"Not Long, Long Ago" May 19, 2013

John 14: 8-17 & 25-27 Acts 2:1-21 Pentecost is hard. The Old Testament seems somehow safer. We have since childhood heard the ancient stories of long, long ago, in far off Egypt, the Wilderness, Israel and Babylon. Stories of Adam and Eve, Noah, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Moses, David and Goliath, Daniel, Joel, Shadrack, Meshack and Abednago. The Gospels seem more easily accepted than Pentecost, after all there are four different versions! Jesus told stories and healed people, and throughout everything the Disciples knew God was with us in Jesus. The Gospels too, were long, long ago, in the time of ancient Rome, with Caesars, there is no mention of the Presbyterian Church, of Skaneateles, or America in the 21st Century. Pentecost is different. Pentecost acknowledges that there is a world outside Jerusalem. While the names are difficult to pronounce, all the cultures of the known world are mentioned, every culture. Pentecost is a day of Mystery, a day of the Holy Spirit among us, with tongues of fire, speaking in different tongues and wind, un-control-able, unpredictable, breath of God. 50 Days after Easter, 50 Days after Passover, the Disciples were once again in the Upper Room. Like an episode of Seinfeld in the Diner, That 70's Show in the Basement, Downton Abbey in the Kitchen or at the Table, there are familiar places we return to in fear; ever since the Last Supper, the last time all twelve were together with Jesus they went to the Upper Room. All the times before, when locked in the Upper Room for fear, Jesus would stand among them and breathed his spirit on them saying “Peace Be With You.” But this morning is not about what is familiar, what is safe, what was long long ago with Jesus in that time, this is real. What has changed, was that ten days before, 40 days after Easter morning, Jesus ascended to be with God, and Jesus gave a charge and benediction. In every worship service, whether a Typical Sunday morning, or a Wedding, or Baptism or Funeral, the Minister raises their hand for this blessing. The words are familiar and comforting an assurance that we can go out into life with God watching over us. But rather than the words “The End” being inscribed across the heavens, Jesus commanded the disciples to go out into the world, baptizing, preaching, teaching, doing everything he had done, knowing all the time you are not alone. This morning, they gathered in the Upper Room in Fear, when something happened, something mysterious. The words of Acts of the Apostles are translated that Fire appeared between them and resting upon each. While I know all things are possible, I am not a big fan of spontaneous combustion. And quite clearly the Disciples here are not suffering Burn Out. There are times for each of us when we suddenly are ignited with passion, when there is fire in our belly, when there are words that you say to another with burning tears in your eyes, words you had not planned out, that just seem to flow. That morning, like this morning, the disciples changed from being followers to being Apostles sent out. There are those who have made the equation, that in the Book of Genesis humanity settled, and humanity in our own aggrandizement built towers as a staircase to heaven that we could prove God was not there, so here thousands of years later, after the personal experience of knowing God through Jesus, filled with Holy Spirit, everything is put back just like it was before being upset. Now, in faith everyone can understand and share together. Except the story is not that easy, nice and complete. When brokenness happens, there can eventually be forgiveness, there can be reconciliation, there can be true communion, but nothing is ever able to go back to how it was before, even with all the Kings horses and all the kings men, Humpty Dumpty cannot be put back together again. The story of the Tower of Babel was a story about humanity's desire for control, for our overcoming every obstacle to be able to chose for ourselves what we want in life. Pentecost is about a far different power. No, the story of Pentecost is that those who had been disciples of Jesus Christ, witnesses to the crucifixion and resurrection, who had been charged and commissioned as Apostles let go control of doing things as they always had done, and addressed each different culture in the language of that culture. This is not a mater of speaking Greek, or French, or German, Hebrew or, Tia, Szechuan, or Lao-dician, and not about inventing some glossalalia language, but instead adapting, interpreting, risking, communicating what we have experienced in our lives, in our sharing in community to the culture around us. Due to the invention of television, our culture changed. When computers and the internet were first made available they were for the storage, processing and retrieval of known information. Culture has adapted and changed, so all our computerized devices today are means of communication, networking. No longer do we have the Nielsen Family, Mom and Dad, the two kids and dog, gathered around the television together watching Gunsmoke. Instead, one is on Facetime, one is watching a show they saved on Tivo fast-forwarding through commercials on their iPad, another chatting on their smart phone while searching for answers, and another watching the news, while bulletins scroll across the bottom of the screen. We have become a culture that is no longer obsessed with words. We communicate in images, icons, symbols, pictures. But those pictures still tell a story. The question of Pentecost, is how do we in this upper room where we have shared our encounters with the Lord, our communion and experiences of faith, in the language of the culture out there? Last Sunday, before I left for this Preaching Conference, I received an anxious phone call from a friend who is a Funeral Director. He needed a Christian minister to officiate at a Graveside for a family who were not part of any Church. I was all set to explain that I was on my way out of town for the week and really could not, but then realized, it's on my way to the airport, a graveside is such a brief service, I could take my robe in the car and say the prayers and give the benediction if we could gather first thing in the morning. My friend described that this was one of those little tiny cemeteries, so small there are not paved driveways and it is only accessible from the middle of May until the first of October. As I arrived the family were waiting, having a small car I pulled into an out of the way spot beneath a large sign saying that the Cemetery is only open the middle of May until the First of October. I put on my robe, met the family, listened as they shared stories and processed their grief, then offered a beautiful prayer and got back in my car. Knowing I was in a tight spot, I began to back up, when suddenly it felt as though my car was being lifted off the ground. I put the engine into drive, but the ground was muddy, and the car would not move. There was a huge boulder that I had backed up onto so the wheels no longer touched the ground. I wanted to look up to Heaven and say “Really God!” The family came over to the car and searched for ways to help. The Groundskeeper came over shaking his head, saying “This is why we don't allow people to drive in here until after the middle of May.” He went away to get a front-end loader, as the family and I looked for what we could do. Suddenly a group of women came running up, wearing T-Shirts that said “Mom's Body Builder's Bootcamp.” They said, we saw this image, this car high and lifted up, and all these people dressed in black looking sad, “Can we help?” I explained the grounds keeper had gone to get a machine. When suddenly this group of Moms worked together, knelt down (I thought possibly to pray) but they lifted my car and set it down in a different place. Culture has changed. All week long at the conference, 2000 pastors listened and discussed how the culture claims to be spiritual but no longer religious. How attendance and participation have suddenly added to loss. On the way home, I sat on the plane and the woman next to me said “So what do you do.” I said I was pastor of a church, and she responded “Oh I don't go to church anymore.” Having been at this conference all week, I asked her why. She said “The church always had so many rules. They were against this and had a law against that. I went to one church that was so conservative, then to another that did not believe in anything. Then all these priests were found guilty of far worse things, and it seemed the church had paid them off to cover up the problem.” I responded, the church I know, recognized that we are made up of human beings. We recognize that some horrible things have happened in our past, but owning that, we have forgiven one another and tried to relate differently. She asked “how?” and I explained we are incredibly diverse, which means rather than standing for nothing, we have to work really hard to be the Church. It is not easy, because there is no book of sins. Instead, whatever causes you to feel broken and isolated, loss, those are the things we need to grieve and repent and find ways, real ways to live differently. I described Presbyterian Manor, how people volunteer to share a meal, and provide a home for those who cannot live alone. And the work in Sudan, as each individual stepping up to do what they could, without guilt if you could not, or if you were not interested. It takes hard work, constant work, questioning how we can compromise, where we can adapt to address the culture, while maintaining faith with integrity of relationship. Then she surprised me, by asking “Why?” And all I could say, is that we are in relationship, we pray for one another, we share our wounds and our joys, knowing God cares, and that the Spirit of God is not a thing in the Bible long, long ago in a distant holy land, but a passion burning in and between each of us and between us and God.