Witness

 

I’m sitting in CotC (surprise, surprise) working on stuff for this weekend and listening to Sarah McLachlan.  I’ve put one song in particular on repeat - “Witness.”   Here are the lyrics

Make me a witness/take me out/out of darkness/out of doubt

I won't weigh you down/with good intention/won't make fire out of clay/or other inventions

will we burn in heaven/like we do down here/will the change come/while we're waiting/everyone is waiting

and when we're done/soul searching/as we carried the weight/and died for the cause

is misery/made beautiful/right before our eyes/will mercy be revealed/or blind us where we stand

will we burn in heaven/like we do down here/will the change come/while we're waiting/everyone is waiting

This song for some reason is really speaking to me today.  I’ve had the album it’s on – Afterglow – for years but something about today and something about this song just clicks.

In our Wed night bible study class, one of the things that has come up is how scripture can speak a new word to us each day thanks to the Holy Spirit.  I’m also convinced that this same Spirit speaks through other familiar words/images/people anew each day.  We just have to be looking and listening.

Re-form

This Sunday on the Presbyterian Church calendar is Reformation Sunday – a Sunday that in some churches means dressing up in tartans and playing the bagpipes. While we here at Covenant will welcome the brave soul that wears a kilt, it certainly isn’t the required dress code. No, instead we’ll mark Reformation Sunday with the beginning of a new short-term series Sunday school class.

This Sunday John and I will begin our class “The Church: Where On Earth Has It Been And Where In Heaven Is It Going?” As church historians and scholars have noted, about every 500 years the church goes through some sort of upheaval—and the word “great” seems to associate with these changes. There was the time of Gregory the Great, the Great Schism, and of course, the Great Reformation. These same historians and scholars – as well as ministers and laypeople – have noted that right now we’re at the 500 year mark. And yes, the times, they are a-changin’.

During the next five weeks, we’ll explore our history as the church – look back at the “Greats” as we look toward the future. We’ll look at the contemporary cultural upheaval and what that upheaval means for the church now. Is the internet our printing press? Are folks like Brian McLaren and Phyllis Tickle our Luther and Calvin? How does a modern church navigate a post-modern world? What might our church (both universal and particular) look like in 50 years?

Come join in this exciting discussion as we find gain strength and insight from our history and ponder hopefully about our future.

All That We Let In

Text: Mark 9:38-50

There are times when reading the gospel stories that I just want to grab hold of the disciples, give them a big hug and say “thank you.” Thank you for being so human, for being so slow to catch on. Thank you for failing at following Jesus perfectly because if you – who had him physically in your midst – couldn’t manage to be a perfect follower, then I’m not going to feel so bad about my own missteps.

This morning’s gospel story is one of those times.

After seeing Jesus eat with those who were outcasts, heal people no one would want to touch let alone help, and quite frankly, call them as his followers, they haven’t quite caught on that their teacher isn’t one for exclusive circles. And yet they treat being his follower as just that –limited circle.

Having just coming off a tour of ministry with the Gentiles, the disciples and Jesus come back to Galilee where they hear tale of a man – who, by the way, is not one of them – is casting out demons. In Jesus’ name! This man – who, ahem, is not one of them – has the audacity to call on the power of Jesus. He dares to cast out demons when the disciples – Jesus’ inner circle, the cream of the crop, failed at this same task not very long ago.

When the disciples via John bring this concern to Jesus, that this man –a man who hasn’t clocked in the field time with Jesus, hasn’t listened (and been confused by) his parables nightly by the fireside, hasn’t traveled with Jesus and seen all the amazing things him can do – this man is daring to act as though he has some place, some relationship, some sort of connection with Christ and is using it to caste out demons.

And what does Jesus have to say? Nothing the disciples are going to like – don’t try and stop him, even someone offering water to a person in my name is blessed, “Whoever is not against us is for us.”

That was probably a little more inclusive than they were hoping. I can imagine one of the disciples even piping up saying, “um, Jesus, don’t you mean whoever isn’t for us is against us?” But no, Jesus is firm – have salt, goodness, in yourself and be at peace with one another.

The disciples are treating being a follower of Jesus like being a member of some club: a club that has its own logo, its own pledge, its own uniform. I remember joining a sorority in college and being told, when I asked why we had to memorize the founding members names, “you’re doing this because I did this and that’s what makes you “one of us.”

I know I’m not the only one with such an experience. I would imagine we’ve all run into groups we want to be a part of – be it social groups or perhaps the group called the bar association or certified teachers or real estate license holders – where we’ve had to prove that we’ve done the time, put in the effort, can say the oath of loyalty with the best, pass the exam even after we’ve gotten the degree, and then be considered in. There are markers to be met and handshakes to be learned.

The church has a history of making its membership something like a club. Remember a time when we used to excommunicate people for being different, or make people catechisms not as a way of teaching theology but as a test to see who was in and who was out? Or how about how when the church would bar people from membership for something like being divorced (which, by the way, some churches still do), or tell people they can’t serve because they happen to be girls (again, still happens). This is our history but my guess is if Jesus came down now to our present, he’d be able to point out a few ways we’re still excluding people, still making this a club to get into. Let’s just say I know I’m not the only one who has a “Jesus loves you but I’m his favorite” mouse pad.

But being a follower of Christ isn’t about being in a club or any one’s favorite – it’s about being a part of a family. Even if we fall into the temptation of looking down on others who we know a lot about this kind of family. This family isn’t about where you were born or who are your parents or what traditions you celebrate – this isn’t about flesh and blood, it’s about Spirit. Christ’s Spirit.

If you’ve seen my family here at Christmas time you might have noticed that two of my three foster sisters – for lack of a better term – don’t quite look like the rest of us. My sisters Neli and Nymbezi are from Zambia. The story of how they came to be a part of our family is one that confirms for me this understanding of family being above and beyond flesh and blood.

About ten years ago I went over to Zambia as part of a mission trip with my church. There, at Justo Mali Theological College, I met the Moyo family and bonded rather instantly with the several teenage sisters – including Neli and Nyembi. A year later I heard that my church would be sponsoring Neli to come over to the States for college. Families would take turns hosting her for different holidays and we’d all make sure she felt welcome and looked after.

Well, Neli happened matriculate at the school where I was a senior and so it just made sense that the first free weekend we had at school, she’d come home with me. I remember driving the four hours to get home – trying to prepare her for my quirky family. We hit it off but we were relatively close in age and had similar tastes in music and tv.

My family, of course, welcomed her with open – though potentially overwhelming arms. Everyone was so excited to meet this girl I had talked about for a year – this girl grew up in another hemisphere! I remember everyone greeting her, helping her to her room, making her feel at home – and then, I remember the conversation started. It began with all of us, my brother and sister Beth, my mom and dad, Neli and me, but it quickly turned to world economics and just as quickly became a conversation between my dad and Neli only. The rest of us escaped from the living room to the family room and waited… and waited… and after a good while someone piped up that one of us really ought to go and rescue Neli from an intense conversation with our father.

I think it was my sister who volunteered, went into the other room, and then came back laughing saying, “I think Dad’s the one who needs rescuing!”

My wonderful, quirky family had a new member – just like that. That very first night it was clear that Neli was a part of our family. Over the years, while interesting differences in experiences have come up, it’s only been made more and more clear - this young woman is a Summers-Minette, even though her last name is Moyo and we all still laugh that she’s clearly our father’s daughter. Neli never did make it to those other families for the holidays and when Nymebi came over for school, she eventually found herself part of the Summers-Minette clan too. While Nymebi and Dawn – my other foster sister – are family without a doubt, nothing was quite so powerful as that first night with Neli – where we just knew – she’s family. She just is.

That moment with Neli, that’s what I think of when I think of God’s family. We just are. It’s not about where we grew up or what languages we speak or our experiences. It’s not about our education or our income or our politics. We know this – it’s why we knit prayer shawls and deliver meals, offer rides and send cards—not because we’re all so alike but because we’re family. It’s why we ask each other for prayers, why we ask each other for help. Because we’re family – family made by God.

We travel the road of faith together, even though we may not agree on things, even when we might look at the passage being discussed in a bible study, listen to our neighbor’s understanding of said passage and wonder “are you reading what I’m reading?”

There’s this great quote attributed to Rudyard Kipling – the author who brought us the great story of Mowgli and his family the wolves, Baloo the bear, and Bagheera the panther in The Jungle Book. It says, “A family shares things like dreams, hopes, possessions, memories, smiles, frowns, and gladness... A family is a clan held together with the glue of love and the cement of mutual respect. A family is shelter from the storm, a friendly port when the waves of life become too wild. No person is ever alone who is a member of a family.”

This is the church family. This is who Christ has called us to be with one another and to glorify God. We’re to serve one another as we would serve Christ – offering each other glasses of water, companionship, and grace. We’re to respect one another – even if our ways and understandings differ. We’re to be family.

I really like that quote. Of course, I edited it in my first reading. Before talking about family sharing things, Kipling says “all of us are we—and everyone else is they.” Us against the world, us against them – as tempting as it might be to see family that way, we can’t. Not the family of God. This thought – one the disciples had, one many of us have – is what Jesus is encouraging us to get rid off – chop off as it were.

Being a part of the family of Christ means that there is no “they” – no us versus them. No Presbyterians versus Baptists or old hymn lovers versus new hymn lovers. And perhaps even no Christians versus non-believers - for all people are God’s children and Christ died for the whole world. Whether or not people are a part of our community of faith, they are part of God’s family and as such are to be treated with respect and love.

Jesus asks us to worry not about those people who are doing good in his name – or good even just to those who bear his name. Not to worry whether or not they’re “like us” because the “us” includes all. Worry about your own salt, your own goodness, and be at peace with one another.

You know, maybe that Kipling quote is right after all. All of us are we—and everyone else is they. Except there is no everyone else; there’s only us. For we are all a part of God’s family. Thanks be to this generous and loving God. Amen.

It Don't Mean A Thing

Text: Mark 8:27-38

If you’ve been watching television over the past several years, you are probably familiar with those successful Mac vs PC commercials. The ones where two actors stand in as “Mac” and “PC.” The PC—a middle aged man dressed in a suit—tries to be hip, the computer that all the cool kids want to have, and yet it can’t. The laid-back Mac—the twenty-something jeans and a t-shirt guy—doesn’t have to try to be the best computer, he just is. Because, no matter what the PC may say, the Mac just performs better (or so claim the commercials).

Not long after these commercials began airing a parody was made by a church where instead of the PC vs Mac you had a Christian vs a Christ-follower. In this parody, the Christian – the middle aged man dressed in his Sunday best – is carrying lots of books—rule books, ethics books, morality plays, and his “trusty sword” as he calls the bible—an incredible Christian bumper stickers collection, and works hard to exhibit all these outer signs and symbols of his faith. The Christ-follower, on the other hand, is in his casual jeans an a t-shirt, doesn’t worry about bumper stickers or outward marks. When the Christian asks the Christ-follower, “so, what do you do to display your Christianity,” the Christ-follower responds “nothing, I guess, I just try to follow Christ with the way I live my life.”

The first time I saw this parody was not too long after I graduated from seminary – where I got to study rule books and theology books and Hebrew and Greek so I could understand the “trusty sword” in its original languages. Let’s just say, it hit a little too close to home.

Those of us who come from “mainline” traditions like Presbyterian or Methodist, Episcopalian or Lutheran – we are reasonably comfortable with the Sunday best, the rule books, the bible study. We know when to stand up and sit down in a church service, we can recite the Apostles’ Creed, we rules and we like to follow them decently and in order.

And this parody is suggesting that those signs, those creeds, those habits – they don’t make you a follower of Christ.

It’s a little like our gospel lesson this morning.

Out of all the people – the crowds, the disciples – Peter seems to get “it.” He gets that Jesus isn’t some old prophet come back from the great beyond, he gets that this guy they’ve been following is the one – the Messiah. A bunch of other may claim to be the Messiah, but they aren’t – Jesus of Nazareth is.

Peter has clued into the Messianic secret – he understands what those demons Jesus cast out of people seemed to already know – this is the one everyone’s been waiting for. The Messiah.

What a wonderful moment of faith for Peter. He can smile and take pride that out of all of Jesus’ followers, he’s the real deal just like Jesus is – because he’s the one that makes the first confession of faith. “You are the Messiah.”

And moments later, he’s the one that gets rebuked.

We don’t know what exactly Peter rebuked Jesus for when he turned to the crowd and spoke to them of death and resurrection. Perhaps it was because the Son of Man- the Messiah – couldn’t die. That wasn’t how isn’t how things were supposed to go. Or perhaps it was because Jesus was sharing this with all. Perhaps Peter thought this Messiah was for only those in the know. After all, Jesus has just told him to keep quiet about the whole Messiah thing – why is he now speaking so openly about the Son of Man?

Whether he didn’t like what Jesus was saying or didn’t like that Jesus was letting all hear his words, Peter rebukes Jesus. And Jesus, in turn, rebukes Peter. Peter—who just moments before seemed to have “gotten” it—is rebuked in front of his fellow disciples and then hears Jesus speak to the whole crowd how to follow him.

“Deny yourself. Take up your cross. Follow me.”

Jesus doesn’t command confession – he commands action. It is one thing to say, Lord, Lord, and another to live as though Jesus is your Lord.

Jesus isn’t as concerned about the right words as he is about the right way to live. He doesn’t condemn those who call him Elijah or another prophet nor does he reward Peter who knows him as Messiah. The confessions are important but not complete. Not without the life that seeks to answer Jesus’ question. We—who will stand up and affirm our faith in Jesus Christ God’s only son, our Lord—too called not to say the right words, but to live the right way.

And we, like the crowd, like Peter, we don’t. We may say the right words but we don’t live as Jesus tells us to. Here and now, we fit right into the gospel story.

“Who do people say that I am?”

Oh, say the disciples, well, Jesus, these other people, they call you Elijah and John the Baptist, Jeremiah, or one of the other prophets. They see you as someone who has come before. An ancient prophet that has arisen. Someone they already know.

This is what the crowds confess, the crowds that will celebrate his triumphant entry into Jerusalem and then shout crucify him less than a week later.

“Who do you say that I am?”

The disciples remain quiet. All, except Peter. “You are the Messiah,” he says, “son of the living God.”

This is what Peter confesses, Peter who will soon rebuke and be rebuked by Jesus, Peter who will deny him three times.

“Who do you say that I am?”

Oh, say we. Who do we say that you are? Okay, we say you are Son of God. And Lamb of God. Oh, and Word of God. And Emmanuel, Rabbi, Beloved, Bread of Life. King of Kings and Lord of Lords and Prince of Peace. Alpha and Omega. Savior, Messiah.

This is what we say, what we confess, and yet we will walk past those who are hunger, we will keep polluting the waters and not worry that some have nothing to drink, we will have nothing to do with the stranger for they are just too different, we will think it’s a pity that some have no protection against the elements but not offer our cloak and our other garments too, we will wish all could have health care but let the difficulty of solutions distract us from actually caring for the sick, we will stay away from the prisons for we will not believe that those who have strayed can truly be rehabilitated.

We, like Peter, can confess the right thing, make the appropriate statement of faith, and then leave it to that – words and only words. We, like Peter, can turn against Jesus when he asks us to believe something we don’t want to, when he asks us to follow him where we don’t want to go, when he asks us to live and die – for him, through him, and in him.

Being a Christian, a follower of Christ, really is a lot harder than reading your bible or knowing the right words. As a friend of mine recently reminded me, wearing a cross is not the same thing is taking up the cross.

We, like the crowd, like Peter, we don’t get it. We don’t always walk the walk, we don’t always confess Christ with our lives as well as our lips.

And yet, we, like the crowd, like Peter, we keep trying. And we, like the crowd, like the disciples, like Peter, we have seen and believed that Christ forgives us and works with us and through us and yeah, in spite of us. We may deny him, may crucify him, but we come back, we want to follow him. We may stray, but we know he’ll lead us back. And he does. Jesus always has and always will bring us back and with willing and open hearts, we will follow him into some scary, and wonderful, places. And in moments that may last seconds or years, we do feed the hungry, give water to thirsty, welcome the stranger. We do build houses for those without shelter, serve at the food pantry, offer compassion and justice for those who are in need, visit and have relationship with those whom society would rather forget.

Even if we don’t quite understand who Jesus is, even if we don’t always live as Jesus commands, our Messiah does not give up on us. The proof of God’s amazing love us this: while we were sinners, Christ died for us. And it is we sinners Christ calls out to, speaking of love and forgiveness, telling us to take up our cross and follow him. And it is we sinners who long to answer, who can answer, with our lives as well as our lips: yes, Lord, yes Savior, yes Son of God, yes Messiah, yes. Amen.

By the Numbers: Four Horsemen

Texts: Isaiah 64:1-4; Revelation 6:1-8


In honor of our teachers and students heading back to school soon, I have a little pop quiz. Which one of the following is a true statement?
A) Revelation is the book the New Testament folks dropped in to make God sound a little more like the wrathful God of the Old Testament
B) Revelation is a dream John had after eating something he shouldn’t before going to bed.
C) Revelation is a book a hope.

If you’re scratching your head and wondering if this is a trick question, you’re probably not alone. The answer is C) Revelation is a book of hope but don’t worry if you didn’t get it. Most of us hear the word Revelation and think fire and brimstone, cryptic messages from the past that some people interpret as a blueprint for the future, doom and gloom for the world with a hint of new creation at the end.

And the scripture this morning is just one of the many reasons why we think that. The four horsemen of the Apocalypse do not appear to be bringing tidings of good news of great joy. Hardly. Instead we have war, bloodshed, hunger, death. We have the sword, famine, pestilence, and wild animals bringing civilization into chaos.

Who are these four horsemen? Well, that’s a tough question to answer. Perhaps one of the reasons understanding Revelation is so challenging is because it’s like trying to read a political cartoon from 2000 years ago. We may get the overall gist but we aren’t going to get the jokes or the jabs.

Borrowing heavily from Old Testament imagery, John is speaking to people living in an unjust empire. The writer of Revelation is speaking truth to power through a specific literary genre – apocalyptic—a form that is used to unveil or reveal things we do not see. He is watching his friends, his family, his fellow Christians being persecuted by the great power of Rome and he is writing to them in encouragement. In hope. Yes, this book with its beasts and women of Babylon was written to give hope to those who were being persecuted.

Even our section on the four horsemen.

The four horsemen have been imagined in literature, art, television and movies probably since John of Patmos first took pen to paper, or whatever the 1st century stuck in a cave on an island equivalent is. We imagine these horsemen in different ways because the writer of John wants us to. Apocalyptic literature requires imagination in the reading. There are symbols, colors, names, numbers and everything is a part of the mysterious unveiling. Everything has meaning – sometimes this meaning is more obvious than others.

Each rider comes from the Lamb, each rider is summoned by one of the living creatures near the Lamb’s throne, each comes out in terror and power. The first rider carries a bow (the favored weapon of a neighboring people known for their war-making) and is wearing what we read as a crown, but could more accurately be translated as a wreath. A wreath of victory like the ones placed on the great conquering generals’ heads. The first rider out of the gate, so to speak, is a Conqueror.

The rider that follows is on a bright red horse, red like the blood this rider insists people to spill. The rider has been given power to take peace, to stir up anger and hostility, hatred and violence among the peoples of the earth.

The third rider, the rider on the black horse, comes in with scales in hand. This rider is not justice, rather injustice, as the rider is instructed to charge outrageous prices for food staples—though leaving olive oil and wine alone. A denarius – an average day’s wages – normally had the buying power of anywhere from eight to sixteen times more than this. The third rider charges in leaving economic injustice, poverty and hunger in his wake.

The rider that comes in last could be understood as the natural conclusion of the three previous riders – conquering, bloodshed, hunger. Death comes in on a pale green horse with Hades – the ruler of the dead – at his side. And with these two comes the result of war – swords, famine, disease, and finally, what was once homes, communities, civilization, is now abandoned, over run by wild animals.

Four horsemen – War, Bloodshed, Hunger, and Death – come into our world and bring misfortune with them.

And somehow this is hopeful? For John of Patmos it was. For us, may it also be so. These four riders have wretched power. War, Bloodshed, Hunger and Death – swords, famine, disease, destruction – all of these terrible things are the tools used by the empire to keep the weak down. These are what Rome uses to rule the world, to oppress those who are less powerful – like the Christians. The four horsemen use the tactics of the oppressors.

And where did they get their weapons – these weapons of Rome, of empire, of oppressors? From God. God is the one who grants them power, God is the one who grants them dominion. They have no power of their own – all power comes from God. While the contemporary reader may see God’s giving of power to these forces as a suggestion that God is wrathful, John is using this image to bring his readers attention to the one with ultimate authority and power. For John, it is not about why bad things happen to good people or anything like that – the focus is on the one who will reign forever and ever.

Even though an empire may seem like it has total power, total control, total authority over all those in its dominion, it does not. God does. God alone has ultimate power and authority over everything under heaven and on earth. God is the one who makes mountains quake and nations tremble. Any power that Rome or any other empire may think it has comes from God and is thus bound, restricted, limited by God. Rome is not the ultimate power, God is.

The four horsemen begin the section of Revelation that imagines what the future tribulation will be like and it can be simply summed up as this: Life is hard, will continue to be hard, but the powers will not win; God will. What wondrous hope we may find in this. What needed hope.

The empire will not win nor does it have ultimate power over your life, no matter how it often seems like it does. In John’s time, the empire was the Romans, those that persecuted Christians, denied them the opportunity to worship freely, threw them to the dogs, used them as human torches, among other less than pleasant things. John spoke to them of hope through this vision, helped them to stay strong and faithful in the midst of persecution.

For you and I today, the empire looks a little different. While some of our brothers and sisters live in fear of religious persecution, we live in a nation that ensures freedom of religion. Our empire doesn’t look like room. Instead, it comes in the form of prejudice and phobia, disadvantages and doubt, temptation and trial. The empire appears in the forces of destruction, the ones that make you believe you will never see sunshine again, that the darkness will win.

The empire you face may be one like Rome but maybe it’s more like something you call stress. Stress over getting everything you need to do done; stress over providing for your family in tough economic times; stress over figuring out who it is you’re supposed to be and what you’re supposed to do.

Perhaps it’s what you call cancer. We have statistics and screenings but you never know if you’re going to get it or if you do, what’s going to happen. And the most insidious thing about this disease is that it’s not out there lurking, it’s in here. Sometimes it seems to have a power over you that no one can promise will not win.

Maybe your empire is something like depression. That sorrow and heaviness you just can’t shake off. That little voice inside that speaks lies, telling you that joy will not come with the morning.

Whatever the empire you face is called, John reminds us of the gospel truth – an earthly empire –stress, cancer, depression, bigotry, intolerance, materialism, sin, death—will not reign forever nor is its power over us complete. All of those things we deal with, we suffer through, are there – the empire is there as neither John nor we could deny—but these powers have nothing in comparison to the Lamb. God is the one with the true power – not Rome or anything or one else. God is the one who reigns and in the end all creation will sing of God’s glory forever and ever.

The four horsemen of the Apocalypse do not create an easily understood image. But the image they present is one of hope, one we can turn to when we fear that these earthly powers have won. War, Bloodshed, Famine, Death – these frightening forces may seem to have total dominion but they don’t. Neither do the empires that choose to weld them. These empires will never win – they can’t! God is the one who established the heavens and the earth and God is the one who created the power these empires abuse. No matter how terrible it may seem, God is the one who will win ultimately and save us eternally. God will win and we will be with God.

What could be more hopeful than that? Amen.

Smell-o-vision

As you may know, the first two weeks of June I was blessed with continuing education experiences at Montreat. The first week I was there we were treated to a keynote and sermon from Otis Moss III – an African-American UCC pastor from Chicago. This man can proclaim the Word of God! I still get chills thinking about his sermon (and brought back a CD of it for anyone who’d like to take a listen).

Otis also led a workshop which I took part in and in this workshop I was treated with a wonderful reminder about the Bible. Otis walked us through the story of Jesus and the Gerasene demon in Mark 5. As Jesus steps out of the boat, a man (who cannot be bound by chains) comes running up to him from his home in the nearby tombs. Otis asked us “what do you notice?” A couple “churchy” responses rang out – “how he’s seeking out Jesus,” and “he’s in need of healing.” Otis shook his head and said, “what’s the first thing you notice?” Finally, someone shouted out “he smells!”

We all laughed but it was true – this man who lived in the tombs and was possessed by demons probably hadn’t had a bath lately. As we walked through the rest of the text, we paid attention to the sights, the sounds, and the smells. The story came alive – became real – for us in a way it hadn’t before.

It’s so easy to forget that these stories aren’t just texts for us to glean spiritual truths from – they’re real, visceral, and apparently (on occasion) smelly. As you come to the Bible in your personal devotions, I encourage you to try on Otis’ exercise. Imagine what your senses might pick up if you were there and don’t get too bogged down in “churchy” answers!

Shimmer and Shine

Text: Acts 2:1-21

You may not fall victim to this, but I know when I read the Pentecost story, I get swept away in the supernatural elements. The winds, the flame, the astounding gift of tongues. And then to hear about the last days where there will be portents of blood, fire, and smoky mist, when the sun will be darkness and the moon turned to blood. Moon to blood - it’s hard not to get distracted by that!

With all these signs, it’s easy to miss the really amazing part of the story – a part that’s not even in the lectionary section for today - that on that very day three thousand people were baptized. Because of what they had heard – the good news in their own language.

This is the beginning of the church - the community of faith. Not just that the Holy Spirit came or that the disciples went from the room they were hiding in into the world, but that people who did not believe came to believe. It is from this moment that the church – our church – our family in Christ will continue to grow, to spread beyond the city of Jerusalem, to cross mountains and oceans and last longer than even the most powerful empires of the earth.

The church grew because along the way, followers of Christ continued to speak the Good News in new languages. And these languages aren’t just Greek or Hebrew, Spanish or English. The disciples could and did speak languages of different cultures and communities. That’s one of the reasons our four gospels sound different from one another. Not only did the writers have different perspectives, but they were writing to different communities – communities that might hear the good news in the language of Jewish prophecy fulfilled as was the case with Matthew or in the language of Greek rhetoric as was the case with John.

Empowered by the Holy Spirit, Christians have been able to reach out to people from different communities and nations and share the good news. The Holy Spirit has gifted those who would seek to share the Gospel with the ability to speak with people with different languages – languages made of words and languages made of culture.

The Holy Spirit has gifted and continues to gift the body of Christ with the languages we need to reach out and share the good news. The Holy Spirit continues to empower us to birth the family of faith in new communities and grow abundantly.

Then why are we dying?

Why does the church in our nation continue to hemorrhage members? Why does it seem people are more comfortable saying they are “spiritual” than to claim a community of faith? Oh, yes, individual churches may be growing but overall the church attendance in the United States is down just as the number of those who say they don’t believe in God is up.

There are certainly many reasons we can say why the church seems to be dying – division, moral relativism, the natural and historic growth patterns of the church that mean we shrink while new places like Africa or Latin America grow.

Maybe.

Or maybe there’s something else. The Holy Spirit has gifted us with the languages and ability to reach peoples of all ages, races, creeds, and contexts. And yet we don’t seem to be doing the best job of that. It’s not as though the Holy Spirit has stopped working or just isn’t around anymore. But something is different than it was on the first day of the church. And what’s different is us.

We have the gift of languages. Even if we can’t speak Swahili or Portuguese or anything like that, we can speak to people who would hear the good news in a different way than we do. Through the Holy Spirit that comes as fire and wind, we can speak as many languages as there are peoples.

But we aren’t. We aren’t speaking new languages – not loudly, not boldly. Instead of acting like we’re on fire with passion for the Gospel, we often act like the disciples before Pentecost, scared and silent, stuck up in the safety of our room, our comfort zone, with no one to worry about but ourselves.

But that’s not who we are called to be. We are called to run out of the safety and security of our walls, to speak loudly of God’s love, and to do so in ways that may be unfamiliar to us, in the hopes that the language we speak resonates with others.

When God sent the Spirit, began the church, the Holy One didn’t demand that all peoples hear the good news in the one true language of Aramaic, Greek, or Hebrew. No - the good news came to the people in their language. As children of the reformation, we can appreciate that God’s living word is one that is meant to be spoken in the language of the people - whatever that language may be.

We are called to speak new languages - not to demand that others learn ours.

The Good News is multicultural and multi-generational. So too must we be. While we - Covenant Presbyterian Church - cannot speak all the languages out there, we can learn a few more. We can learn to understand that brothers and sisters like those in our confirmation class hear and live out the Gospel in new ways and new words - though the Gospel is the same as it was in my generation or yours or yours. While we appreciate our way of worship or our way of education, our partnership with the Bedele congregation in Ethiopia reminds us that different practices and different priorities can still reflect the same faith.

I was talking with an acquaintance of mine the other night about not really being a morning person but managing to pretend reasonably well on Sunday mornings. He looked at me and said, “Yeah, what’s up with that? Why does church have to be in the morning?”

You know, I couldn’t think of a good answer.

That’s in part what I mean by speaking new languages. Maybe church doesn’t have to speak in the words of a morning service – other churches have services in the evenings, on different days. Maybe if we worshipped on Sunday evening this young adult would be more inclined to come since he didn’t have to get out of bed at an hour that in his language he would call too early. Or maybe if we learned to speak through mission instead of just hoping people will come to hear our speech in worship, or maybe if we were just bold enough to say “I love Jesus!,” without any shame, we would connect to those for whom our current language is just babble.

I don’t know. And we won’t know - we won’t know if these are the words we need to speak until we at least try some out. We won’t know if something is the language the Holy Spirit has gifted us with until we try to speak.

We have been hesitant to speak and live the Gospel in new ways in part because our old ways are really comfortable. We know what to expect and know we won’t be ridiculed for them. We know that if we go out into this world, alive and bright and burning with the power of God and the love of Christ, that when we shimmer and shine with the Holy Spirit, we’re gonna stand out. Like with the first disciples, people may look at us and think we’re crazy, foolish, or want to know what we’re on.

But we - like the disciples - need to risk appearing a bit foolish. Need to risk doing something that won’t work or stretches us past our comfort zones, knowing and trusting that the Advocate is still at work among us and within us.

We need to speak new languages so that those who do not hear the Good News in the words we speak now, will. So that they may come to know of God’s love and come to know a community of faith where they can be both nurtured and sent out into the world to share God’s grace with others.