Speak!

Speak!
Pentecost, 2011

When I was in college, I was in the women's choir, and we took a singing trip to Scandinavia. We sang in Baptist churches all over Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. Although I was of Scandinavian heritage, I didn't speak any a word of Swedish or Norwegian or Dutch--except for the names of food: Lefse: Norwegian soft tacos. Lutefisk. mmmm, you don't want to know, except for it has to do with a gelatinous white fish that slides down your throat. Krumkake--Norwegian thin cannoli shells. I was not unlike the rest of my sister singers. We had one chaperone that came along as our interpreter---but one woman for 60 students, well....we were pretty much on our own.

This wouldn't have been a big deal, except we stayed with families in each community where we sang--two or three singers to a home. It was quite the experience. In Stockholm, a man took us to his house out in the suburbs, sat us down on the couch, opened up a map, pointed to where the house was, and where the nearest transit was. He was speaking Swedish, and we were answering in English. After our enlightening and completely unclear conversation, he got up, and left the house. It took us awhile to piece together that he and his family were on holiday, and he was going back to the country to vacation. We were on our own, for the evening, and navigating back to the tour bus in the morning. Of course, we didn’t sleep, because of course we really believed that an axe murderer would return and chop us into a million pieces, and then, when morning came, we struggled with our luggage (back in the day before wheels, I might add) through the neighborhoods looking for a bus stop that would lead us to a train that would take us back to the city. This family trusted us....and we weren’t sure about trusting them.
We didn’t speak the same language...

And then there was our tour guide, who told us he bought a swede yacket. I thought it sounded so local and we asked him what it was. “A swede yacket,” he said, you know. Puzzled, we shook our heads. He kept repeating “swede yacket” and making motions like this; (make motions). Finally, I realized, he was telling us he bought a SUEDE JACKET. We spoke the same language, but our understanding was limited.

This happens all the time, doesn’t it?
Take for instance, the language of Christianity.
Is there really a central language we all agree upon?
I would say no.
There is the voice of Christianity in the media that usually isn’t something I want to admit I am a part of, especially when the Christian message is one of exclusion and smug self righteousness.

Yesterday, I was so proud to be a Christian marching in the Boston Pride Parade, singing with all of our UCC churches, “We will, we will Love You.....UCC! We will, we will love you....UCC!”

But even then, there was that Christian man with his signs by city hall, calling for repentance for the abominations of homosexuality; or even more disheartening, the cancellation of a Welcome service, at St. Cecilia’s Catholic parish in the South End, by the archdiocese because of protests from other church members outside of the parish.

I worry that we don’t all speak the language of Love.
Which to me, is central to our Story, don’t you think?

So, it is with great respect and resonation that we hear the account of Pentecost in Acts. For the disciples, it was the Feast of Shavuot, or the "Feast of Oaths." It was a festival remembering the covenants God made with Noah after the flood, Abraham and the Israelites about a new homeland, and Moses on Mt. Sinai. It was a time to remember God's faithfulness.

For fifty days prior to Pentecost, the followers of Jesus gathered. They were waiting, wondering, reflecting...on what to do. They were of the same mind, and Luke described the entrance of the Spirit of a rushing violent wind....
Filling the entire house....
No space escaped it’s occupation....
It was felt...
and not seen...
until the wind morphed into a fiery image that sat upon each member
giving them to speak in distinct foreign languages, that were recognizable to all....
The festival attendees were astounded, because they recognized the persons who spoke in their various languages to be Galileans. The Spirit embodied the familiar languages so that the incarnation of the Holy Spirit was real--and understood.

It’s fascinating, don’t you think, that the first act of God’s Spirit at Pentecost honors the diversity and individuality of the believers? Devout males, Jews and proselytes, from every nation, and who had traveled from Africa, Rome, and Asia hear this group of disciples speaking to them about the mighty acts of God in their own languages. Even at this Spirit-event, there was not agreement in how to interpret it. Some were skeptical, translating all of the babble as a result of a mid-day drinking binge. Peter powerfully claims that the event is a fulfillment of prophetic texts in Joel. There wasn’t a uniform interpretation, and this is important. We need to remember that our God-talk is as diverse as our tongues. Our language about God--is not synonymous WITH God.

Pentecost reveals a God that has no prerequisite or expectation for uniformity. God’s Spirit, in its fullness, unbridled and unrestricted, desires to sit on and to speak through individuals, and communities. (1)


This is good news, I believe. Because it means that God indeed works in mysterious ways, and even though I love my church, my congregation, and am pretty sure all of the time we have the message of Jesus spot on; well, it doesn’t mean that God’s spirit isn’t moving in the Southern Baptist Church, or isn’t touching the T.V. minister that seems to have questionable ethics about spending money but actually her message is meaningful to people I know. I may shudder, but I am reminded, that God is God, and I am not.

Who knows? Maybe we will all be united one day? No one will be more surprised than me or you---except for maybe them.

But here is the catch. Just because we remember that the Spirit is wild and doesn’t demand a uniform message, we are, as disciples, are called to Speak. No one is off the hook--all the disciples were gifted with a language.

It seems to me, that some disciples out there are louder than others. And yet, we, here at Eliot and in our denomination have the most amazing message, of love, of hope, of resonating with the world that so desperately needs it.

And, we have to speak loudly--in Massachusetts, only 11 percent of people attend religious services. So the only exposure they get to Christianity is what is in popular culture and the media. Our message is different, and we have to get it out there--with our bodies, with our hands, with our resources, with our lives, and yes, with our voices. There are many ways to do this--and with courage, we can make a difference in this 21st century we live in. In some ways, the church has become a minority--which in some ways is incredibly refreshing and exciting. How is the spirit breathing new life into us? How is the fire moving our courage? What language will we speak? What is it that we want those who are searching to know?
I want them to know that church is a zoo. There is incredible diversity among us. There is no party line--but we are bound together in love. You look around, and see no diversity, well....let me tell you:

“We are gay, straight, transgender, bi-gender, republican, democrat, Republican, Democrat, Independent, organizing freaks, humanoids who prefer less structure, people who love gardening, people who hate gardening, vegetarians, meat and potato folk, Methodist background, Catholic background, Lutheran background, Baptist background, Presbyterian background, atheists, agnostics, English majors, Math majors, geeks, cooks, rich, poor, middle class, beach bums, mountain lovers, homebodies, remote control controllers, do it yourselfers, have trouble changing a light bulbers, young, old, very young, golfers, haters of golf discussions, criminal record, lucky hasn’t been caught, parents, teenagers, grandparents, children, infants, Androiders, Blackberries, Apple crazies, chocoholics, singers, please don't do more than lip syncers, writers, readers, pray-ers, movers, like to shake you-ers, You are you. I am me. And, by some miracle, by some strange glue we are church. We are woven together in love, or woven together as we try to love.”(2)

And that is our language we speak. Amen.

1. This and the previous two paragraphs are paraphrased or direct quotes from Dr. Mitzi Smith’s reflection at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?lect_date=6/12/2011

2. Paraphrased from Dr. Chris Ayers at http://liberallectionaryresources.com/Pentecost%20Year%20A.html