"To Speak in Other Languages" (Acts 2:1-12)

Jesus Pays Attention

One of the first homework assignments that I can remember, is from the fourth grade. My teacher asked us to sit outside somewhere one afternoon and make a list of twenty things we observed happening. It seemed a simple task, but in fact it took effort; perhaps most importantly, it took time and attention. I remember a number of classmates not completing the assignment and complaining that it was silly. I remember them saying, “We’re not even doing anything in this assignment. How does it relate to what we’re learning? What’s the point?”

It’s a pertinent question that echoes the values of our culture. What’s the point of attention when we already have plans and projects? What’s the point of patience when we have deadlines? What’s the point of appreciation when we already know what’s important and what’s not, who’s in and who’s out?

What’s the point in paying attention?

That’s what Jesus’ followers are often asking. Remember when Jesus is walking in the midst of a large crowd, being pressed in on all sides, and a woman who has suffered from bleeding for twelve years makes her way anonymously through the crowd and touches his cloak (Mark 5:24-34). Jesus is so attuned to the people around him, that he can distinguish this touch of desperation and need from all the other incidental contact. He is moved by it. “Who touched me?” he asks. His disciples, who are probably playing crowd control and trying to keep Jesus on time for his next appointment, reply, “Who hasn’t touched you? What difference does it make?” And of course it makes a world of difference for the bleeding woman, who is healed as Jesus meets her faith with his full attention and love.

Or remember when some mothers and fathers are bringing their little children to Jesus (Mark 10:13-16). The disciples are indignant and speak sternly to the parents. “What’s the point?” they must be thinking to themselves. “Our Lord has much more important things to be doing.” But Jesus is moved by these little children and says, “What could be more important than these little ones? You could learn a thing or two about living in the kingdom, if you bothered to pay any attention to them.”

Or remember Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1-10)? We might chuckle at the thought of a “wee little man” climbing up a tree to see Jesus. (I know more than one Sunday Schooler who has come to the conclusion that this little man, who had lots of money, was in fact a leprechaun!) But when Jesus spots the tax collector and is moved to declare, “Zacchaeus, I’d love to eat with you today,” the crowd are not chuckling. They are grumbling with confusion and anger. “What’s he see in Zacchaeus? Doesn’t he know he’s a sellout to the Romans, a greedy, rich, dirty sinner?” But Jesus goes and feasts with Zacchaeus, and he is saved. No longer does he seek salvation in riches or power, but he gives away over half his possessions and rejoices in the love he has finally found.

The list of people whom Jesus notices, whose hearts he discerns, goes on and on. The widow quietly donating her coin at the temple, the blind man whom the crowd are trying to silence, the rich man whom Jesus looks upon and loves, the Samaritan woman at the well whose deep, dark story Jesus somehow fathoms before she tells him. It is common to think that Jesus’ knowledge and healings are supernatural, a bit of divine magic coursing through his mind and out his fingertips. The problem, though, with turning Jesus into a divine magician, is that we can then dismiss his deeds as being impossible; we deify him instead of following him. Perhaps the real miracle is much simpler. Perhaps it is Jesus’ humble power of attention and appreciation. He sees and cares for what his disciples and others dismiss. He is supremely attuned to others. He hears not only what they say with their lips, but what their bodies are saying, and what their hearts are hiding. And so he can speak a language that is “deeper than words” (cf. Rom 8:26), a language of compassion that touches their deepest wounds with healing.

His actions speak louder than words. They say something like this: “I see you. I know what you’re feeling and going through. You are God’s beloved child, and I love you.”

The Language of the Heart

Luke, who wrote the books of Acts, tells us that on the day of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit swept down among the gathered Christ-followers and filled them up, they began “to speak in other languages” (Acts 2:4). Folks from all over the world suddenly hear these unlearned Galilean men speaking in their native tongues (Acts 2:6). It sounds magical to me. Now, far be it from me to say “No, this couldn’t have happened,” to delimit the power of God’s Spirit. But I am inclined to think that God is just as alive and active today as God was back then, that history is not split into a biblical age of supernatural miracles and a secular age of natural phenomena. And quite honestly, I just haven’t seen this kind of instantaneous knowledge-absorption in our world today (though I’ve seen many middle and high school students put it to the test—studying the morning of!).

So this week, I found myself wondering, “How did these followers of Christ ‘speak in other languages’?” And suddenly, it hit me. Remember Christ? His spirit of attention and appreciation? His remarkable attunement to the hearts of others, especially those to whom society was least attuned, those whom society dismissed? It was as though he could speak their language. He could get through to them, could speak to them, could heal them, because he knew the language of their heart. Could it be so simple, then, that the day of Pentecost is when Jesus’ spirit of attention and appreciation suddenly floods his followers and they are able, like him, to speak the language of the heart, the true “mother tongue” of humanity, where the grammar consists not of nouns and verbs, but of fear and love, sin and forgiveness,  shame and belonging, hurt and healing, death and life?

The day of Pentecost has long been celebrated as the birthday of the church, and rightly so. But rather than think of it as the day of a grand, magical spectacle, the likes of which we will never see, I’m inclined now to think of it as the day when the followers of Jesus suddenly recognized, by the power of the Holy Spirit, that God’s love is for everyone. God’s love is the language of every heart. Pentecost happened at a grand Jewish festival, Hag Shavuot, the beginning of the wheat harvest, and there were people from all over the world in Jerusalem. The time was ripe indeed. The Spirit of Christ rushes upon his followers and opens their eyes to the hearts of every person they see. Because God’s love is for everyone.

It’s like Paul says. The Spirit doesn’t speak Hebrew or English. The language of the Spirit is “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” (Gal 5:22-23). It’s the language of the heart. It’s our first language, the language of God’s love.

“Parthians, Medes, Elamites…”

Readers have long observed that the day of Pentecost is like a reversal of the Tower of Babel. Whereas in Babel language is the cause of great division and dispersion, at Pentecost it unifies. But its unity is unique, unlike what we usually see in our world. One of the strongest unifying forces we see time and again throughout history is war, or the threat of invasion, which calls people to band together, to defend and protect their own, to sacrifice themselves for the cause of their people. In other words, nationalism and other sorts of tribalism invite us to divide the world into us and them, and to prioritize the needs of ourselves over others.

Yet at Pentecost, the unifying force of the Spirit moves not against other nations but to embrace them and bring them together into one body. All of this happens at an Israelite festival, so it is all the more surprising that there is no rhetoric of “Israel first” or “for God and country.” Instead, “Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome…Cretans and Arabs” (Acts 2:9-11)—all of them are addressed with the same spirit of attention and appreciation and love with which Jesus addresses widows and tax collectors and little children. According to Paul, this is the “mystery of Christ” (cf. Eph 3:1-12). The “nations” are equally embraced by God’s love. God’s love is for everyone.

Tomorrow is a holiday that confers great attention and appreciation toward those who devoted their lives to the nation in which we live. And it is good to be attentive and appreciative. That is the Spirit of Christ that we see in his life and among his followers at Pentecost. For me as a Christ-follower, Pentecost raises the difficult question of where I confer great attention and appreciation. Because the Spirit of Christ does not seem to play by the same boundaries that I do. It confers such great attention and appreciation upon the traitor tax collectors, widows, and children, upon the Parthians, Medes, and Elamites, that it can speak their language. It does not presume that their interests are secondary to mine or their lives less sacred, but that God loves them as much as God loves me. What would it look like if the same Spirit that filled those first Christ-followers and enabled them to discern the hearts of others and to speak their language—what it would look like if that Spirit filled me?

Prayer

God of all Creation,
Whose attentive, appreciative Spirit
We know first in Christ—
Inspire us as his followers
By the same Spirit.
Disarm us of judgments and assumptions
That block us from the hearts of others
…
And move us to seek their hearts
And speak their mother tongue,
Your language of love.
In Christ, in whom there is no east or west: Amen.

"Why Do You Stand Looking Up Toward Heaven?" (Acts 1:1-11)

A Holy Handoff

Today is the Sunday before Pentecost, Ascension Sunday. In church tradition, it is a feast day, a day of celebration. But it’s a rather odd celebration, if you stop to think about it. Because it seems to be celebrating Jesus’ departure, the day when he’s lifted up and taken out of sight.

Now, you might say that today’s celebration is really just an appetizer for Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit descends and fills the followers of Jesus. You might say that today is a little bit like a teaser. “Stay tuned for the next episode…”

The problem, though, is that scripture itself challenges this idea. When Jesus is lifted up and a cloud takes him out of sight, all of his followers look up into the sky. It is as though they are waiting for the next episode. But suddenly two men in white robes appear on the ground and ask them, “Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” (Acts 1:11).

In other words, what are you standing around for? What has just happened is not about Jesus departing into heaven. What has just happened is about you unleashing Jesus into all the world. It’s a holy handoff.

The Parable of the Librarian

It’s a little bit like this… There once was a girl who loved to read books. She loved to read all kinds—big books, small books, old dusty books, shiny new books. Any book with an inspiring story that made her happy to be alive. Naturally her favorite place in town was the library. She knew all its nooks and crannies. She knew it like the back of her hand. All her favorite books—she knew exactly where they were.

When she graduated from school and it was time for her to find a job, she approached the Librarian and asked if she could work at the library. The Librarian, who had checked out countless books to the girl and knew her well, was delighted. He took her on immediately and began teaching her about his work. He said to her, “This library is a kingdom of stories. Stories are how the Spirit moves” (cf. Acts 1:3).

And indeed, in the library, the girl was in heaven.

But one day the Librarian got a phone call and had to leave for a family emergency. “You will have to run the library,” he told the girl.

“When is the time that you will return?” she asked (cf. Acts 1:6).

“It is not for us to know the times,” he said (cf. Acts 1:7). “But do not worry. The Spirit that moves in these stories, which you have read, will come upon you. You will know everything you need to know” (cf. Acts 1:8).

When he said this, he disappeared outside the front door. That first day, the girl was in a daze. The stack of books waiting to be reshelved got bigger and bigger. Requests for books and journals flooded her inbox. She was overwhelmed. It felt like everything was out of control.

And that’s when she heard a Voice. It came from one of the stories in the library, she wasn’t sure which one. The Voice said, “Love is patient and kind, not controlling” (cf. 1 Cor 13:4-5). And then she remembered what the Librarian had told her once. “We are never really in control. Books will disappear. Patrons will get angry. The water fountains will break. We cannot control these things. But we can be kind in our response. Kindness restores life much better than control does.”

Inspired by the Voice and the memory, she addressed the things that needed doing, patiently, one at a time. She trusted that her kindness would be enough, that it would accomplish whatever needed to be accomplished.

About ten days later, she found herself lapsing back into feelings of helplessness. She found herself standing around, staring at the door where the Librarian had left. When would he return? That’s when she heard a Voice again. It must have come from one of the stories, she didn’t know which one. “Why do you stand looking up toward heaven? [What you think is gone, is not gone.] You will be my witness…to the ends of the earth” (cf. Acts 1:8, 11). And then she remembered what the Librarian had told her once. “Just bear witness,” he had said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

“Bear witness?” she had asked, not comprehending what he meant.

“I mean, just be honest. Sometimes people think they need to know more than they really know. They talk about big or famous books that they’ve never read or understood. They talk about places they’ve never been, things they’ve never felt. That doesn’t help anyone. Just be honest! Tell people about your experiences. Where you’ve found life. About the books you’ve enjoyed and why. You don’t have to know it all….You just have to know what you already know.”

Just then a young girl approached the counter and asked for a recommendation. The Librarian—for that is what the girl had become—smiled and told her about a few of her favorites.

“When?” “Now! Beginning with You…”

Paul says that the ascension is actually an expansion. He puts it like this: Jesus “ascended far above all the heavens, so that he might fill all things” (Eph 4:20). Jesus does not really leave. He is released, set free into all the world. Next Sunday memorializes the moment when his Spirit visibly stirs among his followers—is conspicuous in its expansion—but this Sunday is about the moment that makes that possible. Only if Jesus leaves, in the physical sense, can his Spirit be fully unleashed. Otherwise, his followers will expect Christ to do everything singlehandedly: “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom?” (Acts 1:6).

Jesus turns the tables on his followers’ expectations, telling them it’s not a matter of when God will do what God does, but whether they will bear faithful witness to the way that they have learned. “You,” he says, “will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses…to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8).

I think of this dialogue between Jesus and his followers in the following simplified way.

Jesus’ followers ask, “When is the kingdom coming?”

Jesus responds, “Now! Beginning with you…”

That may seem like a heavy burden, a mission impossible, but Jesus indicates the opposite, that it is the most natural and easy thing in the world. “Just bear witness,” he says. Which is another way of saying, just be honest about your experience.

Now, if you’re like me, you might feel a bit of doubt and worry. “Well, if I were really honest, then people might not hear the gospel. If I told them about my failures and my shortcomings, all the times I prayed and didn’t feel God’s presence, what kind of witness would that be?” And the truth is…it would be a very honest witness. It would probably be a lot more relatable to what other people have experienced, than just reciting some Bible verses would be. And the fact of your honesty, and your persistent trust in God’s love, your conviction in the sun even when the clouds obscure it—this would be a gift to anybody. It would honor them and point them to God.

And the real surprise is that when you have been really honest, you may get the strange sensation that you are not alone. You may discover that the Spirit that Jesus promised is in fact one and the same with whatever moved you to tell the truth. You may discover that the Spirit Jesus promised, is quietly within you, at home in your honest heart.

For indeed, Ascension Sunday is not about Jesus leaving us, but about Jesus being with us and expanding to fill all things.

Our Eastern Orthodox sisters and brothers have kept this tradition well. It is why they sing a hymn on Ascension Sunday that goes like this:

You did ascend in glory, O Christ our God,
Not being parted from those who love You,
But remaining with them and crying:
I am with you and no one will be against you.

Prayer

Dear Christ,
Who has not departed from us
But is with us,
Working still to fill all things—
Sometimes we feel overwhelmed
With all that seems wrong;
Sometimes we feel alone and small
…
Help us to discover
Beneath these feelings
The simple, honest truth of your love,
Which is your Spirit and your power,
And which is our song.
Amen.

"But You Will See Me" (John 14:15-21)

“Who Do They Remind You of?”

My family has a habit of asking a very particular question whenever one of us meets someone new. “Who do they remind you of?” It’s an illuminating exercise. Occasionally, when I make comparisons between the new person and others whom I know, I will find a near-perfect match in personality. They don’t necessarily look anything alike, but their mannerisms and their way of speaking and other intangible qualities seem almost perfectly aligned.

For example, I once met someone who had this extraordinarily disarming smile, a patient demeanor, and a gentle cadence in his speech. (He happened to wear a sweater-vest too…and would have made a great neighbor.) Maybe you can guess who I was reminded of—that’s right, Mister Rogers!

On more than one occasion, I’ve met folks who have reminded me of my Aunt Patti, who has traveled all over the world and loves to recount her adventures…over and over again.

What about you? Have you ever met someone and their personality reminds you of someone else?

Reminded of Christ

It has always struck me as strange that the disciples often do not recognize the risen Jesus when they first see him. Mary Magdalene thinks she’s talking to a gardener (John 20:11-18). Cleopas and his companion on the road to Emmaus think they’re walking with an ignorant stranger, who doesn’t even know what’s just happened in Jerusalem (Luke 24:13-35). Peter and several other disciples are fishing and probably think that it’s a fellow fisherman giving them advice when he says to cast their net on the other side of the boat (John 21:1-14).

How is it that Jesus’ closest companions do not recognize him? Does Jesus look different? Or is their grief so great that they cannot see clearly? Or is it because they saw him die and simply cannot fathom that he would be alive again?

The short answer is we don’t know. We don’t know why Jesus’ companions don’t recognize him. The gospels give no explanation. So maybe it’s not important. Maybe it’s not the right question to ask.

Maybe a more fruitful question would be the opposite. How is it that Jesus’ closest companions do recognize him? What is it that suddenly opens their eyes to see Christ before them? For Mary, it is the profound intimacy of hearing her name spoken. Where has she heard her name said like that before? For Cleopas and his fellow traveler, it is the enthusiastic interpretation of scripture and the breaking of bread. Who was it that loved to tell stories and loved to gather around the table? And for Peter and the fishermen at sea, it is the sudden abundance of fish. Remember what happened by this same body of water with the fish and loaves?

“Who do they remind you of?”

I guess what I’m realizing is that Jesus’ closest companions do not recognize him because of his physical features. They recognize him because they are reminded of him by the distinctive traits and character of the stranger before them. It can only be Christ.

Looking with the Heart

Today’s scripture comes from Jesus’ final dinner with his disciples. He has already washed their feet and given them the new commandment, to love others as he has loved them. In other words, he has entrusted them with his work. And now he offers them comfort and reassurance, insisting that even when he is gone in body, he will be with them in Spirit. “I will not leave you orphaned,” he says; “I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me” (John 14:18).

This prognosis grabs my attention. “The world will no longer see me, but you will see me.” It sounds familiar. It sounds like what happens immediately after the resurrection. Even Jesus’ closest followers do not see Jesus as first. Only when they are reminded of Jesus by something deeper than the skin—only when their hearts begin to burn (cf. Luke 24:32)—do they see him.

It is as though Jesus is saying, “‘The world will no longer see me’ because they look with their eyes, ‘but you will see me’ because you look with your heart.”

All over the Place

The risen Christ is all over the place. Even in the gospels before he has ascended. If we try to map out his various appearances according to the timeline given, then he is almost simultaneously miles outside of Jerusalem on the road to Emmaus, and inside Jerusalem at a table inside in a locked room, and all the way up in Galilee on a mountain and by the sea. The risen Christ is all over the place. And almost everywhere he appears, his closest followers do not see him at first.

It is almost like the gospels are shouting at us, his followers today, “The risen Christ is all over the place! You don’t see him? Keep looking! Look with your heart!”

Jesus seems to give us the same advice in today’s scripture. He gives us one very helpful tip for recognizing him, for he says that he will reveal himself to those who love him and live in his way of love (cf. John 14:21). In other words, it is easier to see in the world what is already inside our heart. It is easier to be reminded of something, when we know it well. Have you ever noticed that, for people who are always bitter and complaining inside their heart, the world is always filled with jerks and enemies? Likewise, for people who are always looking for redemption, the world is filled with fundamentally good people who sometimes find themselves in tragic circumstances. The world that we see outside of us, is a mirror of our heart. The psalmist captures this when he says of God, “With the pure you show yourself pure; and with the crooked you show yourself perverse” (Ps 18:25-26).

One really simple way that I have found to welcome Jesus into my heart, so that I might be more easily reminded of him, is to keep a few Jesus stories from the gospels close and at hand, to help interpret my experience and the world around me. I really like the story of the Gerasene demoniac, torn in a thousand different directions by his desires (represented in the ancient world as demons), who encounters Jesus and at the end of the story is found “sitting” with Jesus and “in his right mind,” the gospel says—as though to say that, when torn in a thousand different directions, maybe the way of Jesus is just sitting. I like the story of the prodigal son, whose selfishness leads him away from home to the far country of shame and brokenness, but whose father welcomes him home with joy and celebration, as though to say nothing can separate us from God’s love. When these stories and others like them are alive in my heart, I am more easily reminded of Christ, and it is easier for me to see the risen Christ all over the world.

It is true: I have no idea what Jesus looks like physically. But that doesn’t matter.

Prayer

Faithful Christ,
Who does not leave us orphaned
But abides with us—
At times we are short-sighted,
Seeing only the surface
And making judgments
That leave no room for you
…
Yet you are all over the place.
May we be reminded of you
In the love that haunts our world,
In which we live and move and have our being.
Amen.

slack and slightly open

There is a bald man shuffling down the sidewalk,
his mouth slack and slightly open,
his body drooping in obedience to gravity
or maybe, I imagine, shame and rejection
and the things you do to cope with those
terrible things.

I drive right by him,
although my hearts stops alongside him
and says we should stay—
and I don’t think it is pity speaking,
that voice of safe condescension;
I think it is
a child who sees another child
and knows what it is like.
I think that is why I cried.

"The Works Themselves" (John 14:1-14)

Parables

This morning, I want to try something a little bit different. I want to share a parable and nothing else. No commentary, no explanation. I’m struck by how Jesus seldom nails down the meaning of his teachings. We seem to want to nail things down more than Jesus does… Except when he is inviting the direct action of love—such as forgiving others, blessing our enemies, turning the other cheek, serving the perceived “least” among us—Jesus tends to leave things open-ended. He does not lecture his listeners, he shares stories, which he says are like seeds being planted, things that will grow.

His favorite form of address is the parable, a story that invites the listener’s imagination and interpretation. It is the first word in a conversation, not the last word. There’s a reason we still talk about them today. Their meaning is not nailed down.

Today’s parable is inspired by our scripture. Occasionally I’ve dropped some of the scripture into the parable. Maybe you’ll see the connections that I’ve intended. Maybe you’ll see other connections. In any case, I hope it inspires thought of your own, thought that becomes flesh.

A Parable of the Great Painter

There once was a village where there lived a great painter. He was prolific and generous, often giving his paintings away for free, so that after a while, his paintings came to inhabit every corner of the village. The odd thing about this painter was that he never left a signature on his paintings. He said he wanted the works to speak for themselves. He said the paintings weren’t about him, but about a new world that he had caught a glimpse of and wanted to share. He said, “My works are not about my name or my fame. They are about the way and the truth and the life” (cf. John 14:6).

But even without signatures, his paintings were immediately recognizable to the village people, because they always elicited a trademark reaction. His paintings made the viewer want to dance. Now, not everyone felt compelled to dance the same way. Some people would look at his paintings and want to dance a jig. Others were inspired to waltz. And still others would desire to tango. But regardless of their particular step, everyone who looked at one of the Great Painter’s works shared the same basic response. They could not help but dance.

After three years of painting, and much to the dismay of the village, the Great Painter announced that he would be leaving. He gave various reasons for his departure. One time he told some friends that he had been receiving more and more demands about the precise meaning of his work. But he only wanted people to dance. So, he would leave rather than fuel these pointless debates. Another time, when the towns crier asked him for a formal explanation, he shared simply that he feared the fame that was growing around him. He was afraid that it would get in the way of the work he was trying to accomplish. He did not want a cult of personality to eclipse the works themselves.

So he left the village, and never again did anyone see the Great Painter in their midst. The village mourned his departure. But still, in the presence of his paintings, they danced. For a while, there were no jigs. And the waltzes were slower. And the tangos were filled with nostalgia.

But then something strange and unexpected happened. Fifty days after the Great Painter had departed, mysterious new paintings began to appear in the midst of the village. People speculated that these new paintings were the work of the Great Painter’s devoted followers. Like the originals, these new paintings had no signature. But they all elicited the same trademark feeling. Whoever saw them, felt compelled to dance.

But sadly—and this is the tragic twist in our tale—some people didn’t dance. A great debate erupted among the village people. On one side, people said these new paintings were clearly not the work of the Great Painter, as he no longer lived among them. Therefore, they shouldn’t dance before these new paintings. But on the other side, people said that the Great Painter never signed his work anyway. The “signature” was the dance that the work inspired. They remembered how one time the Great Painter had shared that his paintings were not his own vision, but a glimpse he’d been given by someone he called his Father. “The [paintings] that I [paint for] you I do not [paint] on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and Father is in me; but if you do not, believe me because of the works themselves. Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these” (John 14:11-12). What mattered to the Great Painter, they said, was not his own recognition but the inspiration of others. He wanted to share the Spirit that was in him. These new paintings, they said, were not forgeries. They were authentic. Because they made people want to dance. And so these people continued to dance and were inspired to make more paintings themselves.

And to this day, there continues to appear in that little village new paintings that bear no signature other than this—they make people dance.

Prayer

Creative God,
Whose masterpiece of love
We see so clearly in the works of Jesus—
Sometimes we get stuck
On names, beliefs, rules,
And other signatures,
And we miss out on the way, truth, and life
…
Give us eyes to see not just the name of Jesus
But the beautiful Spirit inspiring his works.
May it inspire us, likewise, to dance.
In Christ, the way, the truth, and the life: Amen.