The Church of St. Paul and Incarnation, Jersey City NJ
May 23, 2021
Year B: The Day of Pentecost
Acts 2:1-21
Psalm 104:25-35
Romans 8:22-27
John 15:26-27; 164b-15
The Usually Quiet Guidance of the Holy Spirit
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
I love the Pentecost story from the Acts of the Apostles.
The poor disciples, right?
Truly, they have been through the wringer.
Over the course of just a few weeks, the disciples experienced the thrill of the palm parade into Jerusalem when all of those people shouted “Hosanna!” to welcome King Jesus as he rode on into his capital city.
The disciples endured the heartbreaking turn of events when Jesus was betrayed, rejected, tortured, and killed.
The disciples were shocked, confused, and finally overjoyed by the empty tomb and the glorious sight of the Risen Christ, who was mysteriously transformed while still also very much himself.
The disciples must have felt crushed by abandonment when Jesus was taken from them again – they must have been barely able to hold on to Jesus’ promise of the Holy Spirit, whatever that was going to be like.
So, it’s no surprise that on the first Pentecost the disciples are all together – probably sticking close for safety and support – hanging on to each other, waiting to see what, if anything, might happen next.
And then, and then, there was the noise and the light – the gust of wind and divided tongues like fire – this sudden noise and the light propel the disciples out of their room and into the city, no longer afraid, so filled with the Spirit that people conclude that they must be drunk!
But, as Peter insists, it’s not drink. It’s the power of the Holy Spirit, giving them the courage and ability to proclaim the Good News in words that everybody could understand:
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
And, you know, sometimes the Holy Spirit is like that. Sometimes the Holy Spirit is loud and bright, filling us with joy and hope and the certainty of God’s love.
In my own life, I think of the story that many of you have heard, uh, once or twice – the story from more than twenty years ago, the first Sunday that Sue and I walked through those red doors, not knowing what to expect, not really sure if we even wanted to be there – to be here – and, no, it’s true that there wasn’t a sound like rushing wind and I didn’t notice any tongues of flame, but when I looked around and saw the beauty of this place, the love and diversity of its people, the warmth of the hospitality we received, and the extended hand of welcome from the priest, I suddenly knew the truth in a way that I’ve seldom known it, and somehow I knew that my life was about to change in some big ways.
Sometimes the Holy Spirit is like that.
I think about Lorna’s ordination to the diaconate, just two weeks ago. Of course, we were all overjoyed for Lorna and Carrie and Katherine. And, there was also the excitement of being back in our cathedral, of hearing more than one or two voices say the responses, of being able to exchange the peace, yes, socially distant, but still.
And when the Bishop laid her hands on Lorna and the other two new deacons, I don’t know about anybody else, but I could feel and almost see the Holy Spirit dancing around that old room, propelling us out of our fear and grief and back out into the world, to once again proclaim the Good News in words that everybody can understand:
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Sometimes the Holy Spirit is like that.
And now, here today, in just a few moments, we will turn our attention to the font, where we will have our first baptisms since the start of the pandemic.
Right here – right there – God will make an indissoluble, unbreakable, bond with these two much-loved children, Eleanor and Harris.
Throughout their lives, God will give them the gift of the Holy Spirit, giving them the strength to keep their big baptismal promises, giving them the courage to pray and to repent, and most of all, to love one another just how Jesus has loved us.
And again, I’m not sure what you’ll be able to see or hear – especially since we won’t be able to crowd around the font like we usually do, and a lot of us are still watching at home on Facebook – so, I don’t know what you’ll be able to see and hear but I have no doubt that the Holy Spirit will be dancing around this old room, too – propelling us out into the world to proclaim the Good News in words that everybody can understand:
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Sometimes the Holy Spirit is like that.
Sometimes the Holy Spirit is loud and bright, making us seem almost drunk with joy, and hope, and the certainty of God’s love.
And, thank God for those moments, right?
But, more often than not, the Holy Spirit offers us not thunder and lightning. No, most of the time, the Holy Spirit gives quiet guidance.
As Paul writes to the church in Rome, the Spirit helps us to pray – to really pray – to pray with “sighs too deep for words.”
And, as Jesus says in today’s Gospel lesson, the Spirit will guide us “into all truth.”
So, yes, I am grateful for the crash and flash of the first Pentecost, and for the similar experiences of the Spirit every now and then – and I’m so grateful that some of us can be together this morning – and I can’t tell you how thankful I am for today’s baptisms – but I’m most grateful for the quiet guidance of the Holy Spirit.
Like the disciples long ago, we have all been through the wringer for the past fourteen or so months.
So much that we took for granted, the way of life that we just assumed would go on forever, the people we could see pretty much whenever we wanted – so much of that was taken away from us.
And, like the first disciples back in Jerusalem, we were left feeling frightened, confused, disappointed, maybe abandoned and angry, and, yes, sometimes, hopeful.
And, when I look back over this extraordinary time, I don’t see much crash and flash from the Holy Spirit, but I do see – I have experienced – quiet guidance.
Quietly, maybe without us even noticing it, the Holy Spirit has been hard at work, strengthening our indissoluble, unbreakable bonds of love, keeping us close even when we’ve been apart, giving us hearts to pray on the phone, sometimes with sighs too deep for words, helping each of us encourage one another when the days seemed so very bleak.
This is what the Holy Spirit is like, all the time.
And this is what I really want to celebrate on this particular Pentecost.
I want to celebrate the quiet guidance of the Holy Spirit.
I want to remember the quiet guidance of the Holy Spirit.
And, today and in the days ahead, as Eleanor and Harris and all of us step out into an unknown future, I want to listen and watch for the quiet guidance of the Holy Spirit.
Sweet, sweet Spirit, guide us.
Help us to remember that God will never let go of us, no matter what.
Holy Spirit, keep us close, even when we are apart.
Amen.
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