Pentecost Sunday, May 23, 2021
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois
Acts 2:1-21[1]
They were gathered in one place. They were probably
celebrating a Jewish festival celebrated on the fiftieth day after First
Fruits, also known as Shavuot, the “Feast of Weeks.” Shavuot commemorates
the anniversary of the giving of the Torah by God to the Moses at Mount Sinai. It
had been fifty days since the resurrection, and on that day, as they gathered,
God gave the Holy Spirit. “Suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the
rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting”
(v. 2).
God’s presence came like the wind. Listen; can you hear it?
In the rustling of leaves, in the flap of a sparrow’s wing. In the creak of
wood as the trees bend and buildings stretch. In the bending grass, the flowing
fabric of a flag, in the rattle of a can as it bounces down the street. If you
listen, the wind is speaking.
Do you understand the wind? It can be difficult to know what
it is saying. Learning a language, learning to communicate, is hard. Learning
to communicate in another language, or another culture, is even harder. Learning
to hear the voice of God in the wind, well, it doesn’t come easy. Listening,
really listening, takes work. The thing is, God’s voice transcends human language.
The voice of God may blow in the wind, or roar in the fire, or speak in the
sound of sheer silence. And we may not catch it at first. But it is there.
I came across something in a book I read a long time ago. Richard
Bach published a book in 1977 called Illusions:
The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah. The main character has a lot to
learn, and is given a book filled with many good tips on living. This passage is
what blew by the other day: “A cloud does not know why it moves in just such a
direction and at such a speed, it feels an impulsion… this is the place to go
now. But the sky knows the reasons and the patterns behind all clouds, and you
will know, too, when you lift yourself high enough to see beyond horizons.”[2]
I often feel like I’m getting blown around through life, and
I’m not always sure where I’m going. You may feel that way too. Sometimes I get
an impulse, I hear a voice calling me somewhere, but I don’t always know the
reasons. Fortunately, there are times when I am in tune with the wind, more able
to trust that the sky knows the reasons, and I find myself going somewhere that
feels right. Sometimes, the wind carries to words to me, and I can sing along
with the great song.
Like the apostles, gathered that Pentecost day, there are
times when we feel like we are not tossed around in the wind but flowing with
it. There are days when we gather as a church and the flames of the holy fire
appear among us. When we come together, our spirits are lifted. Our heads are
lifted up, and we stand taller. Smiles appear on our faces, even if we didn’t
feel like smiling before. We open our mouths and speak as one, we sing in
harmony, and the presence of the Spirit is undeniable.
One of the things that the wind does is create pressure. We
often think of pressure as something which weighs us down. There is pressure to
perform, to be successful, to get it all done, or to buy the next best thing;
and there is pressure from our peers to do things that are not always good for
us. We exhaust ourselves by constantly pushing against all of the pressure. But
pressure can also lift us up.
When the pressure above a wing is lower than that below it,
the wing is lifted. There is tremendous pressure “here below,” but the pressure
“from above” can lift our spirits. That is the pressure that whispers “Be still
and know that I am God.”[3]
We feel that pressure, the pressure that lifts, when we seek
to lift others. A good conversation, time spent working together, or even a
moment being playful like children can be enough to create some lift. And when
we lift others, we rise with them. When I encourage a friend, I feel my spirits
being lifted, my priorities reorganizing, and I finish the day on a higher
plane. And that is something that I think we can all do for one another.
Stop for a moment, talk with someone, listen to someone, pray
with someone, reach out a hand, or take the hand extended to you. You may find yourself
lifted to where spirits can fly.
It feels good to fly free, but there is always the danger of
crashing, or getting lost in the wind. Human beings are, I think, heavier than
angels, and we have a hard time staying aloft. And we often find ourselves blown
off course. On every journey we run the risk of getting lost. A kite is not a
helium balloon, which can rise of its own accord. What keeps a kite from
getting lost is the line that links it to an anchor. For me, the anchor is Jesus.
Jesus offers me a rock on which to stand, an identity that shapes and molds me,
a flame that burns in the darkness and is not overcome. When I follow in the way
of Christ, I know that my course is true.
But I wouldn’t know Jesus without the people in my life who
have helped me understand the wind, who created pressure that lifted me up. Like
the wind is made up of small molecules, the wind that lifts my spirit is made
up of all the people who keep me connected to the anchor. There are my parents,
of course. Teachers, friends, camp counselors, ministers, poets, musicians,
artists, actors, authors, children. There are the members of the church I grew
up in, and the members of this church. My line has grown long, and I can almost
see beyond horizons. Let us help one another to stay connected as we take
flight. Amen.
[1] The
scripture quotations contained herein are from the New Revised Standard
Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of
the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
[2]
Richard Bach, Illusions: The Adventures
of a Reluctant Messiah (New York: Dell Publishing, 1977), p. 119.
[3] Psalm
46:10.
