’re most likely referring to the final and complete destruction of the world, or at least, the inhabitable world. 

Scientists might speak of climate apocalypse, politicians of institutional apocalypse, and Christians throughout history have read into wars, storms, recessions, and generally bad vibes as signs of the impending final judgment. 

But in the ancient world, apocalypse had a more nuanced meaning.  The word itself comes from the Greek word, apokalypsis, which means “to uncover or reveal.” That definition ties the apocalyptic tradition to the prophets, because prophets are God’s messengers, revealing God’s active participation in human affairs. 

Not all prophecy is doom and gloom, but much if it is a warning that God’s people need to get back on track. And that’s where apocalypse comes in. While apocalyptic stories often carry a sense of foreboding, their purpose is not to make us freeze in fear and await our fate. 

As John Collins puts it: apocalypse “is intended to interpret present, earthly circumstances in light of the supernatural world and of the future, and to influence both the understanding and the behavior of the audience by means of divine authority” (1).

In other words, apocalyptic proclamations reveal the perils of losing sight of God in the short term, while declaring God’s ultimate power over all things in the long term.  In contrast to doom and gloom, they should encourage us to stay the course and carry hope through all of life’s trials.  As we say in our birthday blessing, “our times are in God’s hand.” 

It’s also good to remember that the dark future foretold is not so different from the ongoing fear and violence of our present reality. The drama of these stories casts a spotlight on the worst of the human condition so we can see it for what it really is. And in the process, we can see who we are, and who God is. 

— 

Today’s scriptures bring the trials of living, breathing, suffering people into the context of God’s power. 

They reference many cataclysms and many terrors we ourselves can recognize – when human apathy and wills to power lead to bloodshed, institutional collapse, hunger, and collective trauma that would span generations. 

This is demonstrated well in the book of Daniel, which occurs in the midst of a cycle of terror… 

At one time, the Hebrew tribes were split into two nations: the Kingdom of Israel in the North, and the Kingdom of Judah in the South. In 732 BCE, war broke out in the Northern Kingdom when Assyria invaded, killing thousands, including women and children. 

After the initial bloodshed, those who survived were systematically deported and displaced. The goal was forced assimilation of the Hebrew people, which would make it harder for them to retaliate against the Assyrian kingdom, by reducing their sense of shared identity. 

During this period, Assyria took part of the Southern Kingdom, but they didn’t gain complete control. But in 597 BCE, Babylon took the Southern Kingdom of Judah. Known as the Babylonian Exile, this period saw several phases of forced displacement of the Hebrew people, led by King Nebudchanezzar the Second.  

The war ultimately resulted in the destruction of Jerusalem and its Temple in 587 BCE. Some of the Bible’s most hauntingly beautiful literature is written about the Babylonian Exile, including the books of Daniel, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Lamentations. 

For those whose lives had been burnt to the ground by invading armies, this was surely the apocalypse. This was surely the end of the world.  

Yet, it was within this hopeless context that Daniel’s prophecy rang out: “But at that time, your people shall be delivered.” 

The world of the ancient near east may have been consumed by “war and rumors of war,” but the people of Judah would survive. Their times were still in God’s hand. 

Fifty years later, the Judeans were permitted to go back to their homeland. They rebuilt the Temple. They rebuilt their lives. And God was with them the whole time. 

In Mark, we hear Daniel’s words echoing in the voice of Jesus. Jesus tells his followers there will be destruction and bloodshed, terror and chaos.  

And within the first months and years of the early church, Christ-followers would indeed face persecutions, executions, false prophets, and false narratives. They would be blamed for things they didn’t do, and pushed ever further to the margins of society.  

Just as in Daniel, Jesus’ words are not foretelling some distant, future darkness beyond imagination. They are a clarion call and a comfort in the present darkness. Christ followers can rest assured, in all these trials, that the good news is still worth living out, and that God will sustain them in the end. 

This is what apocalypse should teach all of us: God remains steady in the midst of our chaos, pain, and existential despair – in the very center of the worst thing that we can imagine. God doesn’t ignore evil, doesn’t celebrate injustice, and doesn’t revel in our suffering.  

Our hope comes from a deeper well than the brutality happening around us and to us.  And hope can be sustained no matter the circumstance, because it comes directly from the Creator of all things. 

If you feel today that you are standing at the edge of apocalypse, consider this: maybe it’s not the end. 

It may very well be the end of certain assumptions, communities, families, relationships, and ways of being. It may be the end of the world that you imagined, but it is not the end. 

When the chaos of this world feels apocalyptic, we can see that disorientation for what it is:  a clarion call to live like Jesus, to endure in the struggle, to love self-sacrificially, to pay attention, to rest in the care of one another, and to look for the life of the world to come.  

We do not need to fear the apocalypse. With hope in our hearts, we keep moving forward, held steady in God’s hand. 

1. Collins, John J. (1984). Daniel: With an Introduction to Apocalyptic Literature. Eerdmans.