Pentecost Sermon

Fifty days ago we stood in this place with cheerful smiles and said the first Alleluias of Easter morning.

Fifty days ago we had our first glimpse of white and gold, our first Gloria, and perhaps our first bite of chocolate or other Lenten contraband without pangs of guilt.

In the last fifty days we have seen flowers and trees begin to bloom, raising their branches up in praise, only to be blanketed by 10 inches of snow, which if you take a look outside did not seem to hinder them very much. They are still here, reaching skyward toward the hope of sunshine.

In the last fifty days we have celebrated and experienced Easter longer than Noah was in the ark. Longer than Moses was in the cloud with God on Mt. Sinai. And even longer than Jesus fasted and prayed in the desert before going out to do his work.

Fifty days seems like plenty of time to hold all the miraculous wonders of a life and death and life again story.

If you were to look take a look at a church calendar, this is the Sunday that Easter ends.

The white linens are gone and many Episcopalians across the country will soon take their traditional Summer hiatus. Many churches will reduce the number of services on Sunday mornings and attendance usually declines.

Some say this is because we are the only church God trusts enough to take a vacation.

However, I am here to tell you that Easter is not over, and the work is just beginning.

Today is Pentecost and it is the day when we are asked to be a part of the story.

As we hear in the reading from Acts the disciples had gathered together on the day of Pentecost, which in those days would have simply been called Shavuot. The jewish festival which is celebrated seven weeks after Passover. Originally a holiday which focused on the harvest, it is now primarily celebrated to mark the anniversary of the day that God gave the Torah to the nation of Israel.

The whole seven weeks, from Passover to Shavuot tells the story of the people of God from the time of the Exodus from Egypt to that Holy day when Moses came down the mountain with stone tablets.

On top of this holiday, as the disciples gathered together their minds were probably also heavy with thoughts about the mysterious interactions they had recently had with the risen Christ.

Jesus said he would be leaving to go to the Father, but that the spirit of truth would be with them soon.

God’s favorite mode of transportation being surprise, I imagine that our Lord was quite successful in astonishing the disciples as a violent wind filled the house they were meeting in.

There may have been another bout of shock as tongues of fire rested on each of them, filling them with the spirit.

They may have been as equally confused and alarmed as the crowd that awaited them outside, as they began to speak to every person on the street in his or her own native language. An ability gained in what we can assume is only a matter of minutes.

The crowded streets are filled with people who are not about to be anyone’s fools, and they blame this divine correspondence on too much wine.

Peter then steps up and assures the crowd that no alcohol has been involved, and in fact that the world has been changed.

The spirit of God has been poured out for all people.

Thousands of years passed, and now here you sit, with your back against the hardwood of church pew instead of your tempurpedic mattress or recliner on this seemingly ordinary Sunday.

Why?

We are gathered here this morning much like the twelve disciples gathered together that day, but unlike the intimacy of their close group, we came here not knowing if it would be friends or strangers that we would encounter.

Why did we come anyway?

We have tried in our own humble way to remember that fiery day with the color red. Our clothes, our altar and even our clergy are glowing with shades of the crimson color.

But surely we must admit that this act falls far short of flaming, burning tongues and roaring gusts of wind. So why did we put this effort forth?

Because deep down, no matter what season or color or who is preaching, or what the readings are for the day, it is still Easter.

We were not physically present with Jesus at the resurrection, nor with the disciples as they burned with the spirit, but somehow even as difficult as our journeys may been up until now we have faith that we made it through those great red doors and are sitting in these pews for a reason.

Just as extraordinary things happened on rather ordinary days thousands of years ago, we gather here every week with ordinary bread and wine and water, because deep down we believe that extraordinary things still happen.

You may approach this altar every week or this may be the first time you’ve been in these walls.

It doesn’t matter.

You may have the creeds and prayers memorized or you may be currently fumbling with your bulletin and the various books in the pew.

It doesn’t matter.

Today is the day we are reminded that the fire of God’s spirit burns for all.

Where we see barriers and death, God sees opportunity and life.

Do not hesitate to approach the altar, even when your steps stumble with uncertainty.

Do not hesitate to say the prayers, even if yours are riddled with doubt.

Do not hesitate to breathe deeply the breath of God, because as the poet Mary Oliver says, Joy is not meant to be a crumb.

But this is not the whole story.

As good and wonderful as it is to have our souls restored by the power of God, this is the day where we find out that if we thought we could simply go on with our lives cheering from the sidelines, we’re in the wrong sport.

This is the day we begin living the resurrection out into the world, because if those first twelve men hadn’t then we wouldn’t be here.

We are connected to them, and to every man and woman who has shared this story.

This story which is about the blessed becoming the blessing. *

Each week we gather here, but if we are not being the church out in the world when we leave this place, then it doesn’t matter.

It is all for naught.

Lucky for us the sheer nature of the fire that burns within us is often far more intuitive than we are.

We need only to learn how to listen.

Today is May 25th and it may feel like just another normal rainy Sunday, but it just happens to be Pentecost.

Let us not waste it.

May we pause, even for the briefest of moments to remember that today.

This Red fiery sort of day.

We are filled with a gift.

A gift that was handed down long ago, but is still somehow about you and me and the ordinary becoming extraordinary.