Imagining Something New
From Acts 2:1-21
There are people sitting in
prisons—hoping for guidance and a kind word, desperate for
redemption—aching for some good news. . . . Come,
Holy Spirit, Come!
There are people languishing in
hospital beds—lonely and afraid—uncertain about the future and
yearning to see a friendly face. . . . Come,
Holy Spirit, Come!
There are people living in cars
and garages, on park benches, and under overpasses—suffering with
the elements, bodies twisted with lack of comfort—longing for some
hope…. Come, Holy Spirit, Come!
There are people struggling to
feed their families—some forced into the excruciating decision of
who will get to eat tonight?—wishing
there was sufficient community support for everyone. . . . Come,
Holy Spirit, Come!
There are people
sheltering-in-place who are wrestling with mental health issues and
experiencing abuse aching for a life-line and a meaningful,
life-giving connection with a friend. . . . Come,
Holy Spirit, Come!
There are people stigmatized by
the expression of their gender identity—who are shunned and
criminalized—and who just want to know that they are seen and loved
for who they are. . . . Come, Holy Spirit,
Come!
There are immigrants and refugees
fleeing from dangerous situations in their homelands—seeking a
place of safety where their children might learn and grow and
thrive—where they might be reassured that goodness and generosity
are still alive. . . . Come, Holy Spirit,
Come!
There are people of many
different faiths who call this country home—who believe that God is
big enough to be called by many names—trying to live out their
spiritualties in life-giving and gracious ways—sharing the abundant
resources of God’s creation. . . . Come,
Holy Spirit, Come!
There
are black people and brown people, and every race and mix in
between—who are created in the image of God, and yet who are
systemically made to feel less-than, inferior, insignificant,
unimportant. They cry out to know if their lives matter. . . . Come,
Holy Spirit, Come!
Now, I
guarantee you that Peter and the other disciples gathered in
Jerusalem to celebrate that first Pentecost after Jesus’
resurrection did not know how to meet all of the needs of all of the
people who gathered as the earliest followers of Christ. This was a
group of immigrants with distinct struggles and concerns, longings
and hopes from all over the known world (“known” to the writer
Luke in the 1st
century, that is). They gathered to try to understand who they were,
to feel connected to one another, to recall their histories—as well
as to envision their future. They
gathered—as we do—to try to find a sense of hope.
And while Peter and the disciples did not come with all the answers,
they slowed themselves down enough to listen. And
they listened, and they heard in ways they could each understand. …
They heard the cries, the needs,
the hopes, the fears, the uncertainties, the lamentations, the
passions, the sufferings, the experiences of love and oppression and
grace and injustice and healing.
But in
order to hear this, fire had to burn away their resistance to the
sounds and experiences of difference.
A powerful African proverb says, “The
child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down just to
feel its warmth.” They all wanted to be
seen and heard—embraced and valued. And the Holy Spirit came to
make that happen—to scorch them all—and to leave its mark that
would bring them to life. Fire, after all, can be an agent of
creation and renewal, purification and revelation. Think of Moses
and the Burning Bush—or the heat from a forest fire triggering
dormant seeds to pop open in the char and ash that is mysteriously
rich soil ready to nurture forth new life. Or even the fires of
protest, that we are currently experiencing, which push communities
to the teetering precipice of crisis.
There may not be many gifts to be
found in the fires of crisis—especially when it feels like the
crisis ushers in so much destruction—but one gift crisis can
offer—at both an individual and social level—is the opportunity
for self-examination and communal-examination. And these
examinations can lead to transformation and the imagining and
creating of something entirely new. Fire can also be a sign of this
transformation. The fires of crisis can bring us to the edge where
profound change is possible—and necessary. It burns away the chaff
until what is beautiful and precious and essential is
revealed—delving into the depths of our hearts. But this does not
mean that no pain is involved.
Often times, reaching those deepest
truths can sting and burn. They can cause great discomfort—but
ultimately their work is grounded in love and offers hope for
widening our circle and extending opportunities for greater
flourishing for all those around us.
So when
the Holy Spirit comes, it essentially uses its fiery breath to call
us into crisis. (Can a fire of crisis be a
Comforter/Helper?) It asks us if we are willing to heed the cries of
our world, of our neighbors, of those experiencing injustice and
desperate need. …
It asks us if we are willing to
work to overcome our biases, our prejudices, our misgivings, our
suspicions, our fears. It asks us if we are willing to stop deciding
how we are going to try to control the situation, to correct the
other, and come up with talking points. It asks us if we are willing
to make ourselves vulnerable to all the human needs that meet us and
surround us—and to sit in our discomfort of not knowing what to do
and how to fix it. It asks us if we are willing to listen and be and
respond in love. It asks us if we are willing to be the Church. And
if we are, what is that church going to look like? What do we
imagine the church should look like today?
The General Minister and
President of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), Rev. Terri
Hord Owens recently said, “I want a church
that loves so courageously that we will stand up and insist that the
killing of black and brown people must stop, and will work to remove
those in office who fail to enact laws and policy accordingly.
“I want a church that loves
so radically that we are always putting up chairs to make room for
more, always leaving empty chairs at the table, expecting that many
more will come, turning no one away.
“I want a church that loves
so generously that our priority will be the elimination of poverty,
to ensure that everyone has enough to eat, safe and decent housing,
healthcare, a living wage and quality education that is not based on
your zip code.
“I want a church that loves
so creatively that we are willing to dismantle structures,
traditions, and processes that dishonor humanity and marginalize any
among us. I want a church that loves so completely that we are not
satisfied until justice rolls down like water and righteousness like
a mighty stream. I want a church that follows Jesus, and is
therefore committed to work for all of this….”
I believe the Holy Spirit is
calling each of us today to dig around in the ash and embers
surrounding us and take part in the holy work of God in this time and
place. To open up doors of new life that have been jammed closed.
To commit ourselves to creating cracks of liberation for others to
find. And to stand boldly in solidarity alongside all God’s
beloved community. This is the church I hope for and imagine. Come,
Holy Spirit, Come!
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