A Dinghy Church
Acts 2:1-21
The congregation is invited to join in the refrain when indicated.
Refrain:
Holy Spirit come to us;
Kindle in us the fire of your love.
Holy Spirit come to us.
Holy Spirit come to us.
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 people 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.”
[Refrain]
But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Fellow Jews 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.’
[Refrain]
Sermon
Though all of us live in the midst of transition and transience, we have the habit of pretending it mostly happens in adolescence and young adulthood, and then pewters out sometime in our 20s or 30s. We often assume that once we have a stable job, and a stable living environment, and a stable bank account, our lives become stable, too.
Good news and bad news — that’s not the case. Our lives are always changing, always experiencing change, and always adapting to the undulating circumstances below our feet. The bad news is that change and transition is tough. Not just a little tough; really tough. When we feel like we’re always behind the curve, always adapting, and always hanging on by a thread, that can wear us down, bit by bit.
But the good news is that we’re in very good company. We all know what it’s like to move apartments or homes — lugging heavy boxes up and down stairs, figuring out how to transfer utilities, and the constant struggle to move a mattress. We know what it’s like to deal with changes in our workplace, including our employment, and we know what it’s like to experience changes in our mobility or cognition. Whether it’s welcome or unwelcome change, we are always in good company.
Youth and young adults navigate these huge set of transitions and anxieties on a daily basis. And they manage these transitions — one foot after the other. Coming of age is complicated, but they do their best, they muddle through, they unfurl their sails, and while navigating the seas of change, they realize that they are not only strong, but they are far more resilient than they ever imagined.
Today, there’s another piece of complicated news, that’s a mix of comfort and challenge: in the transience and uncertainty of life, the Spirit is at work. When we meet the complexity and challenge of change—and even though God may not have caused it—the Spirit still gets to work. The Spirit shows up in both the joy and the pain of living. And on Pentecost, we see the Spirit show up in the midst of profound change, even change that was painful.
“Coming of age is complicated, but [youth] do their best, they muddle through, they unfurl their sails, and while navigating the seas of change, they realize that they are not only strong, but they are far more resilient than they ever imagined.”
As we remember the value, insight, and gifts of youth and young adults, we find within this morning’s Scripture a bit of a coming-of-age story. Today is the start of a coming-of-age journey for the disciples and the Church. After Jesus ascends, the disciples are left to their own devices, trying to grapple with the seismic changes in how they live, how they relate to others, and how they will relate to God and the world. This was no ordinary change: this was change that had gutted the disciples’ expectations for the future. The Messiah wasn’t sticking around to establish a nation; rather, Jesus left his disciples without leaving an instruction card behind. This was a complicated, messy, unimaginable change.
Their spiritual father has left them, they are on their own, and now they must set sail on open waters without a hand to hold. There’s no going back. They must grow and mature and stretch in faith, and face a messy, technicolor world. They’re gathered in Jerusalem, about to depart unto the ends of the earth and their own ministries.
It is in this moment in Jerusalem, the Spirit descends. On this Day of Pentecost, as these tongues of fire descend upon the disciples, their coming-of-age journey is consummated; they are no longer sidekicks in God’s story of redemption, but suddenly direct agents of God’s love, grace, and unending salvation. They have entered into spiritual maturity…
The disciples’ broken expectations, their disappointment, and their uncertainty formed the womb from which their spiritual maturity was borne; it was the rich soil from which the Spirit raised this Pentecostal harvest.
That’s not to say that pain, tragedy, or grief is good, and it’s certainly not an implication that God somehow brings evil or crisis into our lives.
But this is to say that our hurt and pain is only a waystation. Broken expectations, unwelcome change, and overwhelming circumstances don’t get the final word. In the midst of our uncertainty and fear—not because of them—the Spirit is especially present in our lives. The Spirit is interceding for us especially fervently, and especially desperately.
The Day of Pentecost doesn’t happen on any ordinary day, or any easy day, or any joyful day. Tongues of fire descend on a community that is experiencing uncertainty, fear, and a lacking vision for the future; the Spirit descends to a people in their spiritual adolescence, in all its transition and change, and to disciples who are just starting to come of age and just starting to set out to sea.
“[The disciples’] coming-of-age journey is consummated on the Day of Pentecost. They are no longer sidekicks in God’s story of redemption, but suddenly direct agents of God’s love, grace, and unending salvation.”
Like that day two-thousand years ago, the Spirit often awakens humanity when we are yet spiritually immature and spiritually uncertain; and its Pentecostal power often emerges when backs are against the wall, and when we’re navigating treacherous, choppy waters.
We find examples of this in ministry today. Some of the most meaningful ministry—direct, hands-on, community-based, adaptive ministry—it takes root in churches like ours. And even weirder, the Spirit sometimes sets aflame in hope the congregations that are facing an uncertain future.
As churches grow larger and larger, they become less adaptive, and less flexible. Their ministries tend to become more institutional, program-centric, and focused on grantmaking and outsourcing ministry. That’s not a strike against larger churches; we need those check-writing congregations.
But those smaller churches—who often lack the privileges and comfortability of large congregations—those smaller churches have a particular relationship to the Spirit. I know of a congregation that had declined in membership, finances, energy, and enthusiasm to the point of almost no return. Their property was in poor condition, their services were dry and tired, and their pastor had long left, with no solution in sight. But through a denominational grant and the support of a larger church, it transformed into a neighborhood-based, intergenerational, vibrant community that was awash in hope and energy. They had a new pastor who was younger and full of pep. They put a new roof on their building, and recently installed a new HVAC system. Young adults started showing up. Their love of music deepened. And their values became visible. Pentecost. Pentecost. Pentecost.
But! It wasn’t until they were on death’s door that they found themselves open to the Spirit. And indeed, the Spirit surely awakened them.
Churches like ours—that don’t have deep pockets, that have some anxieties, that patch their own holes, and that don’t have massive church programming—churches like ours are where the Spirit can have a field day. The Spirit pours out flames upon each of us, not for the sake of growing our finances, or for the sake of larger membership, but for the sake of our neighbors. We’re not a cargo freighter at sea; we’re a dinghy on a lake, and when we open our sail, can easily catch the wind of the Spirit.
To unfurl our sails, we must commit to this coming-of-age journey of faith. A commitment to acknowledge that even when we think we’ve figured it all out, we still have a foot in adolescence, and we’re still growing and maturing.
We are the latest in a long succession of disciples and churches who embarked on this coming-of-age journey. On the Day of Pentecost, it was more than the disciples who found their coming-of-age journey consummated and propelled forward. The Spirit also propelled the church of Jesus Christ into its own coming-of-age journey, which has been unbroken and unceasing for two-thousand years.
“We’re not a cargo freighter at sea; we’re a dinghy on a lake, and when we open our sail, can easily catch the wind of the Spirit.”
As Presbyterians, we’re “reformed and always reforming.” Another way to say that, is that we’re never reaching the end of our coming-of-age journey, and the Spirit is never finished with us. The world is constantly changing; our lives are constantly changing; and our physical bodies and our cognition are constantly changing. All of us—whether we are children, youth, young adults, middle-aged adults, or elderly adults—are always submerged in this transition and transience.
When our bodies or minds start failing, unfurling our sails to the Spirit might mean asking for help. It might mean acknowledging the extent of our concerns. It might mean asking for meals, or asking others to pray, or having hard conversations with loved ones. It might mean moving into residential care. It might mean moving to be closer to loved ones.
As a congregation, it might mean letting go of our fear, in the name of love and hope. It might mean taking a leap of faith, or reexamining a ministry, or having transparent, open conversations about our finances.
The Spirit stirs in all those painful corners and transient places of our lives: broken expectations of a comfortable retirement; grief from the loss of family members; disappointment of parents or children; and even in budgets that aren’t balancing out, and historic church buildings that need another new roof.
Pentecost. Pentecost. Pentecost. Pentecost.
The Spirit descends. Again, again, and again, in our lives, determined to bring wholeness into all of creation. Meals show up. Friends show up, ready to cry with us. Boy Scouts show up, ready to fix our front sign. Our church shows up with prayer, concern, and openness to learn. That is how the Spirit propels us further along our coming-of-age journey, and unfurls our sails even more. Not to exhaust us, not to tire us, not to frustrate us. To help us set sail and catch the wind of the Spirit. To help us seek connections, and to help us discover purpose, all the while have some fun and peace with it.
The disappointments, frustrations, and fears of our lives are only waystations in our coming-of-age journey. Wherever we go, and wherever the Spirit accompanies, us, we can be certain of one thing which will never disappoint us: our journey surely ends in the everlasting peace of God, and in a Day of Pentecost where we will dwell for all of eternity.
