There’s something missing in the story we just heard from the Acts of the Apostles. That’s the way it is with scripture. It’s frequently the way it is with all the stories we tell. We leave out the part that seems obvious to us—the part we believe everyone knows. Some might say that the Pentecost story has more than enough information, but the part that may be most important to us today is nowhere to be found.
It’s early morning, and the disciples are gathered in one place—for safety, one imagines, and for the comfort of being with those who have experienced the same turmoil and grief. Perhaps they are all living in this house, clustered together against those who might harm them, telling the story of these last days, grieving the past and wondering about the days ahead. We can imagine them questioning each other—struggling to find the answer to the puzzle that faces them: What will happen next? What should they do? And what did Jesus mean by asking them to wait for the gift of God? Suddenly they experience an event that overwhelms all their senses. There is a roaring in their ears. They see flames around them, touching first one and then another. And they burst into speech, speaking the Good News in all the languages of the world.
All this sound gathers a crowd, who are amazed that they’re able to understand these words, each in his or her own language. The behavior of the disciples is so wild that some of the crowd think they must be drunk. Peter hears this and raises his voice to tell the crowd that they’re not drunk—that their actions are fulfilling the prophecy spoken through the prophet Joel.
We hear about lots of astonishing things happening in this story: the roaring of the Spirit, the flames springing up among the disciples, the ability to speak in languages other than the disciples’ own. These happenings grab our attention, just as they did the people of Jerusalem all those years ago. But what grabs my attention today may be the most important thing that happened that day. What grabs my attention is the transformation that occurred in the hearts of the disciples. What seems missing to me in this story is any mention of their movement from the safe haven of the house into the street where they faced potential danger. What happened to transform them? What happened to these people who had seemed paralyzed by the loss of their leader? How did they find the courage to step into the street and proclaim their faith? I’ve only been able to imagine one reason for the writer to omit the answers to these questions. I think it’s because he assumed that every one who heard the story knew through their own experience that everything changes when the Holy Spirit comes.
Everything changes when the Holy Spirit comes. Everything changes, and that can be a pretty scary thing to experience. We sometimes forget that our God is about change. In another scripture story with flames, Moses hears God’s voice in the burning bush and asks who God is. The response is Ehiyer asher ehiyer. I am that I am, or I will be what I will be, or I am becoming what I am becoming. Our God is about creating, reshaping, and making things new. We—people made in God’s image—sometimes have trouble with that. We sometimes have trouble living into the notion that change—transformation—is part of living our lives fully.
One of the times when change is most visible to us is when new people enter a community. Sometimes the changes are subtle—sometimes they are quite pronounced. In the best of times, both the person and the community are transformed. Today we welcome new members into our St. Mark’s family. People who have been led by the Spirit to make their home with us, to share their gifts with us and to share in the gifts they have found in this community. In a few moments, we will promise to care for and pray for and support these new members of our parish family. As we make our promises to our new members and to God, I ask you to look for the mark of the Spirit in their faces and rejoice with me at their presence with us.
What happens next depends on all of us. When we invite people in—do we say “come in and be like us?” Or do we open our arms in the radical welcome Jesus gives to all—seeking a new experience of our God incarnate in the face of another human being—learning about faith, each other and the world in a way that will transform us all as individuals and as a community of faith. The Holy Spirit, working in each of us, creates new life in ways that are the stuff of scripture stories. The people who are making a formal commitment to this community today have been moved by the Spirit to visit us, to find out what’s going on here and to hang around long enough to find out. That takes courage. I pray that we have courage to meet them as they are, to join them in seeking God’s will for our lives and in opening ourselves to the transforming power of the Holy Spirit.
At the end of our worship today, we’re going to sing one of the most ancient hymns in our tradition. It’s a plainsong chant, with words translated from the 9th century Latin. It’s an invitation to the Holy Spirit to inspire us, to guide us, to teach us to know God. It’s most often sung in the early part of a worship service. Today we’ll sing it as we prepare to go into the world. The Good News, the sometimes scary, always enlivening news is that the Holy Spirit hears our invitation. The Holy Spirit is with us—waiting, ready for us to open our arms, our minds, our hearts—poised to break in on the world in ways that startle and amaze us. We are blessed in this day by the Holy Spirit moving in our midst. We are blessed by the new life in our community.
Come, Holy Spirit.