FEAST OF PENTECOST 2007

The house is a sandstone two story affair with an outside stairwell to the second floor. The first floor is a combination shrine and synagogue. The remains of King David are purported to be interred there, sort of an alcove to the synagogue. The house is situated on a quiet street in the SW corner of the city. The house belonged to the family of a young man whom we know as John Mark, the author of the earliest Gospel. It was the upstairs floor of that house that Jesus borrowed for his last evening with his disciples. It was to that house that the disciples fled when Jesus was arrested. It was there they hid behind locked doors and it was there that the risen Jesus appeared to them on that first Easter evening, greeting them with “Shalom elechiem!, Peace be with you!”

There had followed other appearances in that room as well as in familiar places like the lakeshore and the Mount of Olives. The appearances occurred over a forty day period and then he left them. The Book of Acts opens with that memorable scene on the Mount of Olives as Jesus bids them farewell. He promises them a Comforter and sends them back to Jerusalem to wait. They make their way back to that familiar house. We are told that there were one hundred and twenty of them, mostly country folk from the hills north of Jerusalem. They prayed, we are told, and they replaced Judas and they waited. They were not sure what they were waiting for, but he said to wait and that’s what they would do. I suspect that as the days passed they became more anxious and more depressed. I further suspect that they became increasingly aware of their powerlessness. And just when they are on the verge of despair all heaven breaks loose. This is the way Luke describes it: “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 that obviously is not descriptive or scientific language; not the kind of language you would use to tell someone how to get to Oakwood. Rather, that’s the language of poetry, the kind of language a lover uses to describe his or her beloved. You see three miracles occurred that day and when you try to describe a miracle you are forced to use metaphors and simile.

The first miracle that occurred that Pentecost morning was the miracle of community. When those folks walked into that upper room they came as individuals, two and three at a time. They were individually wrapped-up in their own little worlds, each trying to make sense out of what had occurred during the last few weeks. Of the one hundred and twenty souls we know the names of less than thirty. None of them belonged to the Junior League or were listed in the Who’s Who of Greater Jerusalem. Most of them were marginal folks, misfits and yokels. Yet, they became a community even to the point that they sold their possessions and pooled their resources, taking care of each other as the need arose. We are told that in the days that followed they thrived on the Apostle’s teaching, enjoyed one another’s fellowship, prayed together and celebrated the Eucharist.

You see the Holy Spirit is found in the community of faith. That is why we baptize children ; there is nothing magical about what we do at a child’s baptism. It is simply our corporate belief that it is better for a child to grow up in a community of faith than not. Beloved, faith is caught, not taught.

The second miracle of that first Pentecost is the miracle of empowerment. In our world, and the same was true in the disciple’s world, power is equated with wealth and prestige, position and influence. The folks gathered in that upper room were, for the most part, lacking in everything we associate with power. Yet, look what happened. Within minutes Peter is standing in the street preaching. This is the same guy who denied even knowing Jesus, the one who cut and ran and hid behind locked doors. Now, here he is on the street corner along with all those other powerless people except now they are brimming over with power in the form of courage. Paul Tillich, the great theologian, once said that when you raise any of the Christian virtues to the highest power they are indistinguishable from courage. Those one hundred and twenty no-name, non-influential people would, in the next sixty years, change the face on the entire Roman Empire.

The third miracle of Pentecost is the miracle of language. We are told that the people in the upper room declared the mighty acts of God in the languages and dialects of the different nationalities of the pilgrims who were in Jerusalem that day. They spoke of those mighty acts and people heard and understood. Now that is a miracle. You and I both know that we often find ourselves speaking the same language and people neither hear us nor understand us. Think of the difficulties we have of one generation speaking to another or one socio-economic group communicating with another. It is the Holy Spirit who puts the words on our lips and opens the ears of others to hear. I know that to be true because I have seen it happen.

Some years ago I was on sabbatical in the spring and summer. I spent most of that time in Israel and the Sinai dessert. On my way home however, I got off the plane in Paris and made my way to Burgundy where the ecumenical monastic community of Taize is located. Thousands and thousands of pilgrims make their way to that remote place to experience the strange power of its solitude and worship. I arrived a few days before Pentecost. For two days I did not hear English spoken by a single soul. I was beginning to despair. And then one morning I heard a young man singing, not just in English but with a southern accent. He was from Marietta, Georgia! He worked there. During the next few days pilgrims would arrive by bus from all over the continent. Five thousand Russians would ride buses for three days and nights to get there. On Pentecost morning the bells began to ring and we made our way into the church, not one hundred and twenty, but eight thousand. We sang and the Scriptures were read, the Acts lesson was in Russian, and we prayed in all the languages represented. Most of the words I couldn’t understand, but we came to the peace. A huge bear of a man next to me, a Russian, turned and grabbed me in a mighty hug and with tears streaming down his face, spoke the one word of English he knew-Peace! He spoke and I heard and understood and the miracle of Pentecost was reborn. Amen.