Genesis 1:1-5; Acts 2:1-13; John 3:1-8
Unboxing the Wind
James Sledge May
24, 2015
There’s
an old joke about the UCC. The United Church of Christ is a close theological
cousin of Presbyterians, so the joke could probably be told about us or a
number of other “liberal” denominations… expect the joke only works with those
letters, UCC. Anyway, the joke goes like this. “What does UCC stand for? – Unitarians
considering Christ.”
The
joke refers to modern day Unitarians who believe in God but not the Trinity or
the notion that Jesus was divine. Of course that also describes Nicodemus. He
believes in God. He knows a lot about God. He is well versed in the Scriptures,
what we would call the Old Testament, and he is a deeply religious man.
All
this has helped him to conclude that Jesus is someone special. He calls Jesus a
teacher who has come from God. Nicodemus comes to Jesus at night, under
the cover of darkness, hoping to make some sense of Jesus, but he never really
gets the chance. Jesus befuddles him before he can ask his first question, and
Nicodemus never really recovers. If you read a little further in John’s gospel,
Nicodemus simply fades from view, never grasping what Jesus says.
His
confusion turns on a word play that can’t be done in English. Jesus speaks of
being born “anothen” (a/)nwqen), a Greek word that can refer to
location, meaning “from above,” or to timing, meaning “again” or “anew.” English
translations must go with one way or the other, and so some have born
again, which is what Nicodemus hears, while others, including our pew
Bibles, have born from above, which is what Jesus means.
No
doubt Nicodemus hears again because from above is even harder
for him to comprehend. He can understand what again means, even if it
seems impossible. But to be born from above, of the Spirit, caught in a divine
wind whose source is unseen. What on earth is that about?
The
notion of being transformed and reanimated by the Spirit is as puzzling to many
modern Christians as it was to Nicodemus, yet clearly this experience was a
hallmark of the early Church. In the letters of Paul, the gospels, and the book
of Acts, the Spirit births the Church, propels it, and sustains it. The Church
doesn’t burst into being and spread like wildfire over the Mediterranean world
simply because followers of Jesus share his teachings, but because the power of
God, the presence of the risen Christ, is palpably present in those followers.
Not
that it was the easiest thing to explain or describe. Paul speaks of being “in
Christ” through the Spirit. The Pentecost story in Acts tells of a violent
wind and of divided tongues, as of fire. At Jesus’ own baptism the Spirit
is described as a dove, and in the gospel of John the Spirit is received by the
disciples when Jesus breathed on them. In both Hebrew and
Greek, the word for Spirit is also the word for wind and for breath. And like
the wind/Spirit/breath of God that moves over the waters at creation, the
Spirit moves in the lives of Jesus’ followers, and everything gets stirred up
and changed and made new.
But as the years and centuries go by,
slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the dynamism of the
wind/breath/fire/Spirit gets tamed. As the Church becomes more and more an
institution, less and less an uprising, the Spirit gets talked about more than
experienced. Writes Brian McLaren, “In the millennia since Christ walked with
us on this Earth, we’ve often tried to box up the “wind” in manageable
doctrines. We’ve exchanged the fire of the Spirit for the ice of religious
pride. We’ve turned the wine back into water, and then let the water go
stagnant and lukewarm. We’ve traded the gentle dove of peace for the predatory
hawk or eagle of empire. When we have done so, we have ended up with just
another religious system, as problematic as any other: too often petty,
argumentative, judgmental, cold, hostile, bureaucratic, self-seeking, an enemy
of aliveness.”[1]
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Recently,
the staff at FCPC has been working to craft a vision statement just for us, a
statement of shared purpose to give our different work in music, worship,
youth, children, spiritual development, and so on, a common focus. It’s been
something of long, strange trip, but here’s what we have so far. “Trusting
God’s love to transform our offerings – we create safe space where we are free
to fail; where we risk, practice, and try new things, for the sake of Christ.”
I’m
quite taken with this statement, though I’m not the author of any of it, and
the line about creating safe space likely would never have occurred to me. I agree
it’s important, but by nature I get bored easily and like trying new things. I’m
prone to leap without a well-developed plan and can be impatient with those who,
understandably, want more detailed preparations. It’s sometimes a recipe for
disaster.
But
just what is it that creates safe space for bold, risky discipleship, for
following Jesus places we would never have gone on our own? In the Pentecost
story, it takes two things I’m not good at, patience and prayerful waiting. The
story recorded in Acts insists that the disciples must wait and pray together.
They cannot produce the Spirit. They can only receive it. Prior to that, they
gather in fellowship and in prayer. If any were to urge, “Come on, let’s go
this way,” or “Hurry, I know the way and we must get moving,” it would be
premature.
There
are times when the community must wait, when the impatient ones especially must
wait for the wind to stir, for the community to feel its movement. These are
hard lessons for me, and at times my impatience has led me to push, even shove
those more inclined to wait.
Of course waiting assumes waiting for
something, and this can pose problems whether you are patient or impatient.
That’s because waiting for the Spirit requires giving up control, opening
ourselves and allowing the wind to rush in, fill us, and carry us where it may.
But the very idea of that can be confusing and frightening. Just ask Nicodemus.
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As
I prepared this sermon, I wrestled and struggled with it more than I usually
do. I kept going back and rereading and rewriting, and I had no idea how to end
it. In the process, I found myself contemplating that staff vision statement
crafted by Diane and Rachel and Mary and Susan and Lisa and, I’m quite sure,
the Spirit. And I liked it even more.
It
speaks of creating safe space, a place where we are prayerfully attentive to
God and one another, where we patiently wait for the Spirit to fill the
community with wholeness and life. But in this safe space, the waiting is
expectant. It anticipates the Wind blowing us in new directions and is open to
new things and risk, unafraid of failing. Safe space speaks of a community
rooted in love, a warmth that draws all into its embrace. And this creates a freedom and openness to risk that hopes to
unbox the Wind, to trust the Spirit, to let go and let God.
I
don’t know that anyone was thinking about Pentecost as this statement took
shape, but somewhere in the process, the Spirit and Pentecost made their way into
it. Perhaps that’s why the statement fits so comfortably with Brian McLaren’s
words for Pentecost.
In a world full
of big challenges, in a time like ours, we can’t settle for a heavy and fixed
religion. We can’t try to contain the Spirit in a box. We need to experience
the mighty rushing wind of Pentecost. We need our hearts to be made
incandescent by the Spirit’s fire. We need the living water and new wine Jesus
promised, so our hearts can become the home of dovelike peace.
Wind. Breath.
Fire. Cloud. Water. Wine. A dove. When we open up space for the Spirit and let
the Spirit fill that space within us, we begin to change, and we become agents
of change. That’s why we pause in our journey to gather together around a table
of fellowship and communion. Like the disciples in the upper room at Pentecost,
we present ourselves to God. We become receptive for the fullness of the Spirit
to fall upon us and well up within us, to blow like wind, glow like fire, flow
like a river, fill like a cloud, and descend like a dove in and among us. So
let us open our hearts. Let us dare believe that the Spirit that we read about
in the Scriptures can move among us today, empowering us in our times so we can
become agents in a global spiritual movement of justice, peace, and joy.[2]
Let us gather in
fellowship and communion and love. Let our hearts be open, and let us dare to
believe that the Spirit will move in us.
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