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*** Several weeks ago I was privileged to participate in an installation service for Ricky Harvey, the newly called pastor of Mt. Olivet Baptist Church. I was, I believe, the lone Presbyterian in the room of 500-600 people, and one of the few white faces there. Around here, we get excited if we go a few minutes past 12:00 noon, but I must tell you that this installation service exceeded four hours. I enjoyed every minute of is, and I was grateful for the invitation. I read a brief charge to the congregation and was applauded when I finished. “I could get used to this,” I thought to myself, until I noted that even the person introducing the offering received an ovation. Much has been written that 11:00 on a Sunday morning is the most segregated hour in America, and that may be true. And much has been written about the differences in African-American worship style and the predominantly Anglo style with which we worship, and that may be true as well. We need to think more about that, about disentangling the cultural and racial and theological entanglements that prohibit us from a more unified and faithful witness through our diversity. Facing the risk of repetition, here is a story that came back to me in light of my Mt. Olivet experience. A woman walked into a church on a Sunday morning, a first-time visitor. She was welcomed and given a bulletin and seated. Things were proceeding well enough. The time for the sermon arrived, and the preacher started preaching. At a particularly good point in the sermon, the woman let out an “Amen," audible to those worshiping near her. It happened again, this time a little louder. “That’s right,” she would say aloud, or “preach it.” The people around her, not used to such a thing, squirmed a bit in their pews. All of this continued, until finally, with a concerned look, an usher came to her, politely, and inquired if she was all right. Assured that she was fine, the usher returned to his post. It continued, and finally, the usher returned. “Ma’am, are you sure you’re all right,” he asked. She paused. “Oh yes, I’m fine, I’m fine,” she replied. “I’ve got the Spirit.” “Well, ma’am, that may be,” the usher said, “but you didn’t get it here.” It is Pentecost today – the word itself indicating “fiftieth,” first, of course, a Jewish holiday, the fiftieth day following Passover, and now the fiftieth day following Easter, which is where we find ourselves in the book of Acts. People had gathered in Jerusalem, people – as you have discovered – from many geographic regions. We will remember that Jesus had promised the Spirit after his departure, but who knew among that fledgling, frightened group what that really meant. Here is what it meant: it meant a sound coming from heaven, like a violent wind. It meant something appearing like fire descending upon them. It also meant a fully inexplicable, indescribable, incomprehensible reaction from the gathered community. And it meant the ability to understand what each was saying, speaking in their native languages, even if there was no prior knowledge of that language – a kind of United Nations experience minus the interpreters. People were experiencing all of this. And others were watching all of this. How they reacted was perhaps how we are reacting now to this whole episode. Incredulous. Inspired. Some heard and were amazed and perplexed. Others heard and insisted that the whole lot of them were drunk – even though it was morning time, as if they had begun tailgating a little bit early. What does this mean? What does this mean, they asked, those who were curious, those who were skeptical, those who were compelled in some way. What does this mean? We ask the same thing. What it means is a central aspect of our faith. The theologians call it “pneumatology” – a doctrine of the Spirit, and whether we Presbyterians have believed it or not, or known what to do with it, it remains a central tenet of Christian theology and our own heritage as well. Some would say that this day is the most significant day in the church’s year – that in fact the story of Jesus would have remained what it was, but that without the descending of the Holy Spirit on this initial gathering, there would have been no empowered group – the church – to tell the story across the generations. David Cunningham writes that the “Spirit of God…comes into the minds and hearts of the followers of Jesus, inspiring them to proclaim the good news of God’s great work to a much wider range of people than had encountered Jesus in the flesh. The inspiring work of the Holy Spirit brought people together in assemblies, living a common life and sharing their resources, and thereby providing an avenue for more people to enter into a closer relationship with God.” (In Essentials of Christian Theology, edited by William Placher, p. 78) So we grant that this is an important day, even if we do not fully understand. We grant that it was a pivotal day in the New Testament’s unfolding story of the church. We grant its central role in our story. Still…what does it mean? What does it mean? Clues emerge as we keep reading. Peter, the one upon whom Jesus had placed the mantle of leadership after his departure, was inspired to preach a sermon, the first sermon, it seems, within this newborn church. He first dispelled the notion of early morning drunkenness, which has always amused me. Then he gets down to business. He recalls the tradition, the history, some 300-400 years earlier. Remember, he tells the gathered group. Remember what the prophet Joel said. Remember what we have been reading in our worship. Remember what we have sought to embody in our life. What this means, Peter says, is that those words from Joel are unfolding in real-time, right here, right now – God’s Spirit is being poured out upon us. And two things are happening, two distinct, interrelated things that involve our very young and our very old and the rest of us in-between. Prophesying and dreaming. Dreaming and prophesying. Seeing how things are and saying how things may be. Truth-telling and future-foretelling. Continuing the work of Jesus, who would look into people’s eyes and into their souls and discern the truth about them, who would cut through the stale and stagnant practices of religion and politics. But he wouldn’t leave things there. Any critic can do that. Jesus would tell us the truth about ourselves and the world around us, but he would tell us a deeper truth, a more hopeful truth, that would move us from the status quo into a new reality, a new vision, a new thing. What this means, Peter reminds us, is that the Spirit is giving us that power as well, to continue Jesus’ work of transformation. We are to prophesy. And we are to dream. We are to know the truth, and tell it, about ourselves, our church, our community, our world. We are not to be simply critics, but prophets, measuring all that is by the yardstick of God’s vision. And then we are to dream. How does God intend things to be? What is God’s vision? And how do we get there, by the Spirit and power of God? Because the Spirit has been given to us, we may speak the Spirit-filled truth as to how things are. And because the Spirit has been given to us, we may imagine with the Spirit how things may be. We Presbyterians are wary of that word, Pentecost, because of the cultural and religious conditioning we have received. We stay away from that word – Pentecostal – like a telemarketer calling at dinner time. Pentecost is all about emotion. We value control and rationality, and Pentecost guarantees neither. That’s not what this is – though a little irrationality and emotion won’t kill us. Our Presbyterian tradition, starting with John Calvin and moving through the centuries, has emphasized the working of the Holy Spirit in the life of the world and the life of the church. The emphasis has come for us in many ways. One is around scripture. Calvin himself postulated that as much as we emphasize the authority of scripture, that the Bible would be to us as an unsolved mystery without the interpretive power of the Holy Spirit. That’s why we pray before every sermon (though you may pray for other reasons), for the Spirit’s illumination as we open and encounter the word. Without it, nothing. With it, everything. And we have believed the same about our assemblies. We pray before every committee meeting, Deacon and Trustee and Session meeting. We pray aloud that God’s presence would be with the gathered, that as gifted as we are, as insightful, as wise and discerning, faithfulness only happens because the Spirit makes it so. That is why we send commissioners to meetings, and not delegates with pre-determined votes. What does this mean? Beverly Gaventa writes of the Acts account that “Pentecost is the moment when gestation ceases and birthing occurs. Thus, it is both an end and a beginning, the leaving behind of that which is past, the launching forth into that which is only now beginning to be. Pentecost therefore is not a time of completion. It is moving forward into new dimensions of being, whose basic forms are clear, but whose fulfillment has yet to be realized.” (Texts for Preaching, Year B, page 347) I believe that to be true. I believe that the Pentecost rhythm of prophesying and dreaming into which we are all empowered is leading us into something new. That is true for each one of us, as we prophesy and dream about our own lives. This is a day when we can discern the truth about ourselves and dream of the new life God is imagining for each of us. And it is true for all of us together – culturally, politically, and certainly religiously. Every religious institution of which I am a part – presbytery, denomination, ecumenical gathering, seminary…and most certainly this congregation – is in the process of remaking itself – or more rightly, of being remade – and if we pay attention to the Spirit’s presence among us, we will be empowered both to prophesy about what is and dream about what may be, so that we may experience the kind of re-birth that the Spirit intends for us. What does this mean? Our Presbyterian Church’s most recent creedal statement heaps a lot of expectation on the work of the Spirit. We use these words in worship from time to time: “We trust in God the Holy Spirit, everywhere the giver and renewer of life. The Spirit justifies us by grace through faith, sets us free to accept ourselves and to love God and neighbor, and binds us together with all believers in the one body of Christ, the church. It builds…The same Spirit who inspired the prophets and apostles rules our faith and life in Christ through Scripture, engages us through the Word proclaimed, claims us in the waters of baptism, feeds us with the bread of life and the cup of salvation, and calls women and men to all ministries of the church. Then the crescendo…In a broken and fearful world the Spirit gives us courage to pray without ceasing, to witness among all peoples to Christ as Lord and Savior, to unmask idolatries in church and culture, to hear the voices of peoples long silenced, and to work with others for justice, freedom, and peace.” That’s not all that the Spirit does in us and through us. But it’s not a bad starting place. What does this mean? It means that as we think about all of this, the words “Presbyterian” and “Pentecostal” go together as naturally as “Presbyterian” and “decently and in order.” And it means that we have the Spirit. And it means that we got it here. Let us pray. “O Holy Spirit, whose presence is liberty, grant us that freedom of the Spirit which will not fear to tread in unknown ways, nor be held back by misgivings of ourselves and fear of others. Ever beckon us forward to the place of thy will which is also the place of thy power. Amen” (Prayer attributed to George Appleton)
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