Beyond the creed
Commentary
Many of the adults in my church -- and perhaps many in yours, too -- were required to
memorize the Apostles' Creed somewhere along the way. In Sunday school classes, in
confirmation, in catechism -- the Apostles' Creed has long been standard equipment in
the training and preparing of young people in church. And in many of our congregations,
that historic articulation and affirmation of faith is regularly recited in worship.
You and I know, from the context of church history, that those early creeds were often born out of controversy and heresy. Both the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds reflect the Christological controversies of the times in which they were composed. We spend more time and effort being specific about what we believe about Jesus Christ than any other single doctrinal matter.
The Apostles' Creed does not reflect only its day, however. It may reflect ours, as well. On the one hand, the abundance of doctrinal statements about Jesus surely reveals the concerns of the creed's composers and the issues of their day. Meanwhile, in our day, it may be that the absence of doctrinal statements about the Holy Spirit accurately represents where we are, as well: the paucity of our understanding of and emphasis on the Third Person of the Trinity.
I think it's probably fair to say that our people know what they affirm about the Father -- that he is "almighty" and the "maker of heaven and earth." And I'm sure that our people are at least conversant in much of what we affirm about the Son -- his titles and his story. But what we recite in the Apostles' Creed about the Holy Spirit may summarize the entire knowledge and understanding of so many of our members: "I believe in the Holy Spirit." That's it.
This Sunday -- Pentecost -- is a good opportunity to go beyond the creed. Today we have an occasion to explore the person and work of the oft-forgotten member of the Trinity.
Acts 2:1-21
The good storyteller is not just a spellbinder. He is also part anthropologist, part philosopher, and part theologian. Luke demonstrates that he is a good storyteller in the opening line with which he introduces this event: "When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place."
Would the Pentecost event have happened any other way? I don't doubt God's willingness and ability to do his work at any time and in any place. It seems clear from the testimony of scripture, however -- and it also stands to reason -- that certain times and places are more conducive to his work than others. And Luke's brief observation about the Pentecost setting suggests an environment ripe for the work of God: "They were all together in one place."
The scene speaks of obedience (see Acts 1:4). The scene reveals faithfulness (cf. Hebrews 10:25). And the scene suggests unity, which is a hallmark of God's work and will (see Genesis 2:24b; John 17:21-23; 1 Corinthians 1:10-13; 12:12, 25-27).
At a purely human level, common sense recognizes what kinds of settings and circumstances breed mischief and trouble. And, similarly, at a spiritual level we understand that certain settings are well suited to the work of the Spirit of God. "They were all together in one place" is just such a suitable setting.
It may be that two quite disparate influences in our culture may have combined to form an unhealthy atmosphere in many of our churches. On the one hand, evangelicalism has always put an emphasis on the individual. A personal decision is required to make a personal commitment and to enjoy a personal relationship. Meanwhile, the more recent pervasion of relativism in our culture has gradually persuaded much of the population that all truth is a personal business. What I believe need only work for me; it need not work for you, and consequently it must not be foisted upon you. Every personal belief is valid, and absolute truth claims have become quite unfashionable.
In the wake of these two unlikely partners, we have lost much of our sense for "faith community." Church is no longer perceived as necessary for the individual, though the individual is, like a customer, craved as necessary for the church.
In terms of scripture, of course, this is really quite backward. While the love and salvation of God are unmistakably personal, the recurring testimony of scripture bears witness to a God who calls, saves, forms, and uses a people, not just a person. God's observation about Adam, in the midst of an otherwise perfect creation, seems to reflect his policy beyond just the subject of marriage: "It is not good that the man should be alone" (Genesis 2:18).
Finally, if we are going to preach the Pentecost event, it is worth asking just what sort of event it was. Here are three examples from scripture, and you see which one you assume most resembles Pentecost.
First, consider any healing story from the gospels -- for example, the healing of Bartimaeus. It was an individual event that happened at a particular place, at a particular time, to a particular person. You and I do not personally share in or benefit from that event. On the other hand, we do not regard it as an isolated event, for we know that the Lord healed many people, and we affirm that he continues still to heal people today.
Second, there is the flood in the time of Noah. Again, it was an individual event with a particularity of place and time. And, again, you and I do not personally share in it. But, unlike the healing of Bartimaeus, we do not regard the flood as a recurring sort of event. That is to say, we do not believe that God judged the whole world with a flood on numbers of occasions, and continues to do so in the present and future.
Finally, consider the occasion of Christ's crucifixion. Again, it is an event with a particular place and time, and like the flood, we do not regard it as a recurring event, but rather as a once-and-for-all event. Unlike both the healing of Bartimaeus and the flood, however, we affirm that you and I do, in fact, share in and benefit from that one-time event at a time and place in the past.
Now, which type is the Pentecost event?
Is Pentecost like the healing of Bartimaeus: a recurring kind of thing that God does again and again in the lives of groups and individuals? Is Pentecost like the flood: a one-time event, which will never happen again and which has no direct effect on you and me? Or is Pentecost like the Cross: a one-time event from history in which we still share today?
Before we preach Pentecost, it seems to me we ought to be clear about what the relationship is of that event to our lives and the lives of our people.
Romans 8:14-17
I have friends who adopted a little girl from China. I gather that there was some considerable expense involved. I remember that they left the United States -- their home, their friends and families, their jobs, and responsibilities -- for several weeks in order to travel to China, and to walk through the required process there. When they returned, however, they brought with them a precious little girl; a child whose life will be immeasurably better because of these good people. She will be enveloped by love all of her growing-up years. Her adoptive parents will provide for all of her needs, and she will be surrounded by benefits and opportunities that likely would have been unknown to her otherwise.
This is the beautiful picture of adoption. And, it is a glimpse into the gospel truth that Paul expressed to the Romans. We were born into unfavorable circumstances. Hopeless, really. We were born into an inescapable slavery and a living death. Then God, at great personal expense, left home in order to come to where we were. He did not come merely to reside here; he came to get us. He came to ransom and adopt us; to love us, to make us his own, and to take us home with him "so that where I am, there you may be also" (John 14:3b).
While the post-Enlightenment West is always tempted to make Christianity an intellectual proposition, the ransomed slaves themselves know better. It is not merely a matter of belief, but of belonging. Formerly, I belonged to sin, death, and hell. But no more.
That issue of belonging takes on another layer of meaning when Paul refers to us as heirs. The juxtaposition of slaves and heirs is the contrast between people who are belongings and people who receive belongings. The one is dehumanized; the other is exalted. The former is perhaps the lowest possible status for a human being; the latter is a place of privilege.
And herein we see the truly gracious nature of this salvation. For this breathtaking elevation that we experience is completely unrelated to any merit, payment, or achievement on our part.
Our status as heirs is specific: "joint heirs with Christ." It's a startling proposition. Not every heir (or would-be heir) who sits at the reading of the will receives an equal portion. But this mind-boggling good news is that we, the adopted children of God, share fully with the only-begotten Son of God. Remarkable.
Finally, that sharing takes on a new twist at the conclusion of the passage: "if, in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him." We are reminded of the two- part revelation that the disciples received at Caesarea Philippi. In the one breath, Jesus confirmed what Peter had proclaimed: namely, that he was the Messiah and the Son of the living God (Matthew 16:16-17). In the next breath, however, Jesus explained what that Messiahship would mean: "that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering ... and be killed" (v. 21). Consequently, he warned them what it would mean to follow him: "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me" (v. 24).
It is inarguable -- especially in light of Peter's own response in the immediate context (v. 22) -- that the disciples were operating with a different set of assumptions about the Messiah than what was fulfilled and accomplished by the passion of Christ. An episode surrounding the later request of James and John (Mark 10:35ff) suggests that the disciples also generally misunderstood what it really meant to follow Jesus.
Here, at the conclusion of our selected lection, Paul reminds the Romans and us of the whole truth of what we share with Christ. Yes, his glory. But first his suffering.
John 14:8-17 (25-27)
As we observed in the "Charting the Course" contribution for May 13, these chapters from John's account of the Last Supper provide us with perhaps our best single peek into the Trinity. On that occasion, Jesus spoke openly and frequently with his disciples about himself in relation to the Father and to the Holy Spirit. And we see that all-important theme woven through this selection from that larger context, as well.
In this particular selection, the central issue is the relation between the Father and the Son. And the whole discourse is prompted by Philip's fascinating request. "Lord, show us the Father."
It is not clear exactly what Philip wanted or expected at this moment. Did he literally expect some kind of visual experience? While Moses passionately sought God's face on the mountain, did Philip want Jesus simply to pull back some curtain and reveal the Father? We don't know.
Of course, what Philip wanted -- and our speculation about it -- is not finally the point. Rather, our focus should, with Philip's, be turned to the marvelous truth Jesus shared in response: "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father."
The one-to-one correlation Jesus makes between himself and the Father is almost unutterably startling. If Philip's request is audacious, Jesus trumps it with a statement that, coming from anyone else, would be blasphemy. And, indeed, it surely must have seemed like blasphemy there in that setting. For a flesh-and-blood, seemingly finite human being to make such a statement strains credulity. And especially in that relentlessly monotheistic Jewish context, which did not entertain the kind of divine flirtations with flesh and blood so common in contemporary Egyptian, Greek, and Roman religions.
Brush away the shock, however, and we discover a beautiful truth. The truth that the Word did indeed become flesh and dwell among us (John 1:14). The truth that, though the darkness hide thee, we have been invited behind the veil. The truth that, though the eye of sinful man thy glory may not see, "we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father" (v. 14). In short, before Philip even thought to make his amazing request, God had already answered it!
Jesus precedes his dramatic statement to Philip with a poignant question: "Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me?" We are reminded of the moment earlier in the fourth gospel when Jesus told the Samaritan woman that if she had known to whom she was talking, she would have asked him for living water (John 4:10). That she did not know who this stranger was, of course, is understandable. But Philip's case is different. He had been with Jesus now for so many months and so many miles, yet still he didn't know.
Philip was not alone, of course. The antagonistic Pharisees, mocking Herod, and the taunting soldiers did not know with whom they were dealing. The incredulous people of Nazareth did not know. And even after his resurrection, we get several indications that the disciples still did not really know or understand.
I suspect that Jesus' pointed question to Philip would be rightly asked still today. His name, his gospel, and his church have spread around the world now for 2,000 years. Yet, still, so many do not know. So many among those who gather each week to sing and pray in his name together do not know. They unwittingly discount him to the status of "great teacher" or "philosopher," not fully recognizing him as Savior and Lord. They affirm that he rose, but they live like he's long dead and gone. They have heard tell of his love, his power, and his presence, yet they live without peace and joy. They call him Redeemer, but remain unredeemed.
Finally, while the disciples were no doubt dismayed by the prospect of Jesus leaving, he made it clear that his departure was to their benefit. That truth deserves our consideration, for we may feel sometimes envious of those disciples who had Jesus physically present with them. They could see him, hear him, touch him, and watch him work. We are tempted to think that believing and following would be easier for us if he were here now as he was then. Yet the strong implication of Jesus' words here at the Last Supper in John's gospel is that Jesus' followers are better off because he goes away. Not because he is gone, of course, but rather because of the benefits derived from what will happen when he goes. Among those benefits are these: 1) that the Father will send the Spirit; 2) that what we ask in prayer will be done; and 3) that we will match and even exceed the works of Jesus while he was on earth.
Application
Our culture has picked up on Christmas. It may be misunderstood by many, and opposed by some, but the fact remains that we spend a month or more celebrating a holiday that is rooted in the coming of Jesus. And beyond our society's holiday season, the church has its own ways of celebrating his coming. We sing dozens of familiar songs, we decorate, and we read cherished passages of scripture. We have Advent candles, nativity scenes, Christmas pageants, and Christmas Eve services.
Then there is this other coming. It, too, was a predicted and promised coming. It, too, involves God dwelling among us. And, frankly, it was a coming accompanied by a great deal more fanfare and public response than Jesus' coming. But our culture makes nothing of it at all, and as the church, we don't do much better.
Yet, here is good news, indeed! He is with us forever. He abides with us and in us. He empowers us and leads us. He teaches us and reminds us. He bears witness with our spirits, confirming and enabling our response to God.
What little the Apostles' Creed says about the Holy Spirit may be all that most of our people know and believe about the subject. But our three lections this morning say a great deal more -- and our people need to hear and know a great deal more -- about him. And as surely as we bid, "every heart prepare him room," at Christmas, so let us deliberately open ourselves to the coming and the working of his Spirit at Pentecost.
Alternative Application
Acts 2:1-21. "The Stubborn Obtuse." There's always someone who doesn't get it.
The Pharaoh of Egypt saw the hand of God at work all around him, but he did not recognize it, perhaps assuming it was all magicians' tricks (see Exodus 7:11). The crowd overheard the voice of God speak to Jesus, but they did not recognize it, thinking it was thunder (John 12:28-29). The antagonists saw Jesus' miracles, but they did not recognize it as "the finger of God" (Luke 11:20), accusing him instead of "cast(ing) out demons by Beelzebul" (11:15).
Is it spiritual dullness within us that God's work is so often unrecognized? Are we so unnerved by mysteries that we have to find some ordinary explanation that we can understand? So it is that the Holy Spirit came down in this miraculous and powerful way on the Day of Pentecost, but some in the crowd just chalked it all up to wine.
At first blush, that brief detail in the story of Pentecost is amusing. And, after further review, we may find it fruitful to explore the juxtaposition of wine and the Holy Spirit (see, for example, Luke 1:15; Ephesians 5:18).
At the same time, however, there is something profoundly troubling about the myopic analysis of some in the crowd. To have the Holy Spirit come with unprecedented power and yet not recognize it -- to stand on the fringe of an event so extraordinary and yet attribute it all to something so terribly ordinary -- to mistake the virtue of God for the vice of men.
The people in the crowd that day who "sneered" were not the first to miss the work of God. Neither were they the last. And while they dismissed the disciples as drunk, their foolishness is a sober warning to us, lest we also miss or misunderstand what God is endeavoring to do in our midst.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 104:24-34, 35b
Today is Pentecost. The creative power of God's Spirit (v. 30) flows today like no other day. The Spirit that is poured out on this day is the same Spirit that hovered over the waters (Genesis 1:2) at the dawn of creation. This is the same Spirit that possessed Gideon as he lifted up his horn (Judges 6:4). And it is the same Spirit that the risen Jesus told us would arrive as an advocate to accompany us (John 14:16) forever.
This Spirit that gives life, that motivates, that creates and accompanies comes on us today, drawing us together in the heat of creative fire. This is no trifling wind, no puffed up breath or gasbag of religious meandering. This is God's Spirit. It is real. It is not limited like human doctrine. It is not to be contained like a restless adolescent. This wonderful, chaotic, and holy Spirit goes where it will, and today it comes to this place.
For those who lean into a well-ordered life this Spirit can be troubling. For those who like a tidy religion, this Spirit can be downright disruptive. New life can be that way. Creativity can be that way, especially when it's God who's getting creative!
So it is that today as God's torrent of life flows out in dancing tongues of fire, we are called to lay down our need to control what's happening. Remember that it was so out of control on Pentecost that folks thought everyone was drunk! No, no, not drunk, says Peter, but ripe with visions and dreams, full of power and imagination!
And it is to us that the question comes today. Are we ready for God's disturbing Spirit to enter our lives? Are we ready to let go of our need to control, to order, and to organize? Can we surrender it all and allow God's spiritual fire to consume us as it did our ancestors so long ago?
Imagine, just for a moment, what it would mean to be consumed by this Holy Fire. What would that mean? What would our lives look like if they were utterly given over to the whimsy of God's wonderful spirit? It is at once a thrilling and terrifying notion. Thrilling because of the liberation that would come as each heart was released of every burden and freed for faithfulness. Terrifying because it would mean that life as we know it would be over. Those things that we hold so close would be laid upon the pyre for burning and we would -- whether we want to admit it or not -- feel bereft.
It is Pentecost Day, a spiritual time of adventure and disarray. It is also a time of deep prayer and unutterable joy. It is a time to dance to the rhythm of the Spirit's flame.
You and I know, from the context of church history, that those early creeds were often born out of controversy and heresy. Both the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds reflect the Christological controversies of the times in which they were composed. We spend more time and effort being specific about what we believe about Jesus Christ than any other single doctrinal matter.
The Apostles' Creed does not reflect only its day, however. It may reflect ours, as well. On the one hand, the abundance of doctrinal statements about Jesus surely reveals the concerns of the creed's composers and the issues of their day. Meanwhile, in our day, it may be that the absence of doctrinal statements about the Holy Spirit accurately represents where we are, as well: the paucity of our understanding of and emphasis on the Third Person of the Trinity.
I think it's probably fair to say that our people know what they affirm about the Father -- that he is "almighty" and the "maker of heaven and earth." And I'm sure that our people are at least conversant in much of what we affirm about the Son -- his titles and his story. But what we recite in the Apostles' Creed about the Holy Spirit may summarize the entire knowledge and understanding of so many of our members: "I believe in the Holy Spirit." That's it.
This Sunday -- Pentecost -- is a good opportunity to go beyond the creed. Today we have an occasion to explore the person and work of the oft-forgotten member of the Trinity.
Acts 2:1-21
The good storyteller is not just a spellbinder. He is also part anthropologist, part philosopher, and part theologian. Luke demonstrates that he is a good storyteller in the opening line with which he introduces this event: "When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place."
Would the Pentecost event have happened any other way? I don't doubt God's willingness and ability to do his work at any time and in any place. It seems clear from the testimony of scripture, however -- and it also stands to reason -- that certain times and places are more conducive to his work than others. And Luke's brief observation about the Pentecost setting suggests an environment ripe for the work of God: "They were all together in one place."
The scene speaks of obedience (see Acts 1:4). The scene reveals faithfulness (cf. Hebrews 10:25). And the scene suggests unity, which is a hallmark of God's work and will (see Genesis 2:24b; John 17:21-23; 1 Corinthians 1:10-13; 12:12, 25-27).
At a purely human level, common sense recognizes what kinds of settings and circumstances breed mischief and trouble. And, similarly, at a spiritual level we understand that certain settings are well suited to the work of the Spirit of God. "They were all together in one place" is just such a suitable setting.
It may be that two quite disparate influences in our culture may have combined to form an unhealthy atmosphere in many of our churches. On the one hand, evangelicalism has always put an emphasis on the individual. A personal decision is required to make a personal commitment and to enjoy a personal relationship. Meanwhile, the more recent pervasion of relativism in our culture has gradually persuaded much of the population that all truth is a personal business. What I believe need only work for me; it need not work for you, and consequently it must not be foisted upon you. Every personal belief is valid, and absolute truth claims have become quite unfashionable.
In the wake of these two unlikely partners, we have lost much of our sense for "faith community." Church is no longer perceived as necessary for the individual, though the individual is, like a customer, craved as necessary for the church.
In terms of scripture, of course, this is really quite backward. While the love and salvation of God are unmistakably personal, the recurring testimony of scripture bears witness to a God who calls, saves, forms, and uses a people, not just a person. God's observation about Adam, in the midst of an otherwise perfect creation, seems to reflect his policy beyond just the subject of marriage: "It is not good that the man should be alone" (Genesis 2:18).
Finally, if we are going to preach the Pentecost event, it is worth asking just what sort of event it was. Here are three examples from scripture, and you see which one you assume most resembles Pentecost.
First, consider any healing story from the gospels -- for example, the healing of Bartimaeus. It was an individual event that happened at a particular place, at a particular time, to a particular person. You and I do not personally share in or benefit from that event. On the other hand, we do not regard it as an isolated event, for we know that the Lord healed many people, and we affirm that he continues still to heal people today.
Second, there is the flood in the time of Noah. Again, it was an individual event with a particularity of place and time. And, again, you and I do not personally share in it. But, unlike the healing of Bartimaeus, we do not regard the flood as a recurring sort of event. That is to say, we do not believe that God judged the whole world with a flood on numbers of occasions, and continues to do so in the present and future.
Finally, consider the occasion of Christ's crucifixion. Again, it is an event with a particular place and time, and like the flood, we do not regard it as a recurring event, but rather as a once-and-for-all event. Unlike both the healing of Bartimaeus and the flood, however, we affirm that you and I do, in fact, share in and benefit from that one-time event at a time and place in the past.
Now, which type is the Pentecost event?
Is Pentecost like the healing of Bartimaeus: a recurring kind of thing that God does again and again in the lives of groups and individuals? Is Pentecost like the flood: a one-time event, which will never happen again and which has no direct effect on you and me? Or is Pentecost like the Cross: a one-time event from history in which we still share today?
Before we preach Pentecost, it seems to me we ought to be clear about what the relationship is of that event to our lives and the lives of our people.
Romans 8:14-17
I have friends who adopted a little girl from China. I gather that there was some considerable expense involved. I remember that they left the United States -- their home, their friends and families, their jobs, and responsibilities -- for several weeks in order to travel to China, and to walk through the required process there. When they returned, however, they brought with them a precious little girl; a child whose life will be immeasurably better because of these good people. She will be enveloped by love all of her growing-up years. Her adoptive parents will provide for all of her needs, and she will be surrounded by benefits and opportunities that likely would have been unknown to her otherwise.
This is the beautiful picture of adoption. And, it is a glimpse into the gospel truth that Paul expressed to the Romans. We were born into unfavorable circumstances. Hopeless, really. We were born into an inescapable slavery and a living death. Then God, at great personal expense, left home in order to come to where we were. He did not come merely to reside here; he came to get us. He came to ransom and adopt us; to love us, to make us his own, and to take us home with him "so that where I am, there you may be also" (John 14:3b).
While the post-Enlightenment West is always tempted to make Christianity an intellectual proposition, the ransomed slaves themselves know better. It is not merely a matter of belief, but of belonging. Formerly, I belonged to sin, death, and hell. But no more.
That issue of belonging takes on another layer of meaning when Paul refers to us as heirs. The juxtaposition of slaves and heirs is the contrast between people who are belongings and people who receive belongings. The one is dehumanized; the other is exalted. The former is perhaps the lowest possible status for a human being; the latter is a place of privilege.
And herein we see the truly gracious nature of this salvation. For this breathtaking elevation that we experience is completely unrelated to any merit, payment, or achievement on our part.
Our status as heirs is specific: "joint heirs with Christ." It's a startling proposition. Not every heir (or would-be heir) who sits at the reading of the will receives an equal portion. But this mind-boggling good news is that we, the adopted children of God, share fully with the only-begotten Son of God. Remarkable.
Finally, that sharing takes on a new twist at the conclusion of the passage: "if, in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him." We are reminded of the two- part revelation that the disciples received at Caesarea Philippi. In the one breath, Jesus confirmed what Peter had proclaimed: namely, that he was the Messiah and the Son of the living God (Matthew 16:16-17). In the next breath, however, Jesus explained what that Messiahship would mean: "that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering ... and be killed" (v. 21). Consequently, he warned them what it would mean to follow him: "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me" (v. 24).
It is inarguable -- especially in light of Peter's own response in the immediate context (v. 22) -- that the disciples were operating with a different set of assumptions about the Messiah than what was fulfilled and accomplished by the passion of Christ. An episode surrounding the later request of James and John (Mark 10:35ff) suggests that the disciples also generally misunderstood what it really meant to follow Jesus.
Here, at the conclusion of our selected lection, Paul reminds the Romans and us of the whole truth of what we share with Christ. Yes, his glory. But first his suffering.
John 14:8-17 (25-27)
As we observed in the "Charting the Course" contribution for May 13, these chapters from John's account of the Last Supper provide us with perhaps our best single peek into the Trinity. On that occasion, Jesus spoke openly and frequently with his disciples about himself in relation to the Father and to the Holy Spirit. And we see that all-important theme woven through this selection from that larger context, as well.
In this particular selection, the central issue is the relation between the Father and the Son. And the whole discourse is prompted by Philip's fascinating request. "Lord, show us the Father."
It is not clear exactly what Philip wanted or expected at this moment. Did he literally expect some kind of visual experience? While Moses passionately sought God's face on the mountain, did Philip want Jesus simply to pull back some curtain and reveal the Father? We don't know.
Of course, what Philip wanted -- and our speculation about it -- is not finally the point. Rather, our focus should, with Philip's, be turned to the marvelous truth Jesus shared in response: "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father."
The one-to-one correlation Jesus makes between himself and the Father is almost unutterably startling. If Philip's request is audacious, Jesus trumps it with a statement that, coming from anyone else, would be blasphemy. And, indeed, it surely must have seemed like blasphemy there in that setting. For a flesh-and-blood, seemingly finite human being to make such a statement strains credulity. And especially in that relentlessly monotheistic Jewish context, which did not entertain the kind of divine flirtations with flesh and blood so common in contemporary Egyptian, Greek, and Roman religions.
Brush away the shock, however, and we discover a beautiful truth. The truth that the Word did indeed become flesh and dwell among us (John 1:14). The truth that, though the darkness hide thee, we have been invited behind the veil. The truth that, though the eye of sinful man thy glory may not see, "we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father" (v. 14). In short, before Philip even thought to make his amazing request, God had already answered it!
Jesus precedes his dramatic statement to Philip with a poignant question: "Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me?" We are reminded of the moment earlier in the fourth gospel when Jesus told the Samaritan woman that if she had known to whom she was talking, she would have asked him for living water (John 4:10). That she did not know who this stranger was, of course, is understandable. But Philip's case is different. He had been with Jesus now for so many months and so many miles, yet still he didn't know.
Philip was not alone, of course. The antagonistic Pharisees, mocking Herod, and the taunting soldiers did not know with whom they were dealing. The incredulous people of Nazareth did not know. And even after his resurrection, we get several indications that the disciples still did not really know or understand.
I suspect that Jesus' pointed question to Philip would be rightly asked still today. His name, his gospel, and his church have spread around the world now for 2,000 years. Yet, still, so many do not know. So many among those who gather each week to sing and pray in his name together do not know. They unwittingly discount him to the status of "great teacher" or "philosopher," not fully recognizing him as Savior and Lord. They affirm that he rose, but they live like he's long dead and gone. They have heard tell of his love, his power, and his presence, yet they live without peace and joy. They call him Redeemer, but remain unredeemed.
Finally, while the disciples were no doubt dismayed by the prospect of Jesus leaving, he made it clear that his departure was to their benefit. That truth deserves our consideration, for we may feel sometimes envious of those disciples who had Jesus physically present with them. They could see him, hear him, touch him, and watch him work. We are tempted to think that believing and following would be easier for us if he were here now as he was then. Yet the strong implication of Jesus' words here at the Last Supper in John's gospel is that Jesus' followers are better off because he goes away. Not because he is gone, of course, but rather because of the benefits derived from what will happen when he goes. Among those benefits are these: 1) that the Father will send the Spirit; 2) that what we ask in prayer will be done; and 3) that we will match and even exceed the works of Jesus while he was on earth.
Application
Our culture has picked up on Christmas. It may be misunderstood by many, and opposed by some, but the fact remains that we spend a month or more celebrating a holiday that is rooted in the coming of Jesus. And beyond our society's holiday season, the church has its own ways of celebrating his coming. We sing dozens of familiar songs, we decorate, and we read cherished passages of scripture. We have Advent candles, nativity scenes, Christmas pageants, and Christmas Eve services.
Then there is this other coming. It, too, was a predicted and promised coming. It, too, involves God dwelling among us. And, frankly, it was a coming accompanied by a great deal more fanfare and public response than Jesus' coming. But our culture makes nothing of it at all, and as the church, we don't do much better.
Yet, here is good news, indeed! He is with us forever. He abides with us and in us. He empowers us and leads us. He teaches us and reminds us. He bears witness with our spirits, confirming and enabling our response to God.
What little the Apostles' Creed says about the Holy Spirit may be all that most of our people know and believe about the subject. But our three lections this morning say a great deal more -- and our people need to hear and know a great deal more -- about him. And as surely as we bid, "every heart prepare him room," at Christmas, so let us deliberately open ourselves to the coming and the working of his Spirit at Pentecost.
Alternative Application
Acts 2:1-21. "The Stubborn Obtuse." There's always someone who doesn't get it.
The Pharaoh of Egypt saw the hand of God at work all around him, but he did not recognize it, perhaps assuming it was all magicians' tricks (see Exodus 7:11). The crowd overheard the voice of God speak to Jesus, but they did not recognize it, thinking it was thunder (John 12:28-29). The antagonists saw Jesus' miracles, but they did not recognize it as "the finger of God" (Luke 11:20), accusing him instead of "cast(ing) out demons by Beelzebul" (11:15).
Is it spiritual dullness within us that God's work is so often unrecognized? Are we so unnerved by mysteries that we have to find some ordinary explanation that we can understand? So it is that the Holy Spirit came down in this miraculous and powerful way on the Day of Pentecost, but some in the crowd just chalked it all up to wine.
At first blush, that brief detail in the story of Pentecost is amusing. And, after further review, we may find it fruitful to explore the juxtaposition of wine and the Holy Spirit (see, for example, Luke 1:15; Ephesians 5:18).
At the same time, however, there is something profoundly troubling about the myopic analysis of some in the crowd. To have the Holy Spirit come with unprecedented power and yet not recognize it -- to stand on the fringe of an event so extraordinary and yet attribute it all to something so terribly ordinary -- to mistake the virtue of God for the vice of men.
The people in the crowd that day who "sneered" were not the first to miss the work of God. Neither were they the last. And while they dismissed the disciples as drunk, their foolishness is a sober warning to us, lest we also miss or misunderstand what God is endeavoring to do in our midst.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 104:24-34, 35b
Today is Pentecost. The creative power of God's Spirit (v. 30) flows today like no other day. The Spirit that is poured out on this day is the same Spirit that hovered over the waters (Genesis 1:2) at the dawn of creation. This is the same Spirit that possessed Gideon as he lifted up his horn (Judges 6:4). And it is the same Spirit that the risen Jesus told us would arrive as an advocate to accompany us (John 14:16) forever.
This Spirit that gives life, that motivates, that creates and accompanies comes on us today, drawing us together in the heat of creative fire. This is no trifling wind, no puffed up breath or gasbag of religious meandering. This is God's Spirit. It is real. It is not limited like human doctrine. It is not to be contained like a restless adolescent. This wonderful, chaotic, and holy Spirit goes where it will, and today it comes to this place.
For those who lean into a well-ordered life this Spirit can be troubling. For those who like a tidy religion, this Spirit can be downright disruptive. New life can be that way. Creativity can be that way, especially when it's God who's getting creative!
So it is that today as God's torrent of life flows out in dancing tongues of fire, we are called to lay down our need to control what's happening. Remember that it was so out of control on Pentecost that folks thought everyone was drunk! No, no, not drunk, says Peter, but ripe with visions and dreams, full of power and imagination!
And it is to us that the question comes today. Are we ready for God's disturbing Spirit to enter our lives? Are we ready to let go of our need to control, to order, and to organize? Can we surrender it all and allow God's spiritual fire to consume us as it did our ancestors so long ago?
Imagine, just for a moment, what it would mean to be consumed by this Holy Fire. What would that mean? What would our lives look like if they were utterly given over to the whimsy of God's wonderful spirit? It is at once a thrilling and terrifying notion. Thrilling because of the liberation that would come as each heart was released of every burden and freed for faithfulness. Terrifying because it would mean that life as we know it would be over. Those things that we hold so close would be laid upon the pyre for burning and we would -- whether we want to admit it or not -- feel bereft.
It is Pentecost Day, a spiritual time of adventure and disarray. It is also a time of deep prayer and unutterable joy. It is a time to dance to the rhythm of the Spirit's flame.
