Sam Bush, “Open Palms: A Sermon for Pentecost”
Trust the process. That’s what every seminarian is told as they endure the five year ordination track to become a minister. Trusting the process is rooted in the idea that one should not rush through the required steps, but trust that progress is gradual. Maybe you can relate whether you are part of a new employee onboarding process or in the midst of a grieving process. “Trust the process” implies that there is a system at work that is greater than human understanding. It can be a comforting thought and, to a large extent, it’s true.
There’s just one thing. Obviously, in my situation, the system is not airtight. Somehow I snuck through the cracks of this ordination process. Two weeks ago, I was giving a tour to a fourth grade class who were asking thoughtful questions about our sanctuary and the Episcopal church. One of them pointed to the letters “IHS” on the Cross, asking what the “IHS” meant and I just thought, “I should know this. I really wish Amanda was here. She’s the reason I even graduated seminary.” By the way, I googled “IHS” and it’s just a Latin abbreviation for “Jesus.” I should have just guessed!
Think about your own life. Where does “the process” fall short? Where is there system failure? Writers will talk about the creative process, most of which, according to my writer friends, consists of days of procrastinating with a stroke of genius right before the deadline. The process of buying a home is less playing the system and more being in the right place at the right time. The same goes for romance. Love is not a rational process, but an emotional ambush! Dating apps might streamline the dating process (maybe…), but for two people to actually connect, fall in love and commit to wedlock seems nothing short of a miracle every time. Which brings us to today’s reading for Pentecost.
When the Holy Spirit bursts onto the scene in the book of Acts, it does not come completely unexpectedly. Before Jesus ascends into heaven he tells his disciples to wait in Jerusalem where they will be baptized by the Holy Spirit. Days later, it happens, but in a way nobody expected.
120 of Jesus’ followers, including the twelve apostles and Jesus’ mother, Mary are gathered in a room. They’re immersed in church business, appointing a twelfth apostle to replace Judas, when the strangest thing happens. It’s hard for Luke to describe. You kind of had to be there. He says, “A sound like a rush of a violent wind filled the entire house. Divided tongues like fire appeared.” He compares the Holy Spirit to things, but can’t quite pin it down. The Bible describes the Spirit as fire, water, wind, a dove, a Comforter, an Advocate, a Helper, a Teacher. It is not a process but a power. It is not an airtight system but a living Spirit. Luke says, “All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages.” On that day, the streets of Jerusalem would have been packed for the feast of Pentecost which was an annual harvest festival. The Jewish Diaspora from all over the first-century Roman world would have been in town, speaking all kinds of languages.
What was jarring was not that these languages were being spoken, but that they were being spoken by Galileans. Galileans were not the sophisticated elite. In the eyes of the world, they were country bumpkins, uncultured, uneducated. But somehow they are speaking fluent Egyptian, Arabic and a dozen other languages without taking a single Duolingo class (as someone who studied French for 10 years, but has very little to show for it, this is slightly infuriating). They’ve bypassed the process and nobody knows what to make of it. The passage says, “All were amazed and perplexed, saying, ‘What does this mean?’” You see, the work of the Spirit is often perplexing. It is not a power that we can harness or tap into, but a power that comes and goes as it pleases.
Because it is such a foreign power, because we can’t wrap our minds around it, we can often dismiss it. Luke says some onlookers scoffed, saying, ‘They’re drunk on cheap wine.’” In other words, “Listen, I know a Galilean when I see one - they can’t even speak proper grammar let alone fluent Greek. This isn’t how things work. Cows go moo, sheep go bah, Galileans speak Aramaic. Everybody knows that.” They are closed off to the bewildering nature of God, locked in a cage of their own understanding. They prove that whatever you are able to hold in the palm of your hand, you are capable of crushing.
Most of us can probably identify. It can be easy to be suspicious of the emotional component of the Holy Spirit. Emotions are not always reliable. How you feel about something may not be God as much as indigestion or lack of sleep. Our minds can play tricks on themselves and it is important to be tethered to what’s real.
Which is why Peter makes clear that what is happening is more real than any human logic. When people accuse the disciples of being drunk, he says, “Fellow Jews and all you who are visiting Jerusalem, listen up and get this story straight. First off, these people haven’t had time to get drunk, it’s only 9AM (OK? This isn’t Coachella. It’s Pentecost). Moreover, this was not humanly contrived. This is what the prophet Joel said was going to happen 800 years ago: "God declares, I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh. Sons and daughters, men and women, young and old. Even upon my slaves I will pour out my Spirit.” Whereas a priest would have had to serve as mediator between God and people, the Spirit breaks the language barrier. Through the Spirit, everyone has a direct line with each other and with God. God’s power overrides our systems of power - socially, politically and interpersonally.
You see, systems often help - we have a system of liturgy, for example, that provides structure in a way that can ground you - but Christianity is not another system of rules or a process of moral improvement. It’s a personal encounter with the living God. It’s the story of a God who broke into a world that had everything down to a system and turned it on its head. He recognized that our legal system was necessary, but said that it’s not sufficient. He understood our need for a justice system in the world, but broke from the way we insist on fairness and the way we dole out innocence and guilt. Ultimately, he subjected himself to our political and religious systems, opening his palms to be crushed at our own hand. And yet, through the Cross and resurrection, the vicious systems of Sin and Death completely lost their power over your life.
When seen for what it is, the gospel will make you question everything. Why do I care so much about what people think of me? Why am I pouring myself into a job that will never love me back? Why is everybody pretending that everything’s OK?
When your own systems fail, life often becomes more real.This heightened sense of reality is an uncomfortable place to live and yet, in these moments, in the strange, unfamiliar and often painful moments of your life, you may encounter God. In the place you least expect, you may feel His Spirit move.
The former Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, who for the past twelve years oversaw our grand system of the Church of England (of which we are a part), once experienced the presence of God where he least expected, when he and his wife lost their seven-month old daughter after a car accident in 1983. In a café outside the hospital, he and his wife Caroline were talking and praying at its rawest - “Oh God help. O God where are you?” - when they had a sense of needing to say to God, 'Your will be done.’ Open palms.
He said, “This sense of handing over was agonising,” but when they returned to the hospital to learn that she was dying, he said, “The presence of Jesus in that room was simply overwhelming.” Looking back, forty-two years later, he says “It was indescribably painful, but it was also a time when both of us still remember that there was more a sense of the presence of God than any other time in our lives and the reality of God’s love. It’s still a pretty rare day when I don’t think about Joanna. And yet, it’s never to think about her without remembering the almost tangible way in which Christ held her and us and holds us still.”
The story is bewildering enough for anyone, believers and unbelievers alike. And yet, while the Spirit’s nature is utterly confounding, it is also the source of peace that passes understanding. After all, God is not a process or a system but a person, a person who makes his presence known. And in him, you can trust.
Amen.
