Acts 2:1-21
May 19, 2024
“Where are you sheltering?”
That was the text I read from my former
Music Director and very current friend, Alice Sanders. It was 2013, and the
kids and I were about to experience the first really bad spring tornado since
we’d moved to Oklahoma. The word shelter had always been a comforting
word for me. Shelter meant safety. Shelter meant protection. Shelter meant
provision and care. It still means all that, but when you live on the western
side of tornado alley – or the eastern side of it as we are learning in our home
state – shelter takes on a more ominous tone when it’s part of the
phrase “sheltering from the storm.” In
that context shelter and sheltering feels more precarious than
anything else.
We ended up sheltering from the
storm more than a few times while we lived in the Sooner State. That first
time, when Alice asked me where we were sheltering we left the house and went
toward where Alice and her husband Glenn were at Oklahoma Baptist University.
But the storm was hitting hard, so we pulled over and took refuge in a fire
station. After that we sheltered in our bathroom. When the kids and I were
sheltering, I always managed to stay calm and relatively collected because I
wanted to keep them calm and relatively collected. But on the few occasions
when it was just me at home alone, I would curl up in our bathtub with a pillow
over my head, shaking and listening to the fierce wind blow and bluster and
rage around my house. Through my fear and sometimes my tears, I would pray that
the storm’s cacophony would soon be over and that our house would still be
standing once it was.
The seemingly never-ending roaring
sound that we hear when a storm is raging around us makes me wonder what the
disciples heard when this mighty wind from heaven began to blow. I haven’t
always given much thought about the sound that the coming of the Spirit made,
but the noise must have been deafening. I can imagine that it arrived as this
intense wall of sound, and that must have been absolutely terrifying to the
disciples. Maybe, like me, they were afraid that their shelter wouldn’t hold,
that the walls of their upper room would soon crumble around them. But that
wasn’t all they heard. Along with the sound of the wind, there was the sound of
the flames, the hissing and the crackling as the holy fire descended upon each
of them. And if that wasn’t loud enough, suddenly their own voices added to the
din as they began to speak in languages they’d never spoken before.
All of this, the noise, the chaos,
the sound, must have been terrifying – terrifying for those who witnessed it
and to those who were experiencing it. Scary isn’t usually a word we associate
with Pentecost is it? As I’ve told folks before, Pentecost is one of my
favorite feast days in the whole church year. It’s a celebration. It’s joyful.
We get to wear red. But I think I love Pentecost so much because I focus on the
end. I know the rest of the story. It’s different when you are in the midst of
the storm, when you’re sheltering in your bathtub or praying in an upper room.
When the storm and its cacophony has descended and you are sitting in the
middle of it, you aren’t thinking about the rest of the story. You are just
thinking about how to survive while its happening. A storm is scary for us.
This descent of the Spirit must have been terrifying for the disciples, and
they didn’t know the rest of the story, did they?
When
Jesus ascended, he told them that they would be baptized with the Spirit. But
what does that mean, Jesus? What will that look like? What will that feel like?
Even with all Jesus told them, they surely could not foresee what being
baptized by the Holy Spirit would actually be like. It would be loud, it would
be strange, it would involve the wind of heaven and holy fire, and it would
open their mouths to speak languages they had never spoken before. It would
change everything. It would change them.
As
we think about the scripture this morning, this familiar passage, let’s try to
imagine it from the disciples’ and the witnesses’ perspective – like those who
do not know the outcome, who do not understand what it means to be
Spirit-filled. Not yet anyway.
As
I said, it must have been terrifying. I don’t think of Pentecost as terrifying
because I love this day so much and I’m glad we celebrate it like we do. But I
also think that my love for this day comes from my domesticated and rather tame
understanding of Pentecost, at what happened that day, at what happens any day
that the Spirit shows up. When the Holy Spirit shows up, it shakes us up. When
the Holy Spirit shows up, things change, people change. When the Holy Spirit
shows up, we are reminded that our belief that we have control is often more of
an illusion than reality. If this story of Pentecost teaches us anything it’s
that when the Holy Spirit shows up, it’s not always a sweet, sweet spirit in
this place. It’s not always tame and gentle. It’s not always sweet.
I
realize that I pray for the power of the Holy Spirit to be with us and work
through us just about every Sunday. But I have also realized that often what
I’m really praying for is not that the Holy Spirit will work through me or
guide me, but that the Holy Spirit will just come along on the path I’ve
chosen. Instead of praying, “Come Holy Spirit, come.” I think what I’m really
praying, without speaking it,
“Follow,
Holy Spirit, follow.” “Do what I want you to do, Holy Spirit. Abide by my will,
Holy Spirit.” “Follow, Holy Spirit, follow.”
But
that’s not just how it works. The Holy Spirit blows where it will. The Holy
Spirit does not obey our command, our wishes, our plans. The Holy Spirit blows
where it will. And that is scary. And that is unnerving. And that does throw us
headlong into the depths of the unknown. And when we think about the Spirit in
this way, if we are open to the fullness of what the Spirit does and what it
brings, then maybe, just maybe, we can see that we are more like those
disciples and those first witnesses than we think. We go into this day knowing
the outcome of their story, but the reality is, we don’t know the outcome of
ours.
We’re
still smack dab in the middle of our story, aren’t we? The Spirit came to the
disciples on that Pentecost. But Pentecost, I mean the coming of the Holy
Spirit Pentecost, is not limited to one day or one season or one age or one
generation. Pentecost is any time the Spirit comes. Pentecost is any time the
Spirit moves and descends. Pentecost is any time that people become
Spirit-filled. And here’s something that a scholar pointed out in a commentary
that I studied this week that I have never really considered before. Pentecost
did not happen just to the disciples and only for the disciples. It didn’t.
That’s how I’ve looked at it in the past thought. That’s been lens through
which I’ve viewed this story. Pentecost happened to the disciples. Yes, when
the Spirit came on that fateful day, it did change the disciples. Their change
was amazing and visible to anyone who had eyes to see. They went from being
frightened and confused to being courageous and confident. They went from being
timid to bold. They preached and taught and led and challenged and the good
news of the gospel spread – like wildfire.
But
when those tongues of flames descended upon them, it wasn’t so that they could
understand but so that others could understand. Think about that
for a moment. When the Spirit descended on the disciples, it was not so they
could understand but so that others could understand.
When
the disciples became Spirit filled, others, outsiders, strangers, foreigners,
heard the Word of God in their own language, in their native tongue. It didn’t
matter that some folks sneered and mocked, others believed. Hundreds,
thousands, hundreds of thousands believed.
Becoming
Spirit filled was not just for the disciples’ sake, but for the sake of the
others as well. Becoming Spirit filled does not just change us, it changes the
world around us. When we are changed by the Spirit we are changed for the sake
of all God’s children.
And
what would the world look like if all God’s children were Spirit filled? Would
it be perfect? Probably not. But maybe more of us would show mercy when it was
needed and forgiveness when we were asked. Would there still be people who
sneer and turn away. Probably. But instead of judgment they would receive
compassion, and maybe if that compassion was strong enough, they might turn
back. Would the world that is inhabited by Spirit filled people be one where
war and disease and poverty reigned? I’m not sure, but I think hope would
outweigh despair, and love would be stronger than fear. And when we can love
more and fear less, we are able to give more and trust more and be more of the
people God created and called us to be.
When
the Spirit comes, when we are Spirit filled, change is inevitable. And change
is scary. And change is hard. But when we open ourselves to the Holy Spirit,
and trust that God is with us, and put our faith in the One who showed us what
it really means to be human, than we can face those scary changes and live into
faith and trust that the Spirit is calling us to the places and the people who
need us most.
May
we be Spirit filled, and may we trust that however our story might end, God will be there
just as God is here. Thanks be to God.
Let
all of God’s Spirit filled children say, “Alleluia!”
Amen.
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