Readings, Acts 2:1-21, Romans 8:22-27 and John 15:26-27, 16:4b-15
Image, Teresita Fernández, Fire, 2005. Silk yarn, steel armature, and epoxy. San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, California. Pentecost is regularly and rightly approached with vigour. Like Easter Sunday and Christmas, it is an exuberant high point of the Church year celebrating the coming of the Spirit and the birth of the Church. A time to give thanks for the plurality of cultures and tongues which proclaim the good news, take joy in the gifts given and fruit borne, and remember the in-breaking of the Spirit, which positively disrupts assumptions and boundaries, expanding the body of Christ into the world. We put on our red, play some upbeat songs, and listen to that familiar account of the rushing wind and tongues of fire. But some years feel less exuberant, less suited to unreserved elevation. There are days where the wind feels less like a force billowing at our back, than something we are walking against. There are some years where we get to this day dismayed and disheartened by the evil in our world, the violence on the news, the loss in our communities, the fracturing in our families, and the heaviness of our heart. And on those days, we are compelled to ask, what does Pentecost mean in this kind of season, to this kind of moment? And when we approach the day with those feelings at the forefront of our mind, little details begin to stand out where perhaps they didn’t before. When you’re in a play and you study the script, not every emotional beat is laid out for each character. You have to look to the dialogue for the clues. If the character talking to you says something like, “no post today, my dear… oh don’t cry darling” it is a pretty clear sign that you need to have begun crying. In the same way, listening to our gospel reading, we get a sense of the feelings of the disciples gathered around Jesus for his farewell discourse. For as Jesus speaks of the coming of the Spirit and the impending hour of his death, he says, because I have said these things to you sorrow has filled your hearts. Then still, even having assured them that it is to your advantage that I go away, because it is this that allows the sending of the Spirit, he says, I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. The emotional setting in which the Spirit is promised, is one of sorrow, worry, and loss. The Spirit is promised as consolation, relief, and comfort for those who are facing the shattering of meaning, the loss of their dear teacher, and the coming hatred of the world. Likewise in Romans, Paul situates the gift of the Spirit within the groaning of creation writhing in labour pains. By extension, the Spirit is sent to help us in our own groaning, waiting, and weakness. The Spirit is sent to those hanging on in hope, longing for the redemption of our bodies, placing our trust in the things unseen. Back when we had our little Lenten discussion group, we spoke about how the doctrine of sin is the only Christian doctrine that is empirically demonstrable. That is, sin is the only doctrine where you can just point at the world and say, look there it is. Sin and evil, wickedness and wretchedness, these are things that are seen (seen all too easily and too often). It is grace, hope, redemption, and the promise of restoration that are all too often the unseen. These are the things we doggedly hope for in faith. And because the ugly brutality of the world insists itself upon our vision, while the future glory can feel so elusive, we can so often come up short when searching for the words to pray. We fall silent when looking for the words of hope, thanks, and promise. But it is in these moments, Paul reminds us, that the Spirit draws nearest, nearer even than the distance between feeling to speech, interceding with sighs too deep for words opening our heart to God and the reminder of our purpose and glory. With this we reach that famous reading in Acts and consider the feeling that comes over the disciples when the house fills with wind and fire. Or, perhaps more specifically we think of their breath. The Spirit is associated with breath and we might think immediately of the enlivening breath of the Spirit that carries the disciples out of the room generating this new and surprising speech in tongues previously unknown. But I wonder if the first breath that slips through the disciple’s lips when the Spirit stirs the house on the day of Pentecost was a sigh. That the first breath was a sigh of relief. For the arrival of the Spirit is the final vindicating stamp of all that Christ has promised. The arrival of the Spirit is the moment where so much that was unseen is seen and felt. When what was promised becomes present, where the pain of Jesus’ departure is not erased but met. Jesus was all that he said and showed himself to be, and he has remembered us in our need, and sent the one who will prove the world wrong about sin and judgment, who will teach us that even if all we see is the violence, injustice, bloodshed, and betrayal, that is not all there is. That which is seen does not define the world. For the world is held together by the unseen love of God, which permeates and sustains all things, and is the end of all things. Such is the message of Pentecost for times such as these. Such is the hope of Pentecost for those of us wracked with worry and woe, the hope of all that groans out while waiting for redemption. The arrival of the Spirit might not feel like the rush of mighty wind or the blaze of tongues of fire. But it is no less real, necessary, or beautiful when it arrives as the sigh of relief that is uttered when we are reminded that we are not alone. Reminded that the world – though wracked with woe is not wrong. It is within the troubled turbulence of our times that the Spirit works to bear good fruit and draw us to glory. Pentecost can mean many things. One of those is the day where Christ - who has seen the sorrow of his friends - sends to them the one who will comfort and console through the trials to come, the one who intercedes in our weakness, drawing nearer than breath to help us see that which is unseen: the presence of God, the hope of redemption, the coming of peace, the love of Christ.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
SermonsPlease enjoy a collection of sermons preached in recent months at the Kirk. If you have questions about the sermons, or attending a service reach out using the Contact Page. Categories |