Pentecost

Even for non-Christians, or people who are skittish about “overly religious” blog posts, the story of Pentecost has much to say to all of us who seek to live spiritual lives. I’ve always loved the story of what is considered the “birthday of the church,” not because I fully understand it but am enamored by its spiritual beckoning.

The followers of Jesus were together in a room, fearful of the state and worried about what might happen to them because of their faith.

Can you imagine having a faith that stood apart from the state, a faith that was costly?

In the solitude of their common faith, a mighty wind blew in and around them filling them with a spirit that comforted and emboldened them. The only way they could describe that mighty wind was as a “holy spirit.” It was like God had come and swirled around them.

Can you imagine God’s spirit coming and swirling around you today? In what way would that be comforting? In what way would you feel emboldened? How might it frighten or unsettle you?

We are told that there was also a fire that descended and that people spoke in ways they never had before. Those who looked on thought that these followers were drunk, which was all the more bewildering because it was 9 in the morning!

When was the last time you felt something within you rise up and you spoke in a way that made others tilt their heads, roll their eyes, or wonder if you were drunk (or crazy)?

Fear not. You are in good company, though I fear few of us have let ourselves have such an experience.

I grew up in a timid, polite church, one that took pride in everything being “decent and in order.” It was a church filled with people who looked like me and lived lives much like mine. Ours was a faith designed to comfort but not embolden. Ours was designed to inspire, but not too much. Ours was not a faith that encouraged anything too out of hand or controversial. An unspoken rule was to support the state, the status quo, because we were all people of privilege. Even from the pulpit, we were taught a diluted gospel so no one would be offended, even if it ignored what Jesus explicitly said. “Give me that old time religion,” the older members would sing even if it meant ignoring those who were less fortunate or lived lives that were not like June and Ward Cleaver.

The thing about wind and flames is they’re unpredictable, just like God. They’ll disrupt our lives if we let them. They’ll make us look and feel things that aren’t easy or comfortable. They’ll call into question ways of thinking, ways of speaking, and ways of voting that stand in direct contrast to the gospel. They’ll make people look askance and wonder if we’re drunk.

No wonder we avoid such things at all costs. We close the windows from the wind and extinguish every flame. We want a safe and comfortable church, or maybe no church at all. We want a gospel that affirms our way of life even if it comes at the expense of others.

No wonder the pews are increasingly empty, and the buildings are crumbling. Somehow, we need to feel the mighty wind again and dance with the flames . . . even if they make us feel uncomfortable and cause others to think we’re drunk. It wouldn’t be the first time!