When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together
in one place. 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 there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven
living in Jerusalem.
And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard
them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they
asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we
hear, each of us, in our own native language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and
residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and
Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from
Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear
them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” All were amazed and perplexed,
saying to one another, “What does this mean?” But others sneered and said,
“They are filled with new wine.”
But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and
addressed them, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and
listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is
only nine o’clock in the morning. No, this is what was
spoken through the prophet Joel: ‘In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters
shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall
dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will
pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy. And I will show portents in the
heaven above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and smoky mist. The
sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of the
Lord’s great and glorious day. Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord
shall be saved.’
SERMON (PASTOR)
***
It’s not the the worst thing to have time to kill in
International Airports. To walk from the domestic end to the other side, is not
only exercise, but also an exercise in patience, and with patience - openness,
and with openness - wonder, and with wonder, of course, excitement. I found the
international section initially because it has better food, but now I go to see
the English with their Teva’s and woodland colored striped socks, the blunt
urban haircuts of young German women casually dressed in blacks and grays, and
to wonder, ashamedly, if I will ever be able to tell people from different
Asian heritages apart. I sit eating Sushi trying to decipher languages - the
flourish of French, the guttural of German, the trick of Portuguese to my high
school Spanish ear, and then there are the tantalizing ones, the languages
where I am lost without a clue, where, as if seated by fame, I want to ask, but
instead I hesitate toward privacy and my unsuredness of diversity. My eyes
spark at the range of skin colors, or textures of hair, and heights, the woman
who looks Eritrian, and then turns out to be Ethiopian, but gracious to my
political mistake, says, “We were once all together,” as I tell her of my
friend Tigist, one of the best cooks I know, and we talk of the ungeri and
lamb, and goat, and rose water, and we connect for a moment, over a shared meal
not eaten together, but one we both know. In some ways the connections seem
contrived and the fascinations false, there in the recycled air and the bubble
of perceived safety - all having been checked through security somewhere and
headed to customs another, but I wonder, if still we can see the freedom of
Pentecost while waiting for our flights.
I imagine the disciples likewise, tongues of the Spirit
resting on them and from their lips what was once a cacoughany of flourish and
guttural, became a harmony for the Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of
Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia,
Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both
Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs. Each one hearing in their own language
but understanding all others. This Pentecost was the Tower of Babel
but instead of the uniformity of finding one common language to glorify
humanity, the Spirit embraced diversity. Likewise, in times of old, the prophet
Isaiah spoke, or the Prophet Jeremiah spoke, but in the time of Pentecost and
the Pentecost that is now, all were prophets and their words glorified God. The
Spirit poured out on sons and daughters, like Youth Sunday two weeks ago, the
wonder of which is still a flame in this place, and is begging to reach the
community, the tantalizing excitement of hearing the power of God from the
unexpected language of youth, and understanding, a community reborn. In the
time of Pentecost, and the Pentecost that is now the Spirit spoke through the
dreams of old men, like Dale Dodson and the fellowship hall filled with
laughter days before Shirley had surgery, or John Burgess being remembered in
the gift of fireplace inserts and the need for Spring Sprinklers. Even upon
slaves both men and women the Spirit was poured out, and multiple times year,
when we have forgotten, the Women’s Support Group, has reminded us to pray for
the those affected by human trafficking, so common on 84. Today, new members
will be received and youth will be ordained, and our leadership will span seven
decades. You congregation of apostles, you who prophesy and trust in the power
of God, from you, we, like the disciples, can see the portents of heaven above
and the signs on the earth below. Just as it was then, today too is the Lord’s
great and glorious day. Tongues of fire have landed in this place, in our
sanctuary, but here we can not stay, like outside the disciples home there are
still those outside from every nation asking, “What does this mean?” There are
still those who have not seen the courage of our youth, the humor of Dale
Dodson, the regulated planning of John Burgess, or the compassion of Women’s
Support Group, or the leadership that comes from the span of seven decades.
This house is too small to hold the portents of heaven on the earth below, we
must go out, There are still international airports, where we wonder what
language is spoken, and we do not understand. There are still political gaffs
to be made in conversation because of the wars between countries, and still
humans trafficked on 84. I still cannot tell those from many Asian countries
apart, and am tricked by Portuguese to this high-school Spanish ear. There is a
world out there, who is asking, “What does this mean?” You know. Tell them.
Tell them in their own language.
