Old South Sermons:

Finding Voice

Pentecost Reflection

by Elissa Johnk

Acts 2: 1-21

May 31, 2009

Listen to this sermon

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Will you pray with me: God, may the words of my mouth, and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, our rock, and our redeemer.

How do you think he lived with himself?

How do you think Peter lived with himself?

Three times he had looked someone in the eye, and denied that he followed, or even knew Jesus. He had put down everything he knew and followed this man around for years. Given up everything - his family, his job, his friends. And he couldn't stand up straight and admit it.

Can you imagine what that must have been like? To feel like you didn't know who you were any more? Can you imagine what it must have been like, to know that Jesus had been right when looked at you and said you aren't going to be strong enough to stick around when things get tough. You are going to run.

This morning's scripture tells us that 50 days after those denials, having seen the resurrected Jesus, having been blessed and commissioned by his resurrected hands, Peter sat in Jerusalem with the other disciples. He had been given a second chance. This time he was going to get it right, this time he wouldn't be afraid, he wouldn't doubt, he would speak.

But, don't you think he was wondering if he would be strong enough? Don't you think he was wondering if this time he would find the words to be Jesus' prophet, or even to say "yes, I am his follower,"?
 
Jesus had told them that there would be a sign, a sign that they should start their ministry, a sign that the Spirit was with them, that he was with them. So tucked into an ordinary house on an ordinary street in Jerusalem, with the other disciples, Peter waited.

Waiting, as the days ticked by, knowing that outside those walls were the people who had killed his friend, his teacher. Waiting, as the days dragged on, wondering if there was going to be a sign, if there was, would he would see it, if there was, would he know. Waiting, to see: would he would be strong enough to speak?

Today there are no Roman soldiers anywhere outside these doors. There are no unfriendly religious authorities on Boylston Street. Christianity is the dominant religion of one of the most powerful countries in the world. And this gilded sanctuary is a far cry from the ordinary house where Peter and the disciples waited in Jerusalem. It is clear that when Peter found his voice, he changed the landscape of history. But somehow, I think, the question still lingers for us today. Pentecost poses a very real challenge: if you saw a sign, if you knew that the Spirit was with you, would you speak?

The headlines in the news this week were about suicide bombings. Nuclear tests. Unemployment, and disease pandemics. If Peter and the disciples were in need of a sign - if the world was in need of a sign - 2000 years ago, it certainly is in need now. If the world was in need of a voice for peace, for compassion, for transformation, 2000 years ago, surely it is still in need now. But now, friends, we are Peter.

And in some ways, maybe, Peter had it easy. I mean, sure, he might have had to deal with actual, physical threats of death for proclaiming himself a follower of Jesus. But at least he had flaming tongues coming down from the sky, right? At least he and the disciples had the ability to communicate the good news of hope to every person in their own language. That's usually a pretty good sign that God has got your back. What have we got?

We have got workplaces where it can be difficult to talk about one's faith. We have a culture where going to church might be expected, but believing is another story - maybe considered a little weird. Over and again this year I have heard this refrain: how do I live a life of faith - how do I have faith in a secular world? Christianity isn't exactly 'cool' these days, and the church, we have our own version of a dirty word: evangelism. What we have is an unwritten rule: what happens in church stays in church.

When the disciples were filled with the gift of speaking in different languages, there suddenly materialized outside the doors of their ordinary house a crowd of people. A crowd that pointed, and laughed, and asked if they were drunk.
Is that what we're afraid of? That if we speak, people will laugh? That if we confess our belief in Jesus, if we confess our belief in God's continuing transformative work, people will think we are a little crazy? Maybe even a little first century? In many ways, what we have is the same problem Peter did. Tucked into our house together, on an ordinary street, I think we are waiting for a sign, wondering to ourselves, if we see one, will we speak?

I think, friends, now is the time you find out. Now is the time because, over the course of my time with you here, I have seen God's movement in you. In this extra-ordinary house here on Boylston street, in the people gathered here, I have seen the Spirit dancing over you, filling you, emboldening you.

Last week, a small group of 20s and 30s got together to celebrate the year we'd had together. We took a ferry to one of the harbor islands and there, as all the people were still de-boarding the boat, we gathered on the beach to say goodbye. Wading ever so slightly into the water, 1 by 1, these women left the safe space where onlookers were watching, they bent down, cupped the water in their hands, and blessed each other. With the world looking on, instead of fear, or embarrassment, they spoke: remember that you are a child of God.

Every Thursday night at the Jazz service we celebrate communion. Instead of Quinn or the leader telling the story and blessing the bread and the cup, the story is told by the congregation. Parts of the story are called out as they are remembered. "Don't be afraid", Quinn tells them, "I know this involves breaking a few church rules - rest assured whatever words you have, the Spirit is in them."

And the spirit is in them. Every week, the standard church rule of silence is broken - and the story becomes alive again as every person learns that they do know the story. It does live in them. They do have the words to speak, even in front of crowds, the story of God's sustaining love.

Two months ago, at the last gathering of our Lenten study groups, participants were asked to share a short piece, a re-telling of the gospel in their own words. What do the gospel narratives say to you? What has reading them meant to you? When it was her turn to share her gospel interpretation, one woman stood up and told us that instead of words, she was going to give us her version of the gospel in dance.

She stood up, wrapped herself from forehead to feet in her scarf. Her arms were bound, her feet were bound, her face was hidden. Slowly as the scarf was unraveled, she began to move. She flexed her fingers, and her arms. She rubbed her eyes. And then, when the last piece of the scarf fell to the floor, she opened her eyes, and she stretched out her arms to the sky. This is what the gospel meant to her.  

And I suppose that is how I feel about my time here with you. I feel a bit like I have been unwrapped, unhidden, unsilenced.

The very first Sunday I ever attended services here was Pentecost of last year. The bulletin forewarned me that up where there are stars painted, it was going to rain a new kind of flame - a gentler, softer, more fire-marshal approved kind of flame. But I was unprepared for the wind - the pew-shaking, sanctuary-filling wind. It was my first experience with the Skinner organ, and I was blown away, overwhelmed.

And I have never stopped being overwhelmed by all of you here. Not only by your kindness and generosity towards me, as the new kid on the block, but by your kindness with each other. By this place. By the way in which, when the building was cracked and broken, you saw an opportunity to show the world what church can be. You came together to reaffirm your commitment to accessibility, to inclusivity, and to work in kindness with the MBTA.

I am overwhelmed by the way in which, when the world was facing a financial crisis, you put your treasure in God.

I am overwhelmed by Nancy, and Quinn, and Harry and Liz, and their leadership, their mentoring, the way in which each one of them embodies what church can be, and by the way in which their talents and voices speak so clearly and so prophetically. By the way in which all of you are willing to open yourself to that word, to worship and be challenged in new and different ways.

I am overwhelmed by the way in which you came together every Sunday during Lent and asked yourselves and each other - what does this really mean? For us, here today?

I am overwhelmed. Thank you.

The scripture tells us that on the morning of Pentecost, a violent wind descended on the disciples, and they were overcome, able to speak to all the world, to bring God's message of hope, to live - in the face of all opposition - as Christ's hands and feet and heart, here on earth. To change history with their voices.

Peter, with all his fears and denials, stood up and said to a disbelieving, unseeing crowd, "Listen! Can't you hear it? This is God, pouring out her sweet, sweet Spirit on us. Each and every one of us."

"Listen! Can't you hear it? That is the sound of a new vision stirring, a new world being created. A world without hurt, a world without hunger. A world with hope."

And if anyone ever asks me how I know that that Spirit is still at work, I need only tell them this: because, here, in this place, you have helped me find my own voice. Like the flames for the disciples and the sound of his friends prophesying for Peter, you have been for me the sign that God is still with us, still working in us and through us, sending us out into a broken, twisted, beautiful world.

And so, if I leave you this morning with any one piece of advice, it is that I hope you will not be silent. Be bold in your dreaming. Be loud in your prophesies. Name to each other and to the world outside the ways in which you see the Spirit moving in this place and among these people. It will be hard, and uncomfortable, and there might occasionally be crowds who mock you, who maybe even think you're a little drunk. But it will change the world.

Think about it, because Peter found his voice, I get to stand up here today and say to you, "listen! Can't you hear it? That is the sound of God's sweet spirit falling on us, here, in this place. At Old South Church in Boston. That is the sound of a new vision stirring in us, a new possibility for a new world stirring in us."

What do you think it felt like for Peter to finally stand up there and claim his voice?

Brothers and sisters, it is time for you to find out. Starting now.

Amen.

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