Pentecost, 2013
The other day I was at a restaurant and there were
two young people at the table next to me; they were holding hands and leaning
across the table toward one another, so that their foreheads almost met; their
eyes were locked on one another as if no one else on the planet existed; they
would nod in agreement at every observation the other made; and their faces
were beaming. They were drinking in one
another’s words like thirsty camels at the end of a march across the desert --
they had what I can only describe as an eagerness of understanding; this kind
of Pentecost joy on their faces, as they were connecting with each other.
You could sense that their love was fresh and there
seemed to me to be a measure of relief about them, as if they had waited a long
time for one another; finally that loneliness - that long aching loneliness - was
over.
You could almost read it in their faces: here is
someone who understands me; finally, someone who is actually interested in me –
just as much as I am interested in her.
It’s a beautiful thing to see, this eagerness of
understanding.
It’s no wonder that when we try to talk about how
God appearred on the earth, we describe him as “the Word.” Before
there ever was any Bible, we say; before there was even words, or writing, or
humans, we say there was the Word; as John’s Gospel says, “In the beginning was
the Word,”
and by word he didn’t mean a book; he meant this
sacred potential for understanding; this promise of comprehension. It’s this thing that happens between souls, when
they are leaning across a table touching foreheads; or leaning, maybe, across a
universe; this Word with a capital “W”; this promise of perfect understanding
and of being perfectly understood. We
long for understanding so deeply that when it comes time to talk about God living
among us, we call him the Word. He does
what words do, except perfectly: He connects us to one another; and when that
happens, we talk about God.
Lately I’ve been aware at how deeply we long for
this Word; for this connection. I’ve
been noticing how often I find myself in a room with someone and we’re both
leaning forward, foreheads almost touching, drinking in understanding. Right
now we have two beloved parishioners who have come to terms with the fact that
they are dying. You walk into the room of
someone who has reached this understanding; you sit beside them and they
eagerly take your hand, and your eyes lock, and it’s like entering a cave
filled with treasure, overflowing with gold coins and pearls and jewels: they
want you to have it. Here is my life,
they say; my precious life. Here are all
of my memories; all of my stories; my loves, my children; my hopes, my regrets,
my achievements – mostly just my stories.
Take it, they say; take this treasure.
Understand it, put it in your pocket and share it with others.
In their eyes there is in their eyes a universe of
meaning that they are trying to convey.
Whenever I visit someone in the hospital, or the
nursing home, or a homeless person, or someone in prison, there is this longing
for connection. This level openness that
you don’t see so much in everyday life; and people are saying things they maybe
never would say if they weren’t so opened up by their circumstances; so aware
of the desire to be understood, and to understand.
Which is why I think Jesus said, in Matthew 25, if
you are looking for him, go visit someone in prison; go to the poor and listen
to what they have to say; go to the hospital and hold someone’s hand. That’s where you’ll find him: the living Word.
In the language of the church, this is what we
call pastoral care. And it’s not just
something priests do. This is something
we are all called to do. We have trained
pastoral care visitors, and we would like to train more people for this
ministry of presence. And whether we are
trained for it or not, whether we represent the church in this ministry or just
ourselves, we are all called into that level of relationship. As our loved ones fall into trouble, and we
run to the hospital bed to be by their side, and see them reach out their hand
from the hospital bed, asking for connection – we take it..
And when we are there, foreheads tilting forward, prayers
and words of love being spoken, we know that we didn’t decide to be there; we
were led there – by the Spirit of that Word, we were led to that bedside. We’re like two magnets, who once they are
within a certain range of one another, an invisible force draws them together. We call this the work of the Holy Spirit.
We do that enough times and then we begin to see
every relationship in those terms: we begin to trust that Spirit more and more;
we let the Spirit draw us into deeper connection with everyone in our lives –
our spouse or partner, our neighbor, our children. Suddenly life seems too short to push those
relationships aside; suddenly the Spirit is drawing us into more truth telling,
more intimacy, more revelation of God’s Word.
And that’s when we begin to live a Spirit-filled
life. We begin to have the conversations
that some people only have on their death beds.
We decide not to wait for disease to open us up to one another – we
choose to live our lives on a more authentic level.
And that’s when the miracles start to happen –
because then the Spirit takes over; the Spirit draws people of the Spirit
together; the Spirit brings us into new relationships and new connections that
are life-giving to us.
And that is how we find ourselves here.
We didn’t decide to come to church; we might have
thought at the time that we were making the decision but in reality we were
drawn together by the Spirit. And as we
continue to open ourselves to this Spirit and this Word, we find the Spirit
drawing us together in new ways
and a new kind of community begins to emerge;
a community of care;
a community of connection;
a community of mutual vulnerability and trust
and deep love;
a love that has its Source not in ourselves, but
in the Spirit that flows among us; that deep well; that living water.
We all drink from that well like thirsty camels.
This is the water that Jesus was talking about in
John’s gospel, as he encountered that Samaritan woman – that person so
different from him – such a gulf between them, of culture, language, religion,
gender, politics – and yet there they were, leaning toward one another, led by
the Spirit:
"...Those who drink of the water that I
will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in
them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life."
And that’s how this crazy religion was born, on
this day of Pentecost so many centuries ago, when all of a sudden, just as
Jesus predicted, a disparate group of
people, representing all the different nations and cultures and languages of
the known world, leaned in together, made themselves vulnerable to the presence
of the Holy Spirit; breathed in the Word of God, and became what we call
Christians.
And in that moment, everything that separated us
was overcome. The curse from the Tower
of Babel was lifted; finally our universal language was found again; finally
our great long loneliness was lifted; and we became like those young lovers I
saw at the restaurant; fools in love with God and one another; drinking in that
universal language of love.
Pray that we will continue to let the Spirit lead
us into ever deeper relationships; pray that we will continue to listen to
God’s Word, spoken at the depth of our hearts; pray that we continue to seek to
understand, as we are understood, with open hearts and minds.
Amen.
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