Come, Holy Spirit

The readings for the Feast of Pentecost can be found here. I've got the day off and will be in the pews. But here is what I'd say if I was preaching today. Come, Holy Spirit. 

Today is all about the Holy Spirit, the Giver of Life. 

Today's reading from Acts speaks of the Spirit as like the rush of a violent wind. We know how powerful the wind can be. And while the Spirit may sometimes feel like a cool summer breeze, that is not how it’s described in the second chapter of Acts. The Spirit stirs things up and pushes people out of their comfort zones and whirls about like a tornado. I know we like to think of the Holy Spirit as “Comforter” and that is one of Her Biblical names. But before Comfort there is often discomfort – at least in my life. We need to move if there is to be change; in our personal and corporate lives. And sometimes we don't want that kind of movement. And so the Holy Spirit comes, like the rush of a violent wind, bringing discomfort that leads to new possibilities.

Then there is a kind of United Nations’ experience to consider, of many different languages being spoken. We need the Holy Spirit to do this work in our nation and our world right now. Yesterday our Presiding Bishop reminded the Prince and Princess of Sussex and the world about the power of love. We need that power now. 

The Spirit brings understanding by breaking down walls that divide. This is a word of very good news in a world that seems bent on reinforcing walls rather than constructing bridges. It also points toward our mission, not just for Christians but for the work we share with people of good will and among whom the Spirit also blows. We need Holy Spirit power in Gaza and on the Korean peninsula and on the border with Mexico. Imagine what reconciliation might look like there. Imagine how love might take hold. Not sentimentality. Not cheap grace. But the kind of love that begins with listening hearts, a gift of the Holy Spirit that allows each to speak and be heard sharing his or her dreams and visions as the Spirit beckons to the dawn of a new day and new possibilities.Imagine the many different “tribes” where there is conflict in our time and you have a sense of what that first reading is about. 

The Psalmist speaks in a more existential way: our very breath is of God. In the midst of this great song of creation, the poet says that the difference between life and death is that breath: when it’s there we are alive and when it’s taken away, we die. The Hebrew word is ruah. It is the difference between life and death; our breathing. And so as Anna Nalick puts it, “cradle your head in your hands [and] breathe—just breathe.” If you want to find God then you don’t have to look far; look within. Learn from the Buddhists who also remind us to just breathe, in and out. That same Spirit of the living God, says the Psalmist, is at work in the creation as a whole, not just in each creature. The Spirit is unleashed and springtime comes and the face of the earth is renewed. The Spirit hovers over all things to make them new again. 

St. Paul reminds us in today’s epistle reading that it is the Spirit who is there to help us in our weakness. When we can’t pray (or feel we can’t pray) and are out of words and maybe even without hope, when our sighs are too deep for words: the Spirit is there. The Spirit is interceding for us, to use the big theological word. The Spirit intervenes to act on our behalf, calling us back to the God who has created us in love as Abba, and redeemed us in love through Jesus.

Finally, in John’s Gospel, the imagery used comes from the legal profession. The Spirit is our Advocate, Jesus says. The Advocate leads us into the truth. Notice that Jesus is clear: while he is the Way, the Truth, and the Life we always see the Truth through a glass darkly, and the journey is a kind of never-ending story. God is not finished yet: not with us, not with the Church, not with creation. Those who claim to possess the truth—the whole truth and nothing but the truth (and by implication suggest that those who disagree therefore have no truth) miss this point. We are not moral relativists. But we are humble about how much truth we humans can grasp or even see. We therefore admit that we need each other to see more clearly and follow more nearly and love more dearly. At best we keep moving in the right direction, guided by the Spirit, and we do that not in isolation but within the community where we are both loved and challenged.

What I notice here is that while there are no doubt connections between these four readings—these different ways of speaking of the Spirit—there are not all identical. One of the most important lessons we can learn in reading the Bible is to see and to celebrate that it represents a community of voices—that the “word of the Lord” is not one-dimensional but pluralistic and multicultural. It’s like a chorus singing four-part harmony: they are all singing about the Spirit but they aren’t all singing the same notes. They aren't singing in unison. 

That reality is liberating and beautiful to many and definitely to me. It’s why I believe in congregations. I don't know what "organized religion" even means!. But I know I can't go it alone. I know the Holy Spirit's best work isn't limited to quiet walks in the woods or on the beach. Nor do I wish to be surrounded by like-minded people who all think like I do! Lord, have mercy! 

The Holy Spirit guides us toward the hard work of building community. At some level, this is very scary. There is a part of most of us, I suspect, that wants to know the “right answer.” Or to trust our own truths over those of others. If it is the truth we seek, the truth that sets us free – the truth that is Jesus – then we absolutely need each other. While some days that may feel a little bit (or a lot) disconcerting, it is the way of the Spirit.

Community is messy. As I said, the faith communities I’ve been a part of really haven’t been all that organized and sometimes they've been a bit more chaotic than I like. But I've learned that the only way any of it makes any sense to me whatsoever is to say that somehow the Spirit is at work in the midst of all that mess and still ordering and creating from all of the chaos, just as God did in the beginning. And also (and maybe just as often) stirring the pot when things get too settled and comfortable. That's the part I sometimes resist. But my experience of the Spirit is that She never rests and as soon as I think I've got it figured out She goes to work again, keeping life interesting, keeping us and the Church and the world ever new. Keeping us alive, and giving us breath, and moving us toward a new creation. 

I have a little framed card in my office which was given to me by the head of the preschool that my oldest son, Graham attended when I was the Associate Rector of Christ and Holy Trinity Church in Westport, CT. It pretty much sums up my philosophy of parenting. Graham will turn 28 years old this fall and his younger brother, James, will be 24 next month. So I've had this little print for more than 24 years now, and tried (with God's help) to live it. It still holds true, and I reflected on it this past week at James’ graduation from a Masters Program at Cal-Berkeley. It goes like this:

There are two things parents can give their children—roots and wings.

I wonder if this isn’t true about the Church’s calling as well. It could be almost a kind of mission statement for congregations, where we teach our children the stories of the faith and ground them in a tradition that goes back not only to the communities we heard about today in Jerusalem and in Rome, but further back to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; back to the very beginnings of God calling a pilgrim people. The Church is a place with very deep roots. I like thinking of roots more than stones. Temples are sometimes destroyed in the Bible. Stones are sometimes rolled away. We want a solid foundation,but that’s not at the heart of Biblical faith, as I understand it. What we do get are roots, however, roots that go deep and sustain us with living water even in times of drought.

But the Holy Spirit—sometimes imagined as a dove—reminds us that discipleship is also about learning to fly. Following Jesus is about learning to trust God enough to let us soar like eagles, knowing and trusting the wind to blow us where it will. To blow us where we need to go.