Grace for the Scorched

 Acts 2:1-21

When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

5Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” 12All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” 13But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”

14But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. 15Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. 16No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel: 17‘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. 18Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy. 19And I will show portents in the heaven above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and smoky mist. 20The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day. 21Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’

 When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. I really miss that. I can’t decide if it’s better or worse these days when we can begin to gather again, but it’s always tempered with contingencies and still incomplete. When even our being together reminds and reflects the ways things have been torn apart. When we hold joy and each other at an arm’s length because we’ve learned how fragile and fraught those connections can be. When even inspiring experiences are tinged with lingering heartache. It’s rough, even when I try to convince myself otherwise.

I try to bolster myself by remembering that those who received the Spirit that day in Jerusalem, were also probably reeling with a mix of grief and hopefulness after the resurrected Christ had gone and the way they related to God and each other would never be the same, while at the same time they sat there waiting to know the mysterious Spirit that Jesus promised would be there. I can only imagine living in that space between, but I feel like now I can relate in ways I didn’t before. Looking to the horizon, wondering….Where do we go from here? What are we even supposed to be looking for? How will we know She is here? 

Some days I feel confident in my anticipation and knowing, other days I feel like I have no freaking clue. 

I wanted to offer you insightful wisdom today. I had this lovely thesis written about how the Spirit connects, and inspires, and moves...and I DO believe that to be true, but my heart just isn’t up to saying those things today when I’m feeling disconnected, stale, and stagnant. I wanted to explain the beauty of this wild and free Spirit of God that draws together visions and dreams, young and old, past and present, and lay out the many ways we can understand Her life-giving presence and power, to delve into Her awesome mystery, but….it feels hollow on my tongue tonight. Some days the Spirit seems clear and palpable…like a loud, rushing wind, and others...like a still steamy silent swamp.  

Honestly, today, I don’t know where the Spirit comes from, not really, or where She goes or how She moves...but sometimes I can tell that She has been by here, perhaps like the wind which I can not see or hold, but know by the rustling of tree leaves, and even the scattered branches left on the ground. All I know is that in my experience, when I’m at the end of myself, that’s often where the Spirit becomes most evident, filling in the gaps that I don’t know what to do with, lending Her wholeness to things that are still fractured. Certainly I also feel the power of the Holy Spirit abiding in me in times when I feel most fully myself, and deeply connected to others, and fired up for the world, but perhaps, for today...being able to speak of the place where unknowing, grief, and holiness meet, and not rushing to tie up the loose ends blowing in the air is evidence of Her work in me, because it is beyond what I would do on my own.

I wonder what She is saying or moving in you if we created space to listen and feel?

After all, the miracle of Pentecost is not only that people spoke, but also that people heard.

I want to invite you to take a moment to be still, breathe deep, and release yourself into the deep well of your being and just notice what you notice there. 

Breathe in deeply this wind that hovered over the waters of creation. Let loose the constricted and conflicted knots from your belly.  Notice how it feels through your nostrils...is the air warm? Cool? Does it carry the scent of fresh rain? Notice how it feels passing across your tongue as you breathe out. Notice how this divine breath fills and expands in your body and then returns to the world, spreading out from your mouth. Continue to breathe and wonder and be. We’ll spend a couple minutes here and the sound of the chime will call us back together. You don’t need to strain for some miraculous meaning, simply attend and let yourself be aware of God as Spirit with you as you are.

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This Past weekend, we gathered online for Synod Assembly to tend to our shared work of church and one of the speakers, Peggy Hahn said,  “one way I know it’s the Holy Spirit is when I tell others what I’m hearing, they hear it too.” What did you notice? What did you hear? Feel? Who is someone you can share that with?
When the day of Pentecost had come, SOMETHING joined them in that messy space, something holy and whole and alive. Together, through the ancient words of prophets, through diverse community, and in the depths of their own hearts...they begin to recognize this as the presence and work of the Holy Spirit. 

The Spirit arrives on the wind which can rush and swirl, yet it is the same gentle wind that draws close to our own lungs and into our molecules.  She is as intimate as our own breath even as She spreads out to fill the whole space and lingers like static in the air so thick with energy it seems to spark a fire whose flames lick at the core of their being and settles there. She moves like fire which can roar and consume, but also simmers even among faint embers. 

I don’t know what that is like for you or what it will birth, but I know that SOMETHING holy is stirring within you and beyond you, and in the spaces between.

As you go from here, I offer this blessing from the word of Jan Richardson, “The Grace that Scorches Us”

Here’s one thing
you must understand
about this blessing:
it is not
for you alone.

It is stubborn
about this.
Do not even try
to lay hold of it
if you are by yourself,
thinking you can carry it
on your own.

To bear this blessing,
you must first take yourself
to a place where everyone
does not look like you
or think like you,
a place where they do not
believe precisely as you believe,
where their thoughts
and ideas and gestures
are not exact echoes
of your own.

Bring your sorrow.
Bring your grief.
Bring your fear.
Bring your weariness,
your pain,
your disgust at how broken
the world is,
how fractured,
how fragmented
by its fighting,
its wars,
its hungers,
its penchant for power,
its ceaseless repetition
of the history it refuses
to rise above.

I will not tell you
this blessing will fix all that.

But in the place
where you have gathered,
wait.
Watch.
Listen.
Lay aside your inability
to be surprised,
your resistance to what you
do not understand.

See then whether this blessing
turns to flame on your tongue,
sets you to speaking
what you cannot fathom

or opens your ear
to a language
beyond your imagining
that comes as a knowing
in your bones,
a clarity
in your heart
that tells you

this is the reason
we were made:
for this ache
that finally opens us,

for this struggle,
this grace
that scorches us
toward one another
and into
the blazing day.

—Jan Richardson
from “Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons”