(Sermon on Pentecost by a theologically liberal priest-scholar)

May 27, 2007

By Harry T. Cook

This day in the church’s calendar is known as “the Feast of Pentecost,” upon which, our tradition says, the unseen presence of the risen Christ fell upon the original apostolic community in the form of a mighty wind and flames of fire. Those phenomena apparently inspired or enabled people gathered for a harvest festival in Jerusalem (but from different cultures and speaking different languages) to comprehend the apostles’ preaching even though they were evidently speaking in Aramaic.

That does not signify that Aramaic was any kind of universal language. It signifies that under certain circumstances people of different tongues can, as the saying goes, speak the same language. The gist of the story is that one has to be “in the spirit” for it to be possible.

How is it possible for people today in Israel and the Palestinian territories to speak the same language, by which is meant neither Hebrew nor Arabic – but a language of good faith and inter-cultural understanding? How is it possible for union labor and company management to speak the same language, which would be (one would hope) the language of what’s fair for all concerned? How is it possible for Democrats and Republicans to speak the same language, which would be (one would hope) the language of what’s good for all Americans?

How is it possible for feuding Episcopalians and Anglicans to speak the same language, which would be (one would hope) the language of how we say to the world that the gospel is not one of confusion and exclusion but inclusion?

How is it possible for people of differing opinions, differing appreciations, differing backgrounds, differing aspirations and differing hopes speak the same language? Is it possible, or even desirable?

Here’s a true story about speaking the same language: Two women work together as editors of publications for a national training network. The one prefers the Apple computer. The other what is known as a PC. Ordinarily, the two computers cannot speak each other’s software language. But a program has been developed so that the editor using the Apple can send over files in her computer language to the other editor using the PC who can read it in her language.

So it is possible, at least for computers, to speak in one language and be heard in another. Is the same thing possible for human beings? Because we certainly do speak different languages – and we’re not talking Spanish and Swedish here, or Farsi and French. Everyone of us knows that English speakers speaking plain English to other English speakers are misunderstood, sometimes tragically, every day.

So was St. Luke’s point in weaving that almost psychedelic story about speaking in tongues, about tongues of fire, about mighty rushing winds and bringing people together in spirit as well as flesh the biblical version of the Rodney King plea of “can’t we all just get along?”

The world we inhabit, the nation we constitute, the church to which we belong are each and all speaking different languages even when they are using the same words. The Israeli says “Peace” and the Arab hears “war,” or vice versa. The Sunni says “enough already” and the Shiite hears “bring it on.” The Democrats say “stop the war.” The Republicans hear an insult to their dignity. Conservative Episcopalians say that by excluding gay people, they are being true to the Bible. Liberal Episcopalians hear them saying they hate gay people.

The vestry tells a congregation it needs to give more to support the parish. The congregation hears another whiny complaint about people not giving enough. The rector says to someone at coffee hour that he is very glad to see that person today. The person in question hears a scold about not coming to church more often.

Where are those tongues of fire? When will we hear the rush of a mighty wind? When the happy sounds of people both talking and not only listening but hearing, of people speaking the same language? When, in other words, another Pentecost?

Luke wants us to understand that the crowd in Jerusalem that day was gathered for a singular purpose, that is, for a religious holiday. No matter whence they had come, no matter what cultural baggage they brought with them, what resentments, what anger, what expectations, what hopes – no matter what language they spoke, they all were there under one auspice.

All they had in common was a sense that they needed to be together in one place that was holy to them all. They may not have known that it was not so much the place as the gathering that mattered. When people who consider other people aliens come together with swords sheathed and arrows quivered, there is implied in such restraint a sense that, though separate and separated by many circumstances, they are nonetheless one.

So language is more than words and phrases. Language is eye contact. Language is the look on a face, a smile or a frown. Language is the hand or even the arms outstretched to embrace. Language is the obvious if unspoken desire to be at peace across the natural divides of different lives and life experiences.

That’s what the church’s celebration of Pentecost is about.

It’s interesting that St. John in his gospel version tells the story quite differently. The spirit is conferred upon the apostolic community in the quiet of retreat in which the risen Christ is depicted as saying, “Whose sins you forgive, they are forgiven.” The spirit, then, has to do with forgiveness and an ongoing culture of forgiveness in which the barrier of different languages is removed by a willingness, an eagerness even, to put away past offenses both real and imagined in favor of peace, good will among humankind.

 © Copyright 2007, Harry T. Cook. All rights reserved. This article may not be used or reproduced without proper credit.