Happy Birthday, Church—or not.
It’s no secret that these are not the best of times for the church. Fact is, it’s not that cool to go to church anymore. Congregations are struggling, shrinking, closing, all while there are all sorts of other things to do on Sunday mornings. Even Christians question the importance of being connected to a church, while the fastest-growing religious demographic, the “spiritual-but-not-religious,” distain the whole idea. If you google “the church is…,” you will find, right after the expected theological statements, this sentence: The church is dying. And there are many reasons to believe this is true. Blogs and opinions abound—if I linked to them, you’d never finish this commentary! But here on Pentecost we celebrate the birthday of the church. Is there anything to celebrate for today?
As the Pentecost story begins, the point is clear: the disciples are not yet the church. They’ve been hanging around together for a long time (What are they doing in the upper room all those days?). They are Jesus’ witnesses; they’ve seen it all, maybe understood it by now, but they are not yet the church. We can tell because they aren’t doing anything. Jesus leaves them with instructions to be his active witnesses carrying the message everywhere, but he also gives them the instruction to wait. So there they are—a job to do, but not doing it. More than a strategy or a pep talk is needed to get them out and on their way.
Suddenly the activities of the upper room, whatever they may be, are interrupted—a wind, little flames, and next thing we know the upper room empties, not because the disciples know what to do—they are pushed out, literally on fire with their task.
What we recall in this story is the part of faith—any faith—that’s probably the hardest thing of all to believe: religion doesn’t have to do with control—not God’s control of us, or our manipulating of God. This is hard to believe because most religion and religious ceremony is caught in in control. How many people walk out on God and the church because of disappointments? It’s a story told over and over. God doesn’t show up, interfere, control, maneuver or otherwise explain his ways in the way expected. Well, God isn’t going to take care of things like he should—what’s the point of believing? And so many people don’t.
But you can still believe in God and miss the point. Prayer makes a fine excuse for passivity—put it in God’s hands, and you don’t have to make any decisions at all! Others determine exactly where and when God will be present and who God can care about. We all know, for example, that God isn’t allowed in the public schools—as if somehow our words and expectations determine where God will show up!
The presence of the Holy Spirit shows how hollow all these bargains are. Often when we use the word “God,” it’s the Father image we have in mind. Source of life and order—and this is a good place to begin, but also a good way to keep God at a distance. Such a big God, creator of all, is at a distance, and possibly even hostile in His disappointment in us and our ways. Now Jesus comes (from God) to show and tell us how wrong we are here—how God is not distant at all, and that love, not hostility, makes up divine motivation, but it is easy to dismiss Jesus. After all, he is unique—he had to say these things. So we look to him as a moral teacher and example, or a theological construct.
The Holy Spirit forces us to make the connections between our lives and Jesus’ words. Not just worshippers, nor are we an audience—with the Holy Spirit we are inspired. Participants, even co-creators in God’s plan, like the disciples leaving the upper room, with the Holy Spirit we have to do something.
But what? In the story, the disciples speak in different languages, but that seems a bit literal. Peter talks about the Spirit’s inspiration as a dream, a vision that all God’s people, old or young, male or female will share. So are we, like the disciples, inspired dreamers?
Clearly we’re not talking about weird dreams of nighttime sleep. The disciples’ dreams are of Good News, the story of a messiah whose mission was fulfilled in unexpected ways. As Peter talks, his audience will hear dreams of forgiveness and reconciliation, of life conquering death, and of God’s love made known. These are dreams of salvation, visions of God setting right all the things that are wrong, visions of God’s ways of life being known on earth.
What would our dreams be? What visions do we have of things that should be? Dreams begin when we recognize that things aren’t as they should be, and envision something different. We don’t create these dreams alone—that’s where the inspiration comes in—but we do begin with our recognition that this is not as good as it gets. The Holy Spirit combines that dissatisfaction into something that looks very much like hope—things could be different.
So does the church still have such dreams?
A few weeks ago during the area fires, a small church not far from here burned down, the victim of arson. It is a very small church—I didn’t even know it existed until it burned. It’s an older congregation, quietly taking care of those who come by–no website, no obvious presence in the community. Talking to the pastor, I learned that since the fire their attendance has gone up: they now average about 60 people on a Sunday. They’re meeting in their parking lot right now because they worry that if they move to another spot, their people won’t know where they are. So this little church—no building, no money, few people over the age of 40—isn’t this exactly what Google is talking about?
But the pastor doesn’t see it that way. He remembers what this church can do. He remembers how long ago, he was a gang member. No future, no plans, but someone told him a different story. Somehow he heard how he was meant for more, how he was created for God’s love and purpose, and his life changed.
You see, when we think of visions, we dream big: stadiums, or at least pews, full of people, all united and happy and successful. God’s dreams are both bigger and smaller than ours. One life—not much. But that one life, saved from a dismal future, saved to save others to build a community of hope. The pastor of that little church has a vision now. His hope is that the fire will literally light a fire under his people, and they will remember who they are, how they are the sort of people who can be inspired to bring Good News and save lives.
Notice how the inspired dream begins with remembering. Not remembering the good old days, when everyone cared about the church—that’s nostalgia, not inspiration! Each Sunday we gather to remember, just like that little church down the road gathered in their parking lot, to remember who we are: God’s people. We have an identity and a message of life, and a calling to share words that matter. We have Good News that can turn the world upside down—good news that life does win.
It’s easy to be unhappy with the way things are. Our world holds out the hope of endless competition and insecurity, of enemies and division, revenge, resentments, and the list goes on and on. As the world we live in unravels—and the world is always unraveling—the Holy Spirit speaks into the chaos, putting the pieces back together, bringing light into darkness and meaning into chaos. The Holy Spirit remakes creation. Can we see the vision? If we remember the life and calling that are ours, we will put ourselves on a collision course with that Spirit of wind and fire we can’t control. Then, just maybe we will be pushed out of our comfortable rooms and out into becoming the signs of life we are meant to be. And that will be something to see.