Pentecost

It was early in the morning, and those near enough to witness it thought the assembled disciples were drunk. Such was Pentecost, the birthday of this thing we call “the Church,” when ordinary followers were filled with the Holy Spirit, and today we remember the moment and consider all that’s happened since, as well as what’s happening today. After two thousand years, only God’s presence could explain the church’s survival. Yes, there have been wonderful and awful moments in this organizational stew of humanity and divinity, but, through it all, the Holy Spirit still swirls and burns within us. Unfortunately, no one thinks we’re drunk anymore.

When I still drank, I remember the great lengths I took not to appear intoxicated. I remember my many unsuccessful attempts to appear lucid, with it, and under control. Unfortunately, I can now see how I have tried equally hard to do so with my faith.

After attending this year’s Pentecost celebration, I re-read a wonderful chapter in Philip Simmons’ book entitled Learning to Fall in which he describes sledding in the dark as a child in New Hampshire. Gathered at the top of the hill, he and his friends stopped and listened as the wind swirled in the tall pines, causing them to dance. It taught Simmons “how God breathes.” In such a cathedral,in such a Pentecostal night, he lay on his belly, pointed the sled down the moonlit slope, and let it fly. Because he couldn’t see clearly, because he couldn’t control his speed, and because he had little say on direction, he felt completely alive, as if he, too, were dancing with the wind and the trees. As he let out a shout, I have no doubt those hearing it thought him drunk.

This Pentecost, I wonder what it would take to dance with the wind again? To point my sled down hill and let it fly? To shout and not care if people thought I was drunk. What would such a Pentecostal life look like?

So, too, what would our churches look like if we remembered how God breathes? What would happen if churches pointed their sleds downhill, regardless of limited control? What if the excitement made us feel fully alive and caused us to shout, as if in different languages?

People might think us drunk, but, quite frankly, there are worse things.