Sermon: False and real hope (June 28, 2020)

Pentecost 4A

June 28, 2020

Jeremiah 28:5-9

Matthew 10:40-43

INTRODUCTION

         This week’s texts follow nicely (and in some cases, directly) after last week’s, so let’s start with a little recap.

         Our passage from Romans follows directly after last week’s. Last week Paul asked that important question, “If we know that we have grace no matter what, should we just do whatever we want? Shall we continue in sin in order that grace may abound?” and answered the question, “By no means!” Today he continues his question-and-answer rhetoric about sin, and whether or not grace exempts us from following the law. (Spoiler: it doesn’t!)

         Our text from Matthew continues what is known as “the missionary discourse,” which we’ve been hearing the past couple of weeks. Today Jesus will talk about welcome, and specifically welcoming a prophet, someone who is proclaiming the (sometimes difficult) word of God. When someone welcomes such a person, he says, they welcome Jesus himself. Sometimes we may be the ones welcoming another, and sometimes we may be the ones depending upon being welcomed. Each role has its challenges!

In Jeremiah last week, the “weeping prophet” (as he’s sometimes called) lamented about how difficult his life as a prophet is, that he is mocked and reproached whenever he speaks the word of God because so often that word is not what people want to hear. Today we see one example of the sort of difficult message he has been called upon to deliver. Here’s some backstory, which I’ll go into more in my sermon: Jerusalem has been attacked by the Babylonians and many of her leaders have been sent into exile in Babylon. Along comes the false prophet Hananiah to tell them that their exile is over and God will now put everything back how it was. Jeremiah comes in all sassy and sarcastic saying, “Ha! I wish!” and then puts Hananiah in his place, saying, “Unfortunately, rosy pictures like that sound good, but it’s only God’s word if it actually happens… and this, I’m afraid is not going to happen.” The life of a prophet, we see, is not always to say what people want to hear.

Especially in the first reading and the Gospel, we are invited to think about welcome. So as you listen, consider what sorts of people, messages, or messengers you are more likely to welcome and let influence your perspective, and who has or hasn’t welcomed you. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         The year was 594 BCE – after the Babylonians had attacked Jerusalem, captured many of her leaders, and carried them off into exile, but before the complete devastation of that great city that would happen seven years later. The few who remained in Jerusalem were left reeling, and longing for the Babylonian oppression to end, and for their city to return to its previous freedom and glory. They were hungry for a word of deliverance from God.

         Enter Hananiah. He tells the aching people just exactly what they want to hear: “It’s almost over!” he says. “Just two more years of this, and then God will bring back all the stuff the Babylonians took, and all your leaders will be restored. God will break the yoke of the king of Babylon! You will no longer live under this oppression!” Can you imagine the happiness? Here is this guy who says God has been talking to him, and he’s got great news! Peace is coming! “Back to the way things were” is only two years away. I know that I would be thrilled to hear this news, and, in my desperation, would readily latch onto this word of hope.

         Jeremiah, meanwhile, is feeling the burn – not only that burning in his bones that comes with having to speak the often unpopular word of God, but also a burning in his shoulders, for just before this moment, God has instructed Jeremiah to begin wearing a cattle yoke around his neck as a sort of object lesson, a sign of their impending captivity, humiliation and servitude to Babylon. (I know, it seems weird now, but at the time this was a really obvious message to his audience, so just go with it.) God had even told Jeremiah, “False prophets are going to come along and try to convince people that the Babylonians will not win this round, that the yoke will be broken. It isn’t true! Wear this yoke to show them that the impending Babylonian captivity is all too real.”

         Now, like clockwork, Jeremiah walks in on Hananiah doing exactly this. I can just picture Jeremiah, weary from carrying his yoke, sighing deeply when he hears Hananiah’s words. He looks at all the priests and people standing there; the creases in their faces have suddenly eased with the possibility of good news. They look at Jeremiah with expressions that just dare him, to say anything that would take away the hope and joy they long to embrace.

Jeremiah hates this moment. This is that moment when he knows that if he speaks, he’ll be mocked, and if he keeps quiet, it is like a fire burning in his bones that he cannot contain. He knows he must speak. He takes a deep breath and says, “That’s what I want, too. Amen! May the Lord do it! May the Lord bring us out of this moment of pain and uncertainty. May the Lord bring back to us the life we have known. And yet…” he sighs again, “It is not yet to be. Listen, prophets across time have always prophesied war, famine, and destruction. It would be awfully unusual for a prophet to speak of a peace that comes so easily and seamlessly. So, we’ll have to wait and see. If it happens, it happens, and then we’ll know that God really sent this guy. But until then, I hate to tell you, things are gonna get worse before they get better.” Sure enough, they do. Seven years later, the city of Jerusalem is completely destroyed, and the Israelites spend the next 70 years in Babylonian captivity – a sort of divinely instigated time-out, for the Israelites to rethink their lives, their faith, and the loyalties.

         I can’t help but hear this story and picture our own reality, our own world, aching as we are for some hope and good news. I’ve heard our current administration try every which way to give us some good news, to spin the coronavirus and the economic situation and the racial unrest in as positive a way as possible to make it look like it isn’t as bad as it is and we don’t need to worry… even as scientists and economists and sociologists return these efforts with grim pictures of reality that we would rather pretend do not exist. A false prophet like Hananiah tells us just exactly what we want to hear, right? That life will soon return to what we have known and loved, that things will soon feel normal again, that things aren’t as bad as we think, that what we’ve lost will soon be returned to us, that our pain will come to an end. A true prophet like Jeremiah won’t sugar-coat it. He will tell us the cold hard truth: that the peace we crave cannot and will not come so easily as all that. Hananiah’s prophecy offers reassurance, triumph, nationalistic hope, easy victory, even divine favor… but it is all cheap comfort and false hope.

         Jeremiah’s prophecy does what a prophet should: it provides people with hard and holy truths, about God’s disappointment and grief, about the need for repentance and a return to God, about the high cost of justice, about patience, longsuffering, and sacrifice. It’s a risky prophecy, to be sure, to speak truths that no one wants to hear, but it is also a faithful one, because it puts us on the path to drawing close to God and God’s hope for creation.

         What do you think: is Jeremiah the sort of prophet or prophecy that you would readily welcome into your home, to whom you would offer a glass of cold water, as Jesus says? I’m not so sure I would. I’d way rather have Hananiah over to my house. He seems like a lot more fun, and certainly makes me feel better, and his prophecy implies a lot less effort on my part. I’m in! But the take-away from this story is that, as appealing as quick peace, easy comfort, and cheap justice are, these are not the life of faith. As preacher Debie Thomas says, “[This story is] a call to radical, risky, honesty, a call to take our vocation as truth-tellers very seriously. As God’s messengers in the world, we are not at liberty to soften the Gospel for the sake of our own likeability. Jesus has not commissioned us to say whatever is trendy or comfortable or easy or popular. He has commissioned us to say what is true. False hope is not God’s hope. Easy peace is not God’s peace. And convenient justice is not God’s justice.”

         The good news, then, comes with knowing that while that peace, justice and hope may not come easily, nor on our preferred schedule, they do, and always will, come. For God to achieve all those things for us required death on the cross, so we cannot imagine they will come easily for us. If Jesus had to go through the pain of death to bring about new life, we mustn’t be surprised that we, too, must face the painful truth in order to find the new life he ultimately promises. And so, in the life of faith, we do: instead of 70 years in Babylonian exile, we face a pause from our regularly scheduled activities, a time to reevaluate what is important to us. Instead of destruction of our city by a foreign power, we face the destruction of our previously held convictions about how life works, and the destruction of damaging preconceptions we have held about people and institutions. Instead of death on a cross, we face the death of our sin by way of repentance, of coming before God with hearts bare and ready to be transformed.

         And eventually, after all that loss and reckoning, that false hope Hananiah once offered becomes true hope, the true hope that is of God, for we do, finally, come to that new life: a life free of the burdens of sin, free of the fear of death, free of the pain of human brokenness. They don’t come easily, but they come faithfully, genuinely, and out of the great love God has for us – a love that doesn’t promise ease, but does promise us deep and everlasting life.

         Let us pray… God of hope, when we are fearful and anxious, we grasp for any hope we can find, even sometimes false hope. Direct us always to the true hope and life that you offer, and even if it doesn’t come easily to us, strengthen us to persist in the way of true justice and peace. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Continue in sin? By no means. (June 21, 2020)

Pentecost 3A

June 21, 2020

Romans 6:1b-11

Matthew 10:24-39

INTRODUCTION

         I mentioned last week that now that we are into the season of Pentecost, the focus of our assigned readings each week turns to the work and life of the Church, now enlivened by the Holy Spirit. I believe I even complained a little bit that our start into this reflection on our role as the Church in the world was not a gentle one, with some pretty steep demands from Jesus. Hate to tell you – this week isn’t any easier!

         Jeremiah starts us off by lamenting the difficulty of his call as a prophet. He is laughed at, mocked, and reproached all day long, he says, and whenever he wants to give up, saying, “Forget it, God! You’re on your own!” it feels like a fire is in his bones. He must do the Lord’s work. But all the while, he knows, God is with him “like a dread warrior,” so he knows the enemy will not win. In Romans, Paul will simultaneously convict us and lift us up, telling us that just because we have God’s grace does not mean we get to “let sin abound.” His phrase, “By no means!” is an emphatic one (I imagine an inflection of, “Come on, what are you thinking??”). Our Gospel reading is the continuation of last week’s speech to those Jesus is sending out, with continued warnings about the violence and division that may happen as a result of this mission. “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword,” he says. The text comes off as sort of piecemeal, like an unrelated collection of sayings of Jesus that he wants to be sure to get out there… which almost makes the warnings even more jarring to take in.

         So no, today’s texts are not easy, but they do also offer plenty of hope. As you listen today, listen for that hope. Hear the difficulty that comes with a genuine life of faith, but listen to the ways that God provides in that journey. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         This past week marked anniversaries of a couple of significant events, both old and modern, in the history of Black people in our country. On Friday, June 19^th, we celebrated Juneteenth, the anniversary of the day in 1865 when slaves in Texas finally learned of the Emancipation Proclamation that President Lincoln had made two and a half years prior. Upon learning of their sudden freedom, there was great joy and jubilation. Fast forward 150 years: on Wednesday was the 5^th anniversary of the Charleston shooting, when a young white man (who was, incidentally, raised in an ELCA church) walked into a Bible study at Mother Emanuel AME Church and, after joining them for Bible study, shot nine people while they prayed. 150 years after slavery ended, this level of animosity toward Black people in America was still, horrifically, on display.

         These two anniversaries, and in the midst of continuing unrest and conversation about race in our country, were on my mind when I read today’s assigned texts. And when I read Romans 6, it was like a punch in the gut. “Shall we continue in sin in order that grace may abound?” Paul asks. “By no means!!” I thought of Pastor Jim Wallis calling racism America’s “original sin.” I thought of how many people (myself included) I have heard insist, “I’m not racist!” but who also do nothing to counter the all-too-real reality of racism that still exists in our country, and in fact, even aim to deny it exists at all. And I thought of the conversations I have had with my husband this week, in which we have both said, “I’m done being quiet about this. It’s past time to speak up.” Shall we continue in sin in order that grace may abound? By. No. Means.

         And yet, as much as I long now (finally) to do something about the way racism is expressed in our country, this adamant statement from Paul that opens our reading today convicts me again and again. Because the truth is, I have for many years “continued in sin in order that grace may abound” – on this issue and frankly, in several other ways. Because the thing is: change is hard. Changing our ways is hard. And so sometimes we’d rather keep living the way we have always lived because that is the path of least resistance. So we may continue to see the effects of racism, but assume it is not our problem to fix; or continue to see the brokenness in one of our relationships but hold onto the grudge because it makes us feel powerful and forgiveness seems impossible; or continue to engage in habits we know are not good for our bodies, but they offer us a brief escape. Often, if we’re honest, we would rather continue in sin, because the way of sin is what we have known. Sometimes, rather than change anything, we instead start to convince ourselves that our behavior isn’t really sin. “I deserve a break, so I’ll just pop open another bottle of wine,” we say. “He really hurt me, so he deserves what is coming to him,” we tell ourselves. “Oh, that is such a shame that this racist thing happened, but what am I supposed to do about it? I’m not racist! I’m not the problem!”

         We started off our service this morning as we often do, with a prayer of confession. “We have sinned against you in thought, word and deed,” we prayed,
“by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.” This second part, these things “left undone,” is why I feel so convicted by Paul’s words this week. For too long, I have lived blissfully unaware of race issues. In these past few years, as I’ve become more aware, I have made an effort to learn and educate myself on the issue. And so at this point, having now learned about the history and present of this issue, and about some ways that I can be a part of the solution rather than a passive observer, now for me not to act makes me a part of the problem, because I’m knowingly allowing it to persist. It becomes one of those things “we have left undone.”

         Ibram X. Kendi says as much in his book, How to be an Anti-racist. He defines the difference between “not racist” and “anti-racist.” He writes, “What’s the problem with being ‘not racist’? It is a claim that signifies neutrality: ‘I am not a racist, but neither am I aggressively against racism.’ But there is no neutrality in the racism struggle. The opposite of ‘racist’ isn’t ‘not racist.’ It is ‘anti-racist.’” In other words, to be a passive observer is to tacitly support something that we know is hurting our brothers and sisters in Christ. It’s like watching my 4yo beat up on my 3yo and saying, “Well I would never pinch him, and I don’t think she should either,” but not doing anything to intervene.

According to Martin Luther’s Catechism, this is breaking the 5^th commandment. In his explanation in the Large Catechism, he writes, “Under this commandment not only he is guilty who does evil to his neighbor, but he also who can do him good, prevent, resist evil, defend and save him, so that no bodily harm or hurt happen to him, and yet does not do it.” You see? If we see there is something that we can be doing that would prevent harm from coming upon our neighbor, and yet we do not do it, then we have sinned. By standing back and refusing to change our ways that have tacitly supported brokenness by insisting we are not a part of the problem, we are “continuing in sin in order that grace may abound.”

Now, will God forgive us for our resistance to move away from behaviors that harm ourselves and others of God’s children, or at least that allow harm to occur? Of course God will forgive us. That’s not in question. But, Paul says, Christ died for us specifically so that we would not continue engaging in such behaviors, or neglecting to move toward healthier and more faithful ones! “How can we who have died to sin go on living in it?” he asks. How can we who have been baptized – in essence, gone into the watery tomb with Christ and then been raised to life again with him – how can we even think of still trying to live in the land of sin? Christ died to get us out of there!

         Of course I know how we can even think of living in the land of sin: because it can be incredibly daunting to live elsewhere. Something bad but known seems safer than something unknown. Taking the first step is hard, sometimes the second step is even harder. Moving out of sin and into life is not the path of least resistance, because it takes a lot of self-reflection and facing of realities in ourselves and the world around us that we would rather not face. No one feels good recognizing that they have said or done something that unintentionally hurt someone else. No one likes having to face their own racism, or their own brokenness, or their own shortcomings.

Jesus anticipates this. He warns us that this won’t be easy. This is what he means when he says we need to lose our life for his sake in order to find it. We need to lose all those “things done and things left undone” that have held us and our fellow humans back in sin, back from living into the life that Christ died to give us. We need to lose our apathy and passive endorsement of racist structures. We need to lose our anger at someone who hurt us in our past and it still jades our view of the world today. We need to lose our fear that we are somehow not enough to do the work that Christ calls us to. Once we can lose all of that, we will find the true life the Jesus promises us. Once we lose that life of sin, we are promised that “we too might walk in newness of life.”

         Let us pray… God of life, you call us to leave behind our sinful ways, but the difficulty of this sometimes leaves us paralyzed and content with continuing along the path of least resistance. Make us courageous enough to move toward the life you died to secure for us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Fears and seeking justice (June 14, 2020)

Video of the whole service can be found here. Gospel reading begins at 26 min.

2^nd Sunday after Pentecost

June 14, 2020

Matthew 9:35--10:23

INTRODUCTION

         This week we enter into the time in our liturgical church year called the season of Pentecost, or “ordinary time.” (Doesn’t seem right, does it, in these incredibly extraordinary times in which we live!) Basically, it means we’ve made it through all the big festivals and special seasons – Lent, Easter, Pentecost and Holy Trinity – and now we have a long stretch of not having any festival days. It is marked by having green paraments – all the way until October.

         Perhaps more importantly, ordinary time is when the assigned lectionary texts instruct us regarding how to be the Church. From Christmas through the Easter season, we talk a lot about Jesus and his life. Then on Pentecost the Holy Spirit comes and enlivens the Church, and for the season of Pentecost, our focus turns to how that Spirit continues to enliven the church. What a time for our attention to turn this way!

         We don’t get to ease into this season of the Church: this first Sunday we hear a very difficult and even scary instruction from Jesus, about being “sent like sheep into the midst of wolves.” This story will strike fear in the heart of the careful listener, as we imagine the difficult task placed before the disciples, and so also us. Romans offers us some consolation, in one of Paul’s most well-known passages about how even in the midst of suffering, hope does not disappoint us. The first reading sets up the enduring devotion to God that has been the intention of God’s faithful people even since Moses on Mount Sinai.

         It’s a lot to carry during this time, but also useful and timely, as many of us are wondering as individuals and as a Church, “What is my role in all that is going on in the world? What is a Christian to do?” So as you listen, seek to find in this Word an answer to that question. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         This week I participated in a conversation with some other white moms. The conversation came out of a Facebook group called, “White moms, we need to talk.” It was designed to be a place where those of us hoping to raise our kids to be anti-racist could sort out our own experiences that have shaped how we understand race (whether that means dealing with our guilt, confessing our mistakes, or brainstorming next steps), without burdening people of color with our processing. In smaller, breakout rooms, we were all asked to answer the question, “What is the biggest challenge for you in confronting racism?” Answers varied, but I heard some common themes: discomfort with not knowing what to say or how, worrying about saying or doing it wrong, concern about our close relationships with people whose opinions differ, fatigue from just how much work is to be done, and feeling inadequate for the task due to any number of factors, including simply a lack of understanding of what it is like to live as a non-white person in this country. I’ll be honest: it felt comforting to hear other intelligent, thoughtful, accomplished women and mothers, the sorts of people I admire and look up to, name some of the very same fears I am feeling myself during these days when I am almost constantly thinking about how I can be a better ally, how I can be not only passively “not racist,” but also actively “anti-racist” – that is, working to bring about change.

         Most of the answers I heard, and felt myself, boiled down to some sense of fear: fear of doing it wrong, of hurting people, and of the sheer magnitude of the task and the time and energy it will take to accomplish. They are pretty common fears, really, in the face of hard work and potential conflict. In fact, I couldn’t help but notice echoes of those same fears in Jesus’ commission to his disciples in today’s reading. Today’s text is the only time Matthew uses not only the word “disciple,” one who follows, but also, “apostle,” one who is sent. These guys are sent out to do what Jesus knows will be a terrifying, even dangerous task. I suspect being tasked with something so big and important was a thrill for these guys! But excitement and fear are often two sides of the same coin, right? So even as they felt honored and excited to do this work, I suspect they were also a little (or even a lot) fearful… just like I, and perhaps some of you are feeling a mix of excitement and fear about the possibility of facing down systemic racism in our country. I feel hope and excitement that something feels different this time, like, we might actually see some meaningful change, but also all those fears I mentioned before: of saying or doing the wrong thing, of offending someone, of putting ourselves or our loved ones in danger, of the fatigue that is inevitable with this sort of heart-work that requires confrontation with a lot of things we’d rather ignore, in ourselves and the world.

Jesus anticipates and names aloud some of these fears that are probably racing through their hearts and ours: You won’t know what to say (don’t worry, the Spirit’s got your back on this). You will upset people you love – that’s a part of the challenge of following the difficult life of faith he’s placing before us. No one promised following Jesus would be to take the path of least resistance (in fact, it is often the opposite, just as it was for Jesus!). You will get attacked, verbally or even physically for standing up for the sort of peace that comes from justice. Just this week, in a conversation about one aspect of racism in our country, I was told that I am what is wrong with this country, and should be ashamed of myself. Another example: the song we will hear for our offertory today was sung at a peaceful protest in New Orleans… right before the peaceful gathering was dispersed with teargas. A third: the 75-year-old Buffalo man who made the news this week when he was shoved to the ground by police and cracked his head open was involved with the Catholic Worker Movement, a movement whose aim is to seek peace and justice for the poor and marginalized, following Jesus’ teachings. Yup, people get attacked for standing up for peace all the time.

But to all of that, Jesus says, you mustn’t let it cling to your heart as you go along your way. Don’t let it discourage you from the work of proclaiming the good news of God’s kingdom: a place where those on the margins, those in the slums, those in prison, those who are black, brown, indigenous, are provided all that they need, whether that is respect, safety, opportunity, and a sense of worth, or basic food, water, shelter, and healthcare. If you receive push-back, Jesus says, “shake the dust off your feet”; don’t carry that discouragement with you to the next place, but forge ahead doing the work you know you have been called and sent by Christ to do.

         I’m grateful that Jesus decides to address and confront these fears head on. Though seeing them all laid out like that instills some dread in my heart, there is also something so powerful about naming our fears. Like was the case in the conversation I had this week with some like-minded white moms, sometimes naming fears is the first step in moving past them, because naming them takes away some of their power, and knowing to expect them allows us to prepare ourselves for them.

         Naming is important, but even more important is the word of hope and comfort that Jesus offers them in the midst of it: “Have no fear,” he says, three times, in the same conversation but just a few verses after today’s reading ends. Jesus has lived through what he is asking them, and us, to face – the persecution, the rejection, even the violence eventually – and so he speaks from experience. “Have no fear,” he assures them. “Instead, have faith, because God is going to win in the end. Even the hairs on your head are counted. If God knows you and cares for you enough to know that, then you have no reason to fear!”

         So have no fear, brothers and sisters. Know that pain and conflict and failure will inevitably happen along the journey on which we are sent – whether that is working toward racial justice, or another kind of justice, or seeking forgiveness for yourself or another, or standing up for what you know is right. But that pain and trepidation is not the end. The end – and the beginning and all the way through – is God’s promise that no amount of brokenness can ever be stronger than the love and power of our Lord Jesus Christ to overcome fear and death.

         Let us pray… Gracious and loving God, our fears threaten to keep us from the important mission on which you send us. Help us to trust that you are with us along the way, equipping us with all that we need for what is before us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: How Pentecost may speak to racism (May 31, 2020)

Watch it live here. Sermon at 40:12.

Day of Pentecost

May 31, 2020

Acts 2:1-21; 1 Cor 12:3b-13; John 20:19-23

INTRODUCTION

         Pentecost is one of my favorite days of the church year – the dramatic story, the festive red, the great hymns, the global nature. Of course, this year the mood is much different, but that’s the cool thing about the Holy Spirit: there are so many facets and expressions and descriptions of the Spirit, there is always some aspect of it that can speak to us just exactly where we are.

Our readings today reflect that variety. Our first reading from Acts is that dramatic first Pentecost, as Luke tells it. Jews from around the known world are staying in Jerusalem and celebrating the Jewish Festival of Weeks: a harvest festival where Jews also remember the giving of the law, the 10 commandments. And the Holy Spirit makes a raucous entrance, complete with wind, noise and fire. Very exciting! The Psalm shows us the creative nature of the Spirit, recalling how at creation, before God said anything, the Spirit hovered over the chaotic waters. 1 Corinthians shifts gears and talks about the unifying nature of the Spirit – though there are varieties of gifts, Paul writes, we are all one in the Spirit, “for in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body.” And finally in the Gospel reading, we will hear a story we always hear the week after Easter, about Jesus appearing to the fearful disciples who are locked in the upper room. Jesus breathes his Spirit onto them and tells them not once, but twice, “Peace be with you.”

So… which expression of the Spirit do you need today? The disruptive and driving one of that first Pentecost, or the creative one of the Psalm? The unifying Spirit of 1 Corinthians, or the Spirit of peace breathed into a place of fear? As you listen, hear the promise that whatever you need this day, the Spirit is with you. Let’s listen.

This is part of a project I did in an art and spirituality workshop I'm doing!

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.  

         I look forward to Pentecost every year. It’s such a festive and fun Sunday, less pressure than Easter or Christmas, but just as important. It is often a day on which we celebrate confirmations or baptisms, and we get to sing one of my very favorite hymns, O Day Full of Grace. I mean, what’s not to love? I knew this year would be different, of course, but I was still really looking forward to it.

But this week has made it difficult to get into a festive and celebratory mood, and certainly to preach a word to the effect.

Jesus breathes his Holy Spirit and a word of peace onto his disciples… even as another black man is killed by police saying the words, “I can’t breathe.” In other news, the US crossed the 100,000 deaths mark to a disease that takes away people’s ability to breathe. Where’s that breath of peace, Jesus?

The Holy Spirit comes like a loud rushing wind and tongues of fire… even as Minneapolis becomes host to fiery riots in response to George Floyd’s murder, and news comes also of riots in Louisville over another death of an innocent black woman, Brionna Taylor, who was shot 8 times in her bed in the middle of the night by FBI agents doing a search for drugs (which she did not have). Just last night, riots broke out around the country, including in Rochester, and looting was happening just a mile from my house. So, are fire and violent wind such helpful images just now?

The apostle Paul boldly claims that though we are many members, we are one in the Spirit… even as we see the divisions growing deeper – and the pandemic has revealed just how much disparity exists between classes and races, both in the US and around the world. People of color are disproportionately affected both by the virus itself and by the economic impact of the response, due to less access to adequate health care, pre-existing income inequality, the fact that they are more likely to be the essential workers who cannot stay home, and more.[1]

Nope, it is not an easy week to be a preacher.

But difficult or not, I do believe the Word of God can always guide us in our spiritual needs, and that is no less true in a week like this, and especially on a day we celebrate the various ways the Spirit has worked among and through us since the very creation of the universe. So let me share with you a bit about this journey I have taken this week, guided by the Spirit and these Pentecost texts.

One of the primary images we lift up on Pentecost is that of fire, and those tongues of fire that rested on each disciples’ head. “You will be baptized with the Holy Spirit and with fire,” John the Baptist had announced, and now, here it is happening. It’s sort of a strange image in a normal year, and perhaps this year, also a troubling one, given what is happening in Minneapolis and around the country. But here is something else we know about fire: it cleanses. It refines. It purifies. It burns away the brush so that stronger plants can grow. In nature, fire is necessary for the long-term flourishing of the forest.

So I’ve been wondering if we might take that image of a fiery Spirit, and understand it as one that refines or purifies our hearts, especially in the form of repentance. Repentance, of course, is the act of taking a good hard look at our hearts, and the ways we have fallen short of God’s hope for us, and then working to turn our hearts and our ways toward God. Speaking as a white person of considerable privilege, watching another string of racially charged incidents, I have been troubled by how little these events ultimately affect me, at least directly. They affect me in the sense that when one member of the body suffers we all suffer, but as for my day-to-day life, I am in a position to ignore them, if I want, and to go about my day. I will never have to worry about someone calling the cops on me if I ask her to leash her dog, like Christian Cooper. I will never be shot 8 times in my own bed by the police, like Brionna Taylor. And I can be pretty certain I will not be held down by a policeman’s knee for over 8 minutes, until I stop breathing, like George Floyd. Now, that privilege I enjoy doesn’t make me a bad person. But, being content with that position while ignoring the suffering of fellow children of God, is something to let the fires of Pentecost cleanse from my heart. My “lukewarm acceptance” (as Martin Luther King said) of the way things are is something to repent.

One way to start to do this, is to listen. On that day in Jerusalem, as that rushing wind left the room, the diverse group that was gathered found that they could hear the disciples speaking in their own language. What a gift this would be to us today, in a time in which even those of us who do speak the same language can’t seem to understand each other. But with the Spirit’s help, perhaps we could start to hear the voices and stories of those from other experiences and cultures. It will take some work – I have spent some time this week seeking out testimonies from people of color, so that I can read not only about how the riots we are seeing are affecting my mostly white Lutheran friends in the Twin Cities, but also those in communities of color. It isn’t enough, but it is a start in my effort to hear this story in the native language of another.[2]

In hearing these testimonies, and by the power of the Holy Spirit, we can start to move to the final step, the great Pentecost moment. For this, we actually have to return to last week and the Ascension. Just before Jesus’ ascended into heaven, do you remember what he told the disciples? “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you, and you shall be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” This was Jesus’ parting instruction to the disciples, before he was lifted up into a cloud. You will be my witnesses.

So what does this mean? In Acts, it meant that Peter, a country bumpkin known for putting his foot in his mouth, who had just weeks before denied knowing Jesus at all, suddenly found the courage to stand up and preach, and 3000 people were baptized that day. For Peter, witnessing was verbal, but it doesn’t need to be. Witnessing may look like walking alongside the oppressed, seeing our lives not as separate, but as intertwined, as one in the Spirit, as the apostle Paul would say. Witnessing may look like saying, “Enough!” and then doing something about it, using our own power, position, or privilege to persuade, to amplify the voices of the vulnerable, to start making phone calls or speaking up on their behalf. There are lots of pieces out there with titles like, “What white people can do to help.” Check them out, see what suits your abilities and desires. Witnessing looks like researching candidates and voting for the ones who will champion the causes of the oppressed, even if that vote may not be in your own personal best interest. Witnessing may look like listening, to go back to my last point – listening and trusting the testimony of those who have been oppressed, without trying to rationalize that story into something that makes more sense to us. Witnessing may simply look like donating to an organization that helps all these things to happen, along with making sure people of color have the voice and the support they should.

So there it is, your three-fold Pentecost Plan: let the fiery Spirit purify your heart in the act of repentance; listen to the stories of the oppressed in their own native language; and be witnesses to the ends of the earth. This is and always has been the task of the Church: to enact and give voice to God’s salvific work. If we can live out this charge given to us by Jesus’ Spirit, we will be participating in the promise of the resurrection to bring life out of death – hopefully to the 400 year old story of oppression of black people and other people of color in our country, but also we will see life in a new way in our own story. May this Pentecost bring death by fire to our old ways of complacency or “lukewarm acceptance.” May we find the life in the stories of those most affected by the sin of racism. And may our witnessing to the good news of Jesus bring life to us and to those whom we encounter.

Let us pray… Holy Spirit, purify our hearts with your fire. Breathe your peace into a world riddled with injustice. And enliven your Church, that we would be witnesses to your inspiration and life. In the name if the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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[1] There are many good pieces about this. Here is one: “Coronavirus: Why Some Racial Groups are More Vulnerable.” (https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20200420-coronavirus-why-some-racial-groups-are-more-vulnerable)

[2] This piece has many helpful links: https://www.wmagazine.com/story/george-floyd-protests-minnesota/