One hot summer in Oklahoma City,
my Dad began to find
little piles of matches,
twigs,
scorch marks
on the driveway
where we parked the station wagon.
It didn’t take long to discover
that the little boy across the street
liked to sneak beneath the car,
lie down on the concrete
directly below the fuel tank--
and build a fire.
Like an avenging angel,
Dad swept up the evidence,
placed it in a paper bag,
and marched the miniature arsonist-in-training
across the street to his parents
for a Come-to-Jesus-talk.
“He’s playing with fire” Dad said at dinner.
His voice,
usually so strong,
shook in terror over what might have happened.
“He’s playing with fire,
and he has no sense of its power.”
Sometimes,
when it comes to the Holy Spirit,
we're a lot like little Tommy Jones,
lying beneath the gas tank of a ‘65 Plymouth Fury
recklessly striking matches.
We play around with fire—
supremely unaware of its power.
Since that day of Pentecost,
we have tried to domesticate
something dynamic and fierce
and to tame
something that's highly flammable.
It’s a wonder we aren't all walking around
with singed eyebrows and blistered fingers.
I’ve heard people speak of the Spirit
as “a God Wink”,
or a gentle nudge,
that quiet guiding whisper in the stillness…
and perhaps they are right.
I’ve heard people say,
You know, anytime there is a coincidence,
well, that is the Spirit at work!”
and perhaps they are also right.
But sometimes I wonder.
I wonder if we remember
that on that first Pentecost,
the Spirit erupted as
fire
dancing on the heads of the disciples.
Imagine that at your next Parish Council meeting.
I wonder if we remember
that on that first Pentecost,
frightened men and confused women
were suddenly emboldened.
They became brave.
Daring.
Adventurous.
Filled with passion and heat.
Remember that the next time you remain
silent
on matters of mercy and justice.
I wonder if we remember
that these fire-wearing disciples
celebrated and praised God in a riotous babel of tongues
and then departed to spread the Good News
through person-to-person spontaneous combustion—
Romans or no Romans.
Risk or no risk.
Success or failure…
They were all in,
even when their hair caught fire.
Consider that when you take a step
back
and try to fade into the background
like a chameleon.
After Pentecost,
the disciples were playing for keeps,
and they were playing with fire.
Despite knowing about Pentecost,
we often invoke the Holy Spirit
as casually
as if we are swapping recipes
or picking up some nuts and bolts
at the hardware store.
We glide over this passage of Joel
as smoothly as butter on hot bread.
I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh. Your sons and daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions; even upon the servants and the handmaids,
in those days, I will pour out my spirit.
And I will work wonders in the heavens and on the earth...
Imagine this today.
Imagine our community if our sons and daughters
prophesied.
What if
spirit-filled young soprano voices
were amplified and honored?
What if
those same feminine voices
were allowed to challenge us--
Convict us--
Teach us--
Lead us?
What if boys too small to shave
examined our hearts and our actions
and convinced us by their passion
to step out
and serve the lost and broken among us?
What if
people we considered
lowly and no-account
were brought into the center
expanding our vision,
inspiring our worship,
and leading us into prayer and sacrifice?
What if elderly men and aged women
dreamed us
into a new world of change and transformation?
This passage is demanding,
Exhilarating.
Frightening.
It turns our structures and our perspectives
upside down
and more than a little sideways.
We love it for its poetic language,
but tend to ignore
its direct and pointed challenge
to our business-as-usual,
way of doing business in Church.
I wonder if the Spirit is less “God Wink”
and more “molten inner core of a volcano?”
I wonder if it is less “coincidence”
and more “mighty crucible”
transforming energy and tempering steel?
I wonder if the Holy Spirit is less “lofty language”
and more “match to fuel tank?”
The Holy Spirit is the Creator Spirit,
present before the creation of the universe.
“Spirit” translates the Hebrew word,
Ruah,
which means breath, air, wind.
This air--this breath--can be a gentle breeze,
refreshing and inspiring us,
or it can be a Category 5 hurricane,
forcing us to make emergency evacuation plans.
This wind can scatter seedlings across the plain,
or it can permanently twist the trees
and hurl that expensive security fence
into the next county.
I wonder if,
in our zeal to make our faith relatable
and welcoming--
easy to embrace and easy to live
we have forgotten
or perhaps never learned,
that the indwelling of the Spirit
can sometimes feel as if
we have stepped inside a nuclear reactor
or somehow
managed to touch the third rail and live.
I wonder if we have lost sight of the fact
that the disciples had Fire. On their heads.
That’s not a “God Wink,”
that’s a God Inferno.
The Spirit can comfort
and the Spirit can confront.
The Spirit can confound,
and sometimes,
that Spirit can combust.
At Pentecost,
the disciples received the breath of the Holy Spirit,
the Consoler,
the Advocate,
the Comforter,
the Mighty Wind.
Flames danced on their heads
and their hearts ignited in faith and mission.
Pentecost is not simply a history lesson
or a feast
commemorating one wild day
in the life of the Church
long ago and far away.
Pentecost is an event unfolding in our midst.
We are baptized into the Holy Spirit.
We are sealed with the Spirit at Confirmation.
We celebrate each Eucharist through the action
of the Spirit
and pray with the power of the Spirit,
who helps us speak
even when our own words fail.
Pentecost reminds us that we too,
are disciples with Fire. On our heads.
Disciples who should be playing for keeps
each and every day.
Come, Holy Spirit,
fill the hearts of your faithful
and kindle in them the fire of your love.
Send forth your Spirit and they shall be created
and you shall renew the face of the earth.