The Grammar of the Spirit
John Wilkinson Third
Presbyterian Church
May 27, 2007
Acts 2:1-21
There are times in our nation’s history when a weekend
like this functions as simply another holiday weekend, marked
by picnics and department store sales. And there are others
times, like this one, when Memorial Day takes on a certain poignancy
and urgency. The recent death of Staff Sgt. Steve Butcher, Jr.,
of Penfield, who leaves behind a young daughter, is an up-close
reminder of the horrors of war, the inability of nations to
solve conflicts, the height of human fallenness. Some wars may
be necessary; some may even be just, as our tradition teaches
us. But none are good.
Both of my grandfathers served in world wars. One served in
Europe during World War I. He referred to it as his “walking
tour” of France. One served in the Pacific theater in
World War II. Each brought back a handful of souvenirs. Neither
spoke happily of their experience. There are many in this room
this morning who experienced military service: no World War
I vets that I know of, but in World War II, Korea, Vietnam,
more recent forms of service. When I’ve discussed it with
you, you share similar reflections.
So on this Memorial Day, we shall pray for several things –
we shall pray for elected leaders now, of every stripe, as they
make important decisions, life-and-death decisions; for those
serving in Afghanistan and Iraq and other places and for their
families. We shall remember those who served, those who fought,
those who gave the last and full measure of sacrifice. And we
shall pray for the day when we shall study war no more, and
very soon, when swords shall be turned into plowshares, and
your children, and mine, will know peace. This prayer is adapted
from the Presbyterian Book of Common Worship, written, in fact,
at the height of World War II. Let us pray.
Lord God of hosts, in whom our forbears trusted: we give
thee thanks for all thy servants who have laid down their lives
in the service of our country. Unite all the people of this
nation in a holy purpose to defend the vision for which they
lived and died. Grant, we beseech thee, that the liberty they
bequeathed unto us may be continued to our children and our
children’s children, to the blessing of all the nations
of the earth.
Almighty God, from whom all thoughts of truth and peace
proceed: kindle, we pray thee, in the hearts of all, the true
love of peace, and guide with thy pure and peaceable wisdom
those that take counsel for the nations of the earth, that in
tranquility thy vision may go forward, till the earth be filled
with the knowledge of thy love. And we ask now that thy silence
in us any voice but thine own, and speak thy word of power and
truth. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
***
I was recently teaching a Reformed theology class within our
presbytery. The subject at the moment was the Brief Statement
of Faith, the most recent creed of our Presbyterian family.
The words of the Brief Statement are used regularly here, and
are somewhat familiar to us. In other congregations in our presbytery,
whose pastoral leadership is a bit less obsessive, the words
may be less familiar.
We were at a point in the class where we were encountering
the words that we have printed on the bulletin cover this morning.
After reading the words and considering them for a moment, a
woman in the class, an elder at a neighboring congregation,
remarked; “Wow, there sure are a lot of active verbs in
this section on the Holy Spirit.” Had not classroom decorum
prevented it, I would have leapt over to her table and high-fived
her right then and there.
Yes, any conversation about the Holy Spirit – and we
Presbyterians don’t necessarily have those very well –
must include a conversation about active verbs. The grammar
of Pentecost – this day, 50 days after Easter, when the
Spirit came to the earliest church – is absolutely about
action, about what God does in the world, to us, with us, through
us, and about how we respond as the Spirit calls us to faith
in action.
You may remember a brief Easter morning mention of the popular
book Eats, Shoots, and Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach
to Punctuation, written by self-described “punctuation
vigilante” Lynne Truss. My current favorite Eats,
Shoots, and Leaves reference is the old quiz given to English
school-children. They are shown the phrase “Charles the
First walked and talked half an hour after his head was cut
off.” The correct response: “Charles the First walked
and talked. Half an hour after, his head was cut off.”
(It clearly takes a certain weirdness to appreciate all of this,
to which I am fully confessing!)
You will remember the story, even as you are challenged by
it. Gathered in Jerusalem, a sound, a violent wind came over
the crowd. All sorts of chaos followed, culminated by the ability
to speak and understand foreign languages. (I can only think,
parenthetically, what a gift that would be right now, as we
are so unable to understand much of anything different than
we are – languages, cultures, religions.)
The people watching all this have a range of responses. Some
are amazed. Some think they are simply drunk. Peter, with Jesus
from the beginning and the leader now, makes a big speech explaining
and interpreting to all. No drunkenness, he insists, but rather
the playing out of the prophet Joel’s prophecy. God is
pouring out God’s spirit. Old and young alike shall dream
dreams and see visions.
It is an action-packed episode, and not by mistake, I would
say. Remember that active verbs are what the Spirit does. Our
Brief Statement insists that the Spirit inspires,
rules, engages, claims, feeds, calls and gives.
That’s not bad.
This is a noun and verb faith to which God has called us –
an elementary faith, a basic faith. I learned long ago, and
pay attention to the lesson from time to time, that good communication
is built on nouns and verbs, that adverbs and adjectives get
in the way of making a point or telling a good story. It seems
to me that our culture, and perhaps our church, could use more
nouns and verbs these days, focusing a little less on describing
each other, mostly negatively, on our beliefs, on our shortcomings,
and rather paying attention to what God is doing and how we
respond.
Not to be too simplistic about it, but it seems to me that
working on a project in the lower ninth ward of New Orleans,
or the Crescent area of our own city, or building a partnership
with Kenyan Presbyterians, or working with our children, cuts
through all the adverbs and adjectives and does exactly what
the Spirit does, enable us to understand each other and work
together in spite of our differences in language or style or
persuasion.
One of the arguments I make when I am discussing Presbyterian
ordination policy is just that; the church needs all the people
that God is calling, and we can’t afford to say no to
anyone. It is not usually convincing, but it seems to me to
represent a Pentecostal truth.
James Van Tholen wrote this about Pentecost: “…we’re
a little uncomfortable when it comes to celebrating the gifts
of the Holy Spirit…we do fine with events like Lent and
Easter and Labor Day, but we get a little queasy on Pentecost...At
least that’s the way it can feel today,” he says,
“when possessing the Holy Spirit is so often identified
with possessing special powers or insight or losing control
of our actions or speech. Most of us don’t know the Spirit
that way; most of us are embarrassingly calm. So we celebrate
Pentecost, but it doesn’t always seem like a good fit
for us.” (“Home Is Where the Spirit Is,” in
Where All Hope Lies, page 135)
We are not sure what to do with the Spirit. It does not appeal
to our reasoned, rational, logical selves. But we know better
than that, do we not? We do not trust emotional, or even spiritual,
experiences, but we’ve all had them, some dramatic, some
subtle. Looking at a Georgia O’Keeffe painting. Hearing
a Bach cantata. A sunset over Lake Ontario. The touch of a beloved’s
hand on yours. The gentle fragrance of a lilac. A totally unanticipated,
unexpected, un-orchestrated moment that can only be explained
by something beyond human understanding.
But it is so much more than sentiment and emotion. James Van
Tholen writes that “even if (the Holy Spirit’s)
presence for us doesn’t usually have to do with something
sensational, there’s still plenty to say, there’s
still plenty to celebrate…the Spirit gives you a home…makes
you a child of God…sets you free.” (Page 139)
And if there is no other good news than that – to be
given a home and set free – that is good enough. But even
more so…The grammar of the Spirit includes a Pentecost
ethic. It must, because our faith has a radical and compelling
ethic, of generosity and hospitality and reconciliation, so
why would Pentecost be any different.
This day is not only about what the Spirit does to us and for
us – though we can make the mistake of stopping right
there, turning this into a private and personal religious experience.
Rather, Pentecost is also about what it empowers us to do. That
very same Brief Statement declares that “the Spirit gives
us courage to pray without ceasing," perhaps my favorite
line, and then further declares that such courage enables us
to witness and unmask and hear and work, to do the hard work
of faith, never on our own, but with each other and with the
Spirit’s guidance and inspiration.
Writing in a difficult and dangerous political climate in the
1970’s, members of the Presbyterian Church of Korea used
traditional language about the Spirit in writing a new statement
of faith. But they took it further, and by taking it further,
brought it back to its home. The new person in the Spirit, they
wrote, “follows the example of Christ in becoming the
friend of the weak and the fighter against the oppressors and
their oppressive evil structures…life in the Spirit means
a life dedicated to sharing in the suffering and resurrection
of Christ.”
Theologian Jurgen Moltmann writes that life in the Spirit means
that we are “born again to a living hope,” and that
new hope makes us a citizen of the kingdom, setting us in the
common movement of the Spirit which is poured out on all people.
(The Church in the Power of the Spirit, page 278-279)
That is to say: the Spirit gives life, and does not take it
away. The Spirit calls us into the world, and not out of it.
The Spirit gives us gifts and abilities to use for the common
good, and not to hoard for ourselves. And while providing comfort,
the Spirit does not seek to make us comfortable, but rather
discomforts us enough to use all those gifts that we have been
given.
We may feel a bit awkward in discussing these things –
that’s just the way we are, it seems. But we should never
hesitate claiming them. If the Spirit is “everywhere the
giver and renew of life,” then that same Spirit calls
us to be open to the promise of renewal, renewal in a broken
and fearful world needing faith in action as much, perhaps,
as it ever has.
Bill Wylie Kellerman writes that “The question to which
Pentecost comes as bold answer is this: Will (we) be ruled by
fear? Will (we) be contained and confined? Rendered timid and
silent? Pentecost says no.” (Seasons of Faith and
Conscience, pages 200-201)
Pentecost says no. And we are inspired to say no as
well, and to say “yes” to this unlikely possibility
that has said “yes” to us. Different as we are,
to understand one another. And as un-inspired as we may feel,
to claim the gifts that we so surely have been given. The Spirit
wouldn’t have it any other way. Amen.
