Pentecost Sermon: June 8, 2014

Pentecost Sermon

June 8, 2014 

Preacher: Pastor Carrie Smith

John 20:19-23

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Less than a month ago, it was snowing in Crystal Lake. Can you believe it? But summer is finally here. School is out (or almost out, depending on your district!). And the arrival of summer means one very important thing for kids of all ages: Summer Superhero Movies.

In case you hadn’t noticed, superhero movies are kind of a “thing” right now. Just in 2014, movies have been released featuring Robocop, Captain America, the Amazing Spiderman, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, X-Men, Transformers, and the upcoming flick that’s getting a lot of buzz around my house: Guardians of the Galaxy. Moviemakers (and the bankers who fund them) have figured out that we Americans love our superhero movies. It can be the umpteenth reincarnation of Batman, or a complete retelling of Spiderman, or just a really bad comic book script about a minor character, and we will not only shell out the money, but will stand in line for hours (in costume!) to see it the first night.

I’m not an expert on movie culture and history, so I’m not sure if this is truly a new phenomenon. But I suspect there is something about the times we live in that makes these movies so attractive right now. I wonder if it has to do with the fear we’ve been conditioned to have about the state of the economy and the threat of terrorism.  Or maybe it’s a result of the instant information about world tragedies that comes to us, day and night, on our smartphones. It could be that we flock to see characters with super-human powers because we regular mortals often feel quite power-less. After all, if we don’t have the power to rid the universe of evil, it does feel good to sit in a dark, air-conditioned room and watch the Man of Steel or Catwoman do it without breaking sweat.  

If you’ve ever felt powerless or lost, confused or afraid in the face of the world’s problems, then you have good company in the ones Jesus called his friends and disciples. In today’s Gospel reading you heard how, on Easter evening, after hearing the news of Jesus’ resurrection, the disciples were all gathered in the house behind locked doors. These were men who had left everything and everyone they knew to follow an itinerant preacher and prophet. They had spoken truth against power. They had fed the poor. They had touched lepers and eaten with sinners. They had taken nothing with them, but relied only on the kindness of strangers for food and shelter. They didn’t always get it right, but they had walked boldly with Jesus, doing brave and risky things they never imagined they would do.

And now, here we see them, hiding behind locked doors. And why?                                                                                                                                        

Because they felt powerless.

They felt powerless to stop the so-called trial that convicted Jesus.

They felt powerless at the foot of the cross.

They felt powerless when he was laid in the tomb.

They felt powerless to fight the grave-robbers they imagined when they heard the tomb was empty.

They felt powerless (and skeptical) when the women told unbelievable stories of resurrection.

And now, hiding in this locked room as darkness fell, they felt powerless to face the future without Jesus. Gone was all the bravado and passion and activism that had inspired them on the journey. Now, they were just regular mortals, with regular powers, and no superhero to lead them in the fight against evil. They were afraid.

Then, suddenly, he was there, standing in front of them!  

Although the doors to the room were locked, the risen Christ came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” He proved who he was by showing them his hands and side. Once they were convinced, Scripture tells us “the disciples rejoiced.” Picture that room for a moment: Can’t you just hear the whooping and hollering? Can’t you see them crying and embracing, breathing sighs of relief? Can’t you see them releasing all that fear and tension, their shoulders resting a bit lower, their faces relaxing into smiles?

The disciples were ready to party, because their hero was once again with them, but Jesus had more important things to talk about. One more time, he said to them firmly, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

And then, knowing how they had locked the doors, knowing they were afraid, and understanding how powerless they felt, Jesus gave them a gift.

With all of the disciples gathered around him, Jesus breathed on them and said “Receive the Holy Spirit.”  

And bam! Those who were once Fearful Followers of a Failed Prophet are now Mighty Members of a Movement. Each and every one of the disciples received the Holy Spirit and became powerful beyond their wildest imaginations. The presence of the Holy Spirit, a gift from God, empowered the disciples to continue Jesus’ mission.

And what was that superpower? What was it that the Spirit empowered them to do?

It was the power…(Drumroll…) to forgive sins!

Wow. Picture that room again. Can you hear the dead silence? Can you see the perplexed faces of the disciples?

I don’t know about you, but I might have liked to receive a different superpower in that moment. I mean, there are so many choices, Jesus!

I don’t need to fly or climb walls or turn things into perpetual winter.

But I might like the power to cure cancer!

Or I might be interested in the power to take away a family member’s addiction;

The power to predict the future;

The power to grow money trees;

The power to make someone love me;

Or the power to make everything the way it used to be!

Really, any of those would be just fine, Jesus.

But Jesus said: “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

The disciples, once aimless, powerless, and afraid, had received both a purpose and power through the gift of the Holy Spirit. They were empowered to go…and forgive.

My sisters and brothers in Christ, on this Pentecost Sunday, we celebrate how we, too, through the presence of the Holy Spirit, have received purpose and power beyond our imagination. On the day of our baptism we were brought to the waters of salvation, just like Alyssa, Eli, Peyton, Mason and Kaylee, who are baptized today. And there, at the waters, we were marked with the cross of Christ and sealed by the Holy Spirit.

We've been sealed by the Holy Spirit, and that means that we, who often feel powerless and afraid, have nothing to fear. Just as the tongues of fire fell upon each and every head on the day of Pentecost in Acts chapter 1, each of you has received power through the Holy Spirit! You did nothing to earn it. You didn’t even have to prove you could use it. The Spirit of God is a gift, bestowed upon you at baptism, empowering you to continue God’s mission in the world. 

And we begin that mission, says Jesus, by practicing forgiveness.

Now, the power to forgive might seem a small thing in the face of the world’s great problems.

Forgiveness might seem an insignificant weapon in the war on poverty, for example, or in the struggle against oppression and injustice.

But then, consider: How many people are walking around needing peace and forgiveness?

How many are burdened with guilt over past wrongs?

How many walls have been erected out of fear, resentment, and misunderstanding?

How many poisons infect the lives of those who harbor anger?

How much war has been committed because world leaders could not (or would not) forgive centuries’ old grievances?

How much pain, how much sorrow, how much evil in the world do you suppose is a direct result of the human need to forgive, and to be forgiven?

Jesus said “As the Father sent me, so I send you.” Jesus was sent to walk among us because God, the creator, loves the world more than we can imagine. God loves us so much that through the cross, the sin of the world is already forgiven. All of it! Every one! Yours, and mine. The mistakes we’ve already made and the ones we haven’t thought of yet. Finally, and forever. Once and for all.

So if the cross already took care of it, and all is forgiven, why do we need to practice forgiveness? 

Because even if we’ve heard the good news, we don’t always remember it—or believe it applies to us. Even if we believe we are forgiven, we may not extend the same gift to others.

And it’s all that guilt, fear, anxiety, judgment, and secrets that become the cosmic poison that creates war, conflict, resentment, distrust, and evil.

But you are not powerless, sisters and brothers. You, who are sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism, have superpowers! You, who have been forgiven, are sent by Jesus to continue the powerful divine work of forgiveness.

 Through the Holy Spirit, you have the power to release hearts from prisons of guilt and shame.

Through the Holy Spirit, you have the power to put to rest age-old family conflicts.

Through the Holy Spirit, you have the power to tear down walls.

Through the Holy Spirit, you have the power to make peace. 

Sisters and brothers, united by the Holy Spirit, you are Mighty Members of a Movement. And this powerful movement starts with forgiveness.

 Repeat after me, saying: “In Christ, I am forgiven.”   

And the next step goes something like this: Turn to your neighbor and let them know: “Through the power of the Holy Spirit, I forgive you.” 

The peace of Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit be with you all! 

Pentecost Sermon 2013: Pastor Carrie Smith

Pentecost Sermon: May 19, 2013

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

This morning we heard the story of the day of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit fell upon a gathering of believers like fire, giving them the ability to speak other languages. We sometimes call this the “birthday of the church”, and not only because it’s a good reason to eat cake! We call this the birthday of the church because it marks the beginning of something new. It was this day when God gifted believers with a new mission and purpose: to share the Good News of Jesus Christ across the boundaries of language, culture, race, gender, orientation, class, economic status, political persuasion or physical ability. On Pentecost, God sent us out beyond every boundary humans have ever created—and through the gift of the Holy Spirit, God gave us the power to do it.

Some of you are wearing your Pentecost red this morning, but even so, you may not be feeling especially powerful, particularly if you have ever tried to cross one of these boundaries and experienced just how hard it can be. We humans are master architects and builders of separation walls. If you’ve ever worked on an interfaith committee or an anti-racism team; if you’ve tried to help a classroom understand your child’s disability; if you’ve ever lived in another country or learned another language, you know the walls that separate us are high and often difficult to climb.

I learned something about boundaries—and how the Holy Spirit transcends them—when I was twenty years old and had the chance to study in Germany for a year.

The first new language I learned to speak that year abroad wasn’t actually German, but rather the language of public transportation. Public transit is something that just didn’t exist in small-town Oklahoma. Your choice for gettin’ around where I came from was essentially a choice of “vehicle”: car or truck.

But in one 24 hour period on my journey to Germany, I experienced my first overseas plane ride, followed by my first train, first street car, and first taxi ride. Then, once my bags were unpacked at my hosts’ home, they asked if I’d like to accompany their daughter at her rowing lesson. Soon, there I was, in my first rowboat, rowing down the Rhine River.

Needless to say, the study abroad experience was overwhelming and disorienting. I looked for comfort and stability in church. I had just recently joined the Roman Catholic Church back home (that story is a sermon for another day!) so I started attending daily mass at the huge cathedral in Mainz, where I was living.

It didn’t take long to realize this church was very different from my small, liberal, university campus parish in Oklahoma. I didn’t understand the language. I didn’t know any of the hymns. There was lots of standing up and sitting down that we didn’t do at home. And at age 20, I was a good 60 years younger than anyone else attending those early morning masses. It was beyond discouraging, but I kept going, praying hard to feel the presence of God in my life that I so dearly missed.

Adding to my sense of being out of place was this one woman at the church who always seemed to be staring at me. She made me nervous, with her long black dress and her little head doily. Her nose-hairs alone were enough to put the fear of God in you! Every day when I arrived, she was already there praying, and let’s just say: her demeanor was less than welcoming.

One morning, as I arrived and quietly found a spot to kneel and pray, nose-hair lady began to shuffle towards me. I did a quick mental check: What had I done wrong? Was my skirt too short? Did I sit in her pew?

When she got to me, I cautiously looked up at her and then nearly fainted, because she was smiling at me! Without saying a word, she reached out and took my hand. She pressed into it something small and hard. Then she just held my hands in hers for a few moments and looked into my eyes before going back to her usual place to pray.

When I opened my hand I saw it was a tiny silver medal, with an image of a baby dressed in royal clothing. I truly had no idea what it was or what I should do with it! Later, I found out it was an image of the Infant Jesus of Prague. At that moment, however, it meant one thing to me: I wasn’t alone. God was with me even in this foreign land. And this woman had been praying for me!  Through the power of the Holy Spirit, God was speaking to me through this woman, across the boundaries of language, culture, and generation. This was a Pentecost moment for me.


There have been other Pentecost moments that stand out in my mind. Once, when I was having pregnancy complications, my Egyptian neighbor brought me the biggest pot of soup I had ever seen, and without saying a word she communicated that God was with me even on bed-rest. Another time, it was I who was given the gift of tongues, when I found myself sitting on an airplane next to a man who spoke no English and was traveling from Germany to, of all places, Oklahoma City. Between us, we managed to have a conversation in something you might call “Jerklish”. But when I was able to understand that he wanted water “mit Gas” or “with bubbles” and arranged for the flight attendant to bring a bottle of Perrier, you could see the tension and fear leave his shoulders and his face.

Now, you might be saying, “Pastor Carrie, I don’t see how this has anything to do with the Holy Spirit! You’re just talking about the power of a smile, the power of food, or the power of kindness and a glass of water. What does this have to do with God?”

To which I might respond: “Oh, how we limit God’s presence and power in our lives!”

In fact, our under-estimation of God’s power is what made the Day of Pentecost so scandalous! There they were, the faithful of the early church of Jesus Christ, all gathered together in one room, and when they experienced that first Holy Spirit smackdown and started speaking in tongues, no one could understand what was happening. The devout religious folk living in Jerusalem said, “Aren’t these all just poor fishermen from Galilee? Where did they learn to speak my mother tongue?” Most assumed they were drunk, even at nine in the morning, which just shows you the kind of reputation and standing Christians enjoyed at the time of the early church. But what other explanation could there be for simple, ordinary people, suddenly gifted with the ability to cross over boundaries of religion, language, race, and culture?

Indeed, what explanation can there be for those moments when a smile, a pot of soup, or an act of kindness communicates God’s love between people who otherwise share nothing in common?

On the Day of Pentecost, it was Peter who stood in the assembly and announced that this was in fact the power of God at work! This strange event was just the beginning of God’s presence and power in the lives of the faithful through the gift of the Holy Spirit.  This is the work of the Advocate, whom Jesus promised, who makes our sons and daughters prophesy; who makes our young men see visions, and our old men dream dreams; and who gives us a peace that passes all understanding.

So sisters and brothers in Christ, if the power of Holy Spirit can be found working through a bunch of poor fishermen from Galilee or a pot of soup from a neighbor, then who are we to limit the Spirit’s power to transcend other boundaries in our lives? How is the Holy Spirit at work through this community?

We say “Surely it can’t make any difference if we try to sing a hymn in Spanish in worship. I might sound ridiculous—I don’t even know what I’m singing.” And yet, for your neighbor, this could be a Pentecost moment, when the Spirit empowers you to sing the Good News in her mother tongue.
We say, “I love to knit. But how can that prayer shawl I knitted really help to spread the Good News?” And yet, this week, in my role as a member of the County Mental Health Board, I heard from a counselor how she picked up two of Bethany’s prayer shawls at the FaithBridge Interfaith Thanksgiving Service, and gave them to a woman and her daughter who were in great need. Today, the little girl still has hers on her bed at home, and the mother finds comfort knowing she is wrapped in the prayers of those she doesn’t even know.

We say, “I’m 80 years old, and you can’t teach an old dog new tricks! How can the Holy Spirit possibly work through me?” And yet today we pray a blessing over Mavis Bagby, age 80, who is traveling to Uganda next week to accompany the people there. I have no doubt Mavis will experience many Pentecost moments, as the Holy Spirit works through her and through the Ugandan people to transcend boundaries of language, race, class and privilege in service to God’s mission.

And today we are blessed to be witnesses to the baptisms of four new brothers and sisters in Christ: Jimmie, Natalie, Myles and James. Through water and the Word, God claims them today as God’s own, forever marked with the cross of Christ and sealed by the Holy Spirit. But my favorite part of the baptism liturgy is after the water, when I have the honor of laying my hands on each of their heads and praying these words:

“Sustain Myles (and Natalie, and Jimmie, and James) with the gift of your Holy Spirit: the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the Spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord, the Spirit of joy in your presence, both now and forever. Amen.”

 

This is my favorite part of the baptism liturgy because, like that Day of Pentecost in the second chapter of Acts, I know it is the beginning of something new. This is the baptismal birthday of Myles, Natalie, James, and Jimmie. This is the day we celebrate that each of them is gifted with God’s Holy Spirit, and from this day forward is sent out into the world in God’s service. Who can say how the Spirit might work through them? Who can say which boundaries they will erase, which walls they will tear down, or whose languages they will speak? Who can say how they will prophesy, dream dreams, or cast visions for the church and for the world? Who can limit how God may use each of them to share the extravagant love of Jesus Christ to those who need to hear it?

Sisters and brothers, through the cross of Christ and his resurrection, every barrier that stood between us and God is gone forever. And now, through the gift of the Holy Spirit, God has empowered believers to remove every barrier that stands between us and our neighbors.

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, alleluia!

DAY OF PENTECOST: May 27, 2012

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Acts 2:1-21; Romans 8:22-27; John 15:26-27, 4b-15

Grace and peace to you from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Sisters and brothers, let me be clear: This may be Memorial Day weekend, but Pentecost is not a memorial day for the Holy Spirit. Sometimes, of course, it can be hard to tell the difference.

After all, for Memorial Day we wear special colors: red, white and blue in memory of Americans who fought and died for freedom. And on Pentecost we wear special colors, too: red, or perhaps yellow and orange, in memory of that day when the Spirit rained down like tongues of fire and made the disciples free—free to share the Good News with neighbors and friends and to the ends of the earth.

On Memorial Day, the marching band plays and the drums roll in honor of our soldiers. And on Pentecost, we pull out the drums, too, and invite dancers to church, in honor of the fact that Christians can clap and dance to worship God anytime we want to! (…but we just don’t feel like it most of the time.)

On Memorial Day, every politician is a patriot, and heart-warming words are guaranteed to be spoken from every podium. And on Pentecost, we break out the Spanish and German and Swedish, speaking tongues in the pulpit and from the pews—and for at least one Sunday you would think we truly are the multi-lingual, cross-cultural, racially diverse congregation that was gathered on that first Pentecost morning (…but just don’t ask us to sing that setting of the liturgy that’s in Spanish, Pastor.)

But in spite of our red paraments, our global music and our prayers in foreign tongues, Pentecost can nevertheless seem like a memorial service for the Holy Spirit. Because we pull out all the stops just this once a year, it feels like more of a commemoration than a celebration.

Do you remember when we had the Spirit?

Remember that Global Mission Event where everyone was clapping and singing in Swahili? The Spirit was there for sure.

Remember when we went to camp, and we danced in worship? That was definitely the Spirit.

Remember when we tore down the old sanctuary and built a whole new one? Remember when we started the PADS ministry and opened the preschool? Wow, the Spirit was really moving back then.

Remember when we were young, when we were bold, and when the Holy Spirit seemed so near to us?

Do you remember?

Sisters and brothers, let me say it again: Pentecost is not a memorial day for the Spirit.

Pentecost is a celebration of the living God. It’s a festival day, set aside to honor the Spirit who is still here. God’s Holy Spirit is among us even now: poured out upon you in your baptism, interceding every day with sighs too deep for words, and guiding us into all truth—whether we notice her or not.
This is not a memorial service for the Holy Spirit! But…the colors, the music, and the languages of this day do invoke a dangerous memory: they awaken in us of the truth of God’s presence in and among us. And for this reason, our Pentecost worship traditions do have a purpose. The sights and sounds of this day serve to prime the pump, to open our eyes, to awaken our senses, and to fan the flame of the Spirit so we once again surrender to her fiery presence among us. 

And then, we can sing together in all truth: Come thou fount of every blessing! Tune my heart to sing thy grace!

A few months ago a miracle happened: it was a Saturday night, the sermon was already written, and both of our sons were occupied with sleepovers.  My spouse and I jumped at the chance to go into Chicago for dinner and a show. Because it was a last minute date, we chose to eat at the restaurant just next door to the theater. It happened to be a Middle Eastern restaurant run by Palestinians. Robert, of course, couldn’t wait to compare the food with his favorites from his many travels to the Holy Land, so he asked the waitress if we could speak with the chef.

Now this is usually the moment when I cringe with embarrassment. Robert is always doing things like this: chatting with the taxi driver about that time when he visited his home village in Palestine, or asking the pharmacist about her accent and correctly guessing she was from Senegal, or somehow knowing the exact spot in Cairo from which Christiane Amanpour is reporting on CNN. This was no exception.

But when the chef came out he knelt by the table to chat, and we learned he was from Jerusalem. He was a Muslim but had attended St. George’s, an Episcopal school in Jerusalem. He had many good things to say about Christians in general and Lutherans in particular. And then he said, “My brother is still in Jerusalem. He has a shop there across from the Sbitany Center.”

I sat with my mouth hanging open as Robert said, “Oh, yes—on Salahadin street, on the corner between two flower shops.” The chef was flabbergasted—shocked enough, in fact, to later send out free desserts for the two of us.

Just last month when Robert returned to Jerusalem, he stopped in to that very shop. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he simply opened with: “Hi. I was in a restaurant in Chicago and met the chef, who says his brother owns a shop here.”

To which the shop owner replied: “This is MY brother! You have come to the right shop!” He was so amazed that an American Christian would take the time to pass along a message from one Muslim brother to another, across continents, cultures, and creeds, the shopkeeper said: “You must come home with me. You must talk with my mother.”

Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. (Acts 2:3-4)

Come thou fount of every blessing: Tune my heart to sing thy grace.

When we lived in Waco, Texas, Robert and I were grateful to qualify for the public school’s free preschool program. I eagerly took 4 year old Caleb with me to Doris Miller Elementary to register on that first day—and right away I noted that we looked quite different from the rest of the student body. In fact, Caleb was not only the sole white child in the class, but in the entire school. We were encountering the reality of a divided city—whites on one side of town, blacks on the other; money on one side of town and none on the other—and we, it seemed, were living on the “wrong side of town.”

We decided not address this with 4 year old Caleb, because, after all, being the “token” is a reality for children of color nearly every day—but we wondered when (or if) the color divide would become an issue for him at school.

And then, one day, about four months into school, it happened.

Caleb came in from school and excitedly said “MOM! Guess what! I just noticed something about my friends today.” “What’s that?” I asked a little nervously.

“Mom, we were counting things today and you know what? I’m the only kid with blue eyes in our whole class!”

‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy. (Acts 2:17)

Come thou fount of every blessing: Tune my heart to sing thy grace.

In 2003, my father-in-law died at the age of 52. He had been chronically ill for a long time, but his death was rather sudden. Robert and I were living in Minnesota, finishing up graduate school, and cash was more than tight.

But as soon as we got the call, we rushed to Oklahoma on gas cards and coupons and with the kind help of a state trooper who rescued us when a tire blew on the turnpike somewhere near Wichita. In times like these, you do what needs to be done, and that’s what we did.

It was a trying, emotional week, but the drive home was filled with just as much anxiety. We had emptied our bank account, and Robert, who was paid hourly, had missed an entire week of work, which meant another lean week to come. I wondered how we would even buy groceries when we got home. But I didn’t say much about it. After saying good-bye to Ed at such a young age, my stress about groceries and the budget seemed, well—inconsequential. I didn’t mention it to Robert. I probably didn’t even pray. I was determined to work it out on my own.

But when we arrived home and I was standing in the kitchen of our student apartment, reading through the stack of mail from the week before, I came across a letter from a good friend from high school. I realized I hadn’t called her to tell her about Robert’s dad, and made a mental note to call the next day.

But as I opened the envelope, something green fell out. $50, to be exact. It wasn’t the Mega-Millions jackpot, but it was enough to purchase food for the week. A windfall in our budget.
My friend had written this:

“I was about to go shopping today, but God told me you needed this money more than I did. I have no idea why I’m sending this to you, but I figured you would know. Love, Karla.”

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. (Romans 8:26)

Come thou fount of every blessing: Tune my heart to sing thy grace.

Sisters and brothers, I stand here as a witness, testifying to the presence of God’s Holy Spirit among us today. God is still speaking. The grace of our Lord Jesus is with us. And the Holy Spirit—our Comforter, Advocate, Sustainer, and Intercessor—will guide us into all truth. And all God’s people said: Amen!