Pentecost 2022: Running Toward the Flames

I remember the first time I heard it: Our greatest fear is not the God does not exits; what scares us most, is that God does. At the time, I thought it was a clever twist, but now, particularly on the day of Pentecost, I can see that it is not only clever, but true.

As I sat in church this morning, listening to the story of the disciples huddled together, waiting, and suddenly experiencing God’s presence in a new way, like flames or a chorus of unrecognizable voices, I thought it must have been so strange, even frightening. Onlookers thought the early followers were drunk. So it is when God shows up. So it is when people choose to follow.

A man I know was walking through a door from one thing to another, a life transition like so many others he’d been through. To help him navigate the uncertainty, he bought a journal and a pen and began writing his way to the other side. Through his writing, he felt a voice was calling him to “walk beside others who were trying to live authentic lives.” Unsure what that meant or looked like, he carried on, open to whatever that voice continued to say. He attended his morning 12-step recovery group that was struggling for participation. COVID and Zoom meetings had done a number on his group. In a spontaneous moment, he offered to show up and lead the meeting every morning for the next three months to see if people would return to in-person meetings. Much to his amazement, the next morning every seat in the room was filled. It was exciting and scary at the same time. He wanted to lift his hands in celebration, but someone might think he was drunk.

Flames can be frightening in whatever form they come. God’s presence and actions can be so startling one wants to run in the opposite direction – back to the predictable world he or she has known. But today, of all days, we are told to run toward the flames, embrace the unpredictability, the strange voices, and the cup filled with new wine.

It will not be a world, or a life, like any we have known, but maybe that’s the point.

Spontaneous Applause

God loves spontaneous applause.

The rain held off as the string quartet began the processional. First came the grandmothers, then the father and mother of the groom. Yes, they looked wonderful in their wedding attire, but it was something else that caused the congregation to applaud. Last Fall, the father contracted a terrible neurological disease out of nowhere that almost took his life. Only months ago, he was being lifted from a hospital bed by a crane of sorts. It was doubtful he’d make it to the wedding. Then, it would only be in a wheelchair. No one imagined he’d be able to walk down the aisle, let alone dance. No wonder everyone clapped; no wonder the father smiled gratefully and subtly pointed toward the clouds above.

God loves spontaneous applause.

It was an extraordinary day made up of ordinary things. She fixed breakfast for her three children, the youngest having to eat his in the car as she drove them to school. At work, a co-worker broke down in the breakroom because of a terrible mistake she’d made. She shared a mistake she made not long ago, and it seemed to make her co-worker feel better. She met her husband for their weekly lunch, something they had started doing to stay connected, and when she went to pick the children up, she was told to pull off to the side because her eldest had forgotten something in her locker. From her car, she watched as her first-born skipped down the sidewalk waving her science notebook as if she hadn’t a care in the world. When the family held hands to say grace at dinner, she felt the remnants of her son’s peanut butter and jelly snack. Before she finished the dishes, she placed her hands on the counter’s edge, closed her eyes, and whispered, “thank you.”

God loves spontaneous applause.

He wasn’t even halfway. He had made it 700 miles, but Mount Katahdin, the finish line of the Appalachian Trail, seemed beyond reach. Still, when he saw a path leading off the trail, he decided to put his pack against a tree and see where it led. Soon, he was standing on a rock ledge overlooking miles of Virginia. The sun was beginning to set, and he knew he should find a place to camp, but the sight before him wouldn’t let him leave. In awe, he lifted his hands and let out a shout that echoed up and down the surrounding mountains. It was his way of saying “yes” to what he was seeing. It was his way of joining creation’s song.

God loves spontaneous applause.

A new song

I love many things about music, but there’s one thing I cannot stand: modulations! Modulations are when a composer lifts the key to a song in hopes of making the song feel new or invigorated. For me, modulations do neither; they make songs feel old and lifeless. The don’t tell me the composer is creative; they tell me he (or she) is bored. Driving in my car recently, I heard a song I love, but when it modulated, I cringed and switched stations.

I was reminded of this when I left church on Easter morning. As was the case in many churches, the music had been magnificent, readings and sermon inspirational, and full pews encouraging. I left with a renewed spirit. I vowed to go to church more often, read daily, and find some meaningful way to serve others. What I realized was, I was just changing the key to a song I was already singing. To make it seem new or exciting, I planned to change the key. It was a spiritual modulation, if you will, and, deep down, I longed for more.

We are told to “sing to the Lord a new song.” It doesn’t say, change the key, or sing it with renewed gusto. We are to sing a new song, and I know no better time that in this Easter season to do so. 

Instead of doing what we have always done, expecting a different result, what would it look like to sing a new song . . . in our homes? our jobs? our churches (synagogues, mosques)? How would it change the way we see . . . our friends? strangers? the struggling? the poor? the lonely? the lost? How would a new song transform our fear of . . . not having enough? not being enough? 

I have changed the key to my faith so often, I’m sure God is as bored as I am. With what time I have left, I’d like to find that new song and sing it as if I have never sung it before.