Acts 2:1-21 / /John 20.19-23  / / Ezek 37: 1-10     Geoffrey Stevenson

Come Holy Spirit; fill us afresh as we seek to hear your word, for we pray in your name, and that of the Father, and the Son. Amen

Churches that celebrate Pentecost are doing many things today. Some will be wearing red. Some will be using liturgies which include different languages. There are children singing happy birthday to the church and maybe having some birthday cake. I am told that in Italy in past times it was customary to scatter rose leaves from the ceiling of the churches to recall the miracle of the fiery tongues

At what is often called the birth – date of the Christian church, it was the Jewish festival of Pentecost, the fiftieth day. (Seven weeks after Passover). There were large numbers who had come from many places. The disciples must have left the upper room, and gathered near where the crowds were, and suddenly there was this … this thing that happened: a physical and emotional event with fire and noise and rushing wind. They were filled with other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

The bystanders were amazed because this rag-tag bunch of disciples who had been with Jesus, these Galileans with their apparently difficult accent, were coming on like UN translators. Reactions varied, some were impressed, others thought that they’d been at the (gesture). Certainly it was a brilliant platform for Peter, who makes what is maybe the 1st sermon of this baby church.  They’re not drunk, he says – No, this is what the prophet Joel promised, this is the Spirit of God. …

Do I like this powerful Spirit?

Well, you know, I want to say I’m not sure I like this Holy Spirit very much. All this power on show. –Very noisy, very loud, very violent. one of the Greek words -I’m sure you know this,- used to describe the mighty works of God is dunamis from which we get dynamo, and dynamic, and dynamite – you blow things up with dynamite. So there’s a lot of violence, maybe a bit of male obsession about getting things done, about having an effect, about making a difference. It’s very oppositional, adversarial. Redemption yes, but redemption by violence –

But why not, you might say? Israel is an oppressed people longing for God’s restoration, and the fulfilment of his promises, and the re-occupation of the land by force. Not of course, human force. Divine force. But force, none the less. This is the way the Israel would be restored, Scripture often seems to promise.

Fortunately Jesus came into Jerusalem riding humbly on a donkey, he preached against violence, resisted calls to establish the Kingdom of God as a warrior, which was the only language many at that time understood – the only language many understand even now.

I came across a little story recently of a medieval saint who arrived at the town walls of a new site for his ministry. He got off his dusty old horse, he knelt down and prayed,

Lord, let me do as little harm as possible to the people in this town.”

Of course I don’t think that the gospel is bad news, or toxic in any way. It’s just that Christians carry it rather badly sometimes, even when – maybe especially when –  they are being renewed and revived.

So if you’re like me you’re maybe thinking and feeling that if that’s renewal, if that’s revival - I‘d rather it passed me by.

Or a comforter?

Maybe the Holy Spirit as comforter is more what I want. In his first book Luke, tells of Simeon, who was looking for the consolation of Israel – AND he was full of the Holy Spirit (2.25). The consolation of Israel. And Christ saw himself as the comforter to his disciples, which we know from his promise to them: that though he was leaving, God would send them another comforter.

And personally I would like it if it was not a wordy, all must comply-or-die kind of affair.

A little more like the Jesus of our Gospel reading. He appears to the disciples, and he says “Peace be with you.” Twice. Peace be with you. Somehow I don’t think it’s formulaic, a sort of Yo, bro, or Hello, How Do you do? to which you don’t want an answer… Or like this wall tile I have from the States that says, “Shalom, Y’all.” No, I think he meant, Peace be with you. He says, Peace be with you, and he sends them in the same way, he says, as he was sent by the Father, and he breathes upon them, saying “Receive the Holy Spirit” – This is not just power for mission, but was bound to be remembered as a re-inauguration of hope, the kind of hope needed by the recently bereaved, by exiles, by the oppressed, by people who see themselves as having no more life than dry bones.

Which is why I’d like to take us back to the third reading with a dramatic version of it. (when a play is staged again it’s called a revival, and as it’s been a few years since I created this you may think a little renewal of dem bones is called for. I know I do.

Anyway…. A people lost, ground into dust, taken from their land, exiled into slavery. Unable sometimes even to sing the songs of their faith in a strange land. The promises of God like a whisper, carried on the wind. The sun beats down, drying out the land leaving cracks and fissures in the red earth, and tiny shoots shrivel instantly. A hopeless, barren scene.

The Valley of Dry Bones

This is most certainly about renewal, more than renewal. These were not slightly tired people, maybe a little old and worn out. They weren’t asleep, nor recently dead, like Lazarus. They weren’t even whole corpses with flesh still on them, but bones: dried up, scattered bones. Reminds me of the tombs of the Capuchin monks in Rome, with all the scapulae from dozens of deceased monks in one place, all the skulls somewhere else, a enormous clock face composed of just finger bones.  Gives a new meaning to the idea of a digital read-out – And as Bill Bryson observed in one of his travel books, evidence of a few monks with a compulsion for tidiness and way too much free time. But the shock of Ezekiel’s vision of revival is his identification with the utter lostness and the death of the hope of a people exiled and force – marched into slavery. Out of that will come restoration, for a whole nation, not individual healing or consolation as a nice feeling, but a new people, a church.

When the situation is desperate, is it any wonder that violent acts of God is longed for?

To comfort the afflicted, and to afflict the comfortable

What I am saying is that the coming of the Holy Spirit, and the promise of the Holy Spirit, has meant somewhat different things to the Church, just as it may mean different things to us today. It reminds me of what has been said of the purpose of journalism, To comfort the afflicted, and to afflict the comfortable Also said of preaching, of course: To comfort the afflicted, and to afflict the comfortable I think it’s best said of the Holy Spirit… So I’d like to put in a word for whatever it takes to shake us from complacency that may go with being just too comfortable.

Comfort can wrap around us like a big duvet – OK for a cold night, but which if we try to walk around in it during the day, it will rather slow us down. Sometimes we need a shake, to jar us out of our comfort zones: – The comfort of daily routine that no-one outside is allowed to break, the comfort of a tight family group that can’t welcome strangers, the comfort we seek that has us buying insurance for absolutely every eventuality from losing your bicycle lock to dialling Japan by mistake on your mobile. There is a work of the Holy Spirit that disturbs our comfort, and keeps us from being insular. It keeps us from being wrapped up in our own worries whether it’s how we look or how successful we are, or about the strength of the economy or the case for a referendum on independence. To be able to act globally as well as think locally.

Reversing the curse

In our story from Acts, the list of nationalities present is virtually exhaustive and runs the geographic gamut from east to west. The way the normal barrier of language is overcome seems to be a clear reminder of the curse following the building of the tower of Babel and the prideful folly that it represented. It’s a kind of temporary reverse of the curse.

Today I think we are seeing some worldwide common languages, and one of them is certainly compassion in the face of natural disasters - – Never more necessary than the current tragedy in Burma – We have opportunities for Christians Jews Hindus and Muslims to contribute to a Buddhist relief effort. Now, I don’t know your policy when you pass a beggar on Princes St, whether you suspect that any donation you make would go straight to a drug dealer. I don’t know how much international aid sent to the Burmese government will make it to the most desperate. Apparently not a lot. I found a way the other day to give online to Sasana Moli -  The International Burmese Monks Organization – bypassing the government, directly to the monasteries of Burma where relief work is being done.  I don’t really know if my money will get there either – But I do know that compassion – anyone’s compassion - is an outworking of the Spirit of God, and that scepticism must not be allowed to crowd it out. And I do need a bit of provoking from God to challenge that scepticism. Please see me afterwards if you want a web address for contributing to that organisation. – www.avaaz.org

But of course the comfort – or consolation of God - is a vital mark of the Spirit in the ministry of the church today. And so I’ll finish with this little story..

Pastoral comfort

This comes from John V Taylor’s wonderful 1972 book on the Holy Spirit, called The Go-Between God.

A West Indian woman in a London flat was told of her husband’s death in a street accident. The shock of grief stunned her like a blow, she sank in the corner of the sofa and sat there rigid and unhearing. For a long time her terrible tranced look continued to embarrass the family friends and officials who came and went. Then the schoolteacher of one of her children, an Englishwoman, called and, seeing how things were, went and sat beside her. Without a word she threw an arm around the tight shoulders, clasping them with her full strength. The white cheek was thrust hard against the brown. Then as the unrelenting pain seeped through to her the newcomer’s tears began to flow, falling on their two hands linked in the woman’s lap. For a long time this is all that happened. And then the West Indian woman began to sob. Still not a word was spoken, and after a while the visitor got up and went.

To share the pain can be to release the healing. The mission we are called to, and renewed for, may not be aggressive, and full of words. It may be consoling and have as many questions as answers. It may be in gestures, rather than powerful words, tears rather than tongues of fire. But God willing, we will be graced by his peace, and filled by his Spirit. May the peace of God, comforting and afflicting, go with each one of us. Amen.