The Holy Sprit Doesn't Do Breakfast Blend

The Holy Spirit Doesn’t Do Breakfast Blend

Acts 2

PentecostB/ May 27, 2012

I’ll happily admit to you that I’m a morning person.  I’m one of those people that wakes up chipper and ready to tackle the world.  But I need a few things to stay that way.  I need a little quiet time where I can organize my world and plan my day, time where I can read or think or write.  If I got the paper, I’d be one of those people who did crosswords or the cryptogram.  I need a good cup of coffee.   And none of that, extra bold, in-your-face, black as mud nonsense either.  Just something with a mild and lovely flavor, with just enough spark to perk me up a little bit.  As I’ve become a coffee afficionado, I’ve finally realized why coffee companies make a “Breakfast Blend”. Because too much too early just starts your day off on the wrong foot.  

What I’m not as happy to admit is that if the Holy Spirit came in blends like coffee, I’d probably stick with the Breakfast Blend there too.  Hey, if it’s good for the coffee, then why not with the Holy Spirit? Just a little zip--enough to perk things up a bit-- not enough to shock anything. What more could the church ask for? 

Fortunately for me, and the church, the Holy Spirit isn’t about being “just a little pick me up.”  Unfortunately for me, and the church,  the Holy Spirit isn’t about being “just a little pick me up.”

Because when the Holy Spirit sweeps in, then everything gets uprooted, knocked down, and sent flying. Take the Acts passage we read this morning.  Everything was fine and lovely in the post-resurrection world. People began to realize that Jesus wasn’t just a very nice man who had some inconvenient ideas and did some strange things.  The church formed and began to figure out how to be a church.  Jesus and the Church had their first fellowship dinners.  They got busy with the sacraments.  They got anxious about questions of when and how.  Then Jesus ascended, and that posed a problem because they were without direction and governance.   So they had their first session meeting-- where they took roll, and decided even the women had something to add to the church.  But then they realized that they were one person short because Judas wasn’t able to fulfill his term, so they had a nominating committee meeting and  actually nominated two, because numbers weren’t all that important--so long as the work was getting done.  Those were the early days of the church, at least as the first chapter of Acts records it.  Everything was good. Things were moving along at a comfortable pace-- fast enough to be interesting, slow enough to keep people on board. The folks enjoyed fellowshipping together, and made a point to do it often.  Things were easier that way anyway, because then they didn’t have to explain to their old friends how everything was different now, and how those jokes that they’d all laughed at before weren’t really funny anymore and how they just didn’t have time to go fishing now that everything was so busy at the church.  Everything was hunky dory in the early church.  It had a promising, successful, and uneventful future in front of it. It was your nice, breakfast-blend sort of day.  Until it wasn’t. 

The day it wasn’t was the day the Holy Spirit decided to switch their breakfast blend for the extra-bold, in-your-face, black-as-mud blend. Only it wasn’t just their coffee  routine that was upset.  It was the whole church.  It was everything that mattered to them, everything they thought they could count on. Nothing was decently and in order any more, what with the Holy Spirit tangling with all the accents and everything.  The Southerners sounded like the Mid-westerners who began to say things like “Don’t ya know” when “yall” would’ve done just fine. The Californians quit asking for Bean Sprouts and started to look for the sweet tea.  And the Northerners quit talking so fast because they had to say “like” in front of every other phrase.  None of the stereotypes worked anymore.  But that wasn’t the worst of it. Because suddenly, there were others-- people they were trying to avoid because the early-church lifestyle just didn’t jive with the old “whatever floats your boat” ways, no-offense. The church had rules.  That’s what made it a church, right? The people knew what was in and what and who were out. But, on this day, the Holy Spirit breathed its hot sticky breath all over them and the air itself was so charged that the whole church got inebriated on the fumes.   At least that’s what made the most sense to say out loud. 

What didn’t make sense was this wildfire blaze of a Holy Spirit, who came and hissed his fire breath and said “My fire is gonna inflame all yall--not a single one of you will remain untouched.  And something is gonna happen.  Your children will dare to dream things never before imagined.  Your old folks are gonna testify about what God has done in their lives, and they are going to help bring up a new generation of people who imagine what God is calling them to be. Wherever you were comfortably silent before, you will not be silent any longer, because you have God-inspired words that will shape this world forever.  And my fire that lives in you will start something that sends the church in a whole new direction, where it won’t be about rules and who fits because that’s just hot air.  There’s a difference between hot air and fire, dontyaknow. And I’m here to give you fire that burns down walls between people.” 

And now you know why we don’t send Pentecost cards.  Now you know why in the standard church year, Pentecost only gets one Sunday when Easter and Christmas both get seasons. Because if we claim the truth about Pentecost, the one that’s come unwrapped from it’s beautiful, gently swooping, breeze bringing, dove of a package that we like to put it in, then we’re left with a fire that we don’t know how to contain.  And all that heat will surely destroy the church, right? 

Well here’s the truth.  The church has plenty of heat.  The question that Pentecost forces us to ask is “Does it have any fire?” 

Heat makes principles the most important thing.  Fire makes love commander-in-chief.   Heat needs to argue and seeks to divide. Fire forces people to get all tangled up until they can figure out a way to go forward.  Heat seeks its own way.  Fire seeks to follow God’s path.  Heat looks for a sip of cool water so that it can refresh itself.  Fire knows that an ocean of cool water isn’t going to be enough unless all are able to be cooled with it.   Heat makes us uncomfortable.  Fire makes us ready to move.  Heat just makes us hot.  Fire sets our hearts ablaze until they finally melt and begin to take the shape of God’s heart. 

Oh the church has plenty of heat right now.  But if all we have is heat, we’ve lost our identity.  We’ve lost our calling.  We’ve lost the gospel. 

Fortunately for us, the Holy Spirit’s currency is fire, not heat.  If it turns out that we’ve lost our fire, then the Holy Spirit is happy to help.  Be careful what you ask for, though, because the Holy Spirit doesn’t come in Breakfast Blend.  

Sing a New Song

5.13.12

Psalm 98

Singing a New Song

It’s Mother’s Day-- and I hope you’ve made a habit of praising God for all the women who have mothered you throughout your years.  I hope you pause each year to remember the qualities the women have that make you a better person.   I was thinking about my mama and about all the things she’s taught me, not only with her words, but with her life. One of the things that’s amazing about my mama is the way that she is able to shower people with praise--which isn’t always easy.   Her kindergarteners have a lot to overcome.  Many are very poor, most come from less than ideal family situations.  Learning isn’t easy for them.  They have plenty of reasons to be angry and mean and sad, but every year I watch my mom transform them into joyful, hopeful, excited kindergartners.  Because, even if they don’t hear it anywhere else in their lives, they are going to hear it from my mom.  “You are doing a great job!” or “What a great example you are!” are some of her favorite expressions.  She knows how powerful genuine praise is.  

I can’t help but admire her for that.  Because I know how much easier it seems to be to speak a negative word. Think about that for a second.  When presented with a situation-- what do you tend to notice?  For most of us, we notice what isn’t right or what hasn’t gone the way we’d like it to long before we could see what was better than expected.  And if we’re going to offer up any comment, our first instinct is to offer up a negative one. If you think I’m making it up, pay attention to what you say this week.  Pay attention to what other people say.  Keep a mental tally of how many positive comments you make and hear vs how many negative ones.

It’s one of our less than lovely qualities. But it’s human nature.  Sounds like it’s always been human nature. Think about Adam and Eve.  They are in the middle of a lovely story-- paradise even.  All the words that came out of their mouth should’ve been “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Lord!” Adam and Eve each get in a few words before the story takes an ugly turn.  But very quickly, Adam notes before God that he hadn’t yet found the clothing department.  Eve comments about what a foul creature the snake is because he made her hungry. It was no better with their children. Cain couldn’t see a partnership between him and Abel that represented the whole fruits of the land.  All he could see is that Abel had it better than he did.  And it goes on throughout the story of humanity. 

“Sing to the Lord a New Song!” is the Psalmist’s bold imperative to us this morning.  I like this Psalmist--he’s radiating an uncontainable energy that makes me want to radiate energy too.  He’s ready to shout from the rooftops about the great things  his God is up to. 

In the Thick of It

5.6.12

John 15:1-8

Easter 5B

“In the thick of it”

It’s that time of year when the lectionary people decide we most need to hear the passages that deal with plants and gardening and farming-- which I guess makes sense sense this is when we’re most able to see what the plants are up to.   It’s the time of year where we make trip after trip to the plant section in hopes of having the yard of our dreams.

Of course, these plant passages are lovely-- but unless you happen to be a gardener (which we long ago established that I’m not), these passages can get a bit confusing.   Like today’s-- about the vine.

I don’t know much about vines-- but when I hear people who do know about them talk about them, vines don’t seem to fare very well.  I hear people talk about how much of a nuisance they are.  Sometimes they can be pretty, but the only people who seem to talk about how pretty they are are the people who don’t know vines.  Donovan and I love wisteria, but every time we tell someone that, what we hear is “That’s a weed! It’s like kudzu-- it just takes over everything!” or “That vine kills everything in its path-- better watch it!” 

You would think I would’ve learned that by now.  When I was old enough to want some spending money, but still too young to get a job, my dad had an idea.  He led me to the side of our brick house, which was covered in lovely, thick, green ivy. Ivy that I’d always liked.  “It needs to come down” he said.  I liked it, but money was money-- and he’d offered me what I considered to be a fairly generous amount of money...at least until I started fighting with the ivy.  After all, I reasoned that I could have it down in an afternoon--and still have time to clean up and hopefully go pick up whatever it was that I was wanting.  I was seeing dollar signs.  So I cut and I scraped and I ripped and I yanked.  I took enough skin off my hands that I’m lucky to still have any fingers left.  I looked like I’d had a run-in with a mean cheese grater.  That ivy had been growing for years-- it had made a nice home for itself, and it wasn’t going anywhere. The vines were all tangled up on top of each other.  And it was the biggest mess, and most time consuming project I’d ever been a part of.  It took me a solid week to get the whole wall clean.  

I guess that’s why when I pick up Jesus’ lovely sounding metaphor about vines and branches that I get a little bit hesitant.  Why Jesus would compare the body of Christ to tangly, uncontainable, pains in the neck, plants?  Out of all the metaphors Jesus could’ve used--why that one?  Seriously, why didn’t Jesus say, “I am the sun, and you are the sunflower.”

I could make a great case for that metaphor.  Just think about sunflowers for a second.  They stand tall and strong and proud and beautiful.  When you see them growing, they just seem to radiate happiness-- their heads face up to the sky and they seem to be praising the lord.  Their stalks are crazy strong...these aren’t plants who are going to fall over in a little storm.  They are hearty and vibrant.  They attract people to them.  They make beautiful cut flowers that last for days.  “I am the sun, and you are the sunflowers.” That is a heckofa metaphor, Jesus. Certainly easier to preach than “I am the vine, and you are the tangly, on top of each other, out of control branches that are going to die unless you stick together.”

But then again, sunflowers kind of like their space.  They don’t mind sharing the field with each other--but they don’t want to stand too close to each other.  They don’t get in each other’s way.  They don’t get all tangled up together.  They have one flower on a gigantic stalk.  They’re kind of individual flowers.

Hey, let’s be honest here.  Even knowing that-- or maybe especially knowing that-- most of us would have preferred that Jesus made use of the sunflower metaphor. Because if Jesus went there, then we could stand as tall and proud as we’d like.  We could delight in our own beauty, our own accomplishments, our own free-standingness. 

Of course though, Jesus would could’ve made use of any metaphor he wanted and didn’t choose the sunflower one.  He went with vines and branches and tangly-uppy things that make most of us wrinkle up our noses.  And not only did he not use the metaphor that most of us would’ve liked, he takes it a step farther, by insisting that those tangly-uppy messes become productive. 

What, Jesus? It’s not enough that we all have to share the same space, and all be a part of each other? You want us to thrive in that environment?  You want us to look lovely, and to produce good things?  You want us to allow ourselves to be so taken over by our community that we acknowledge that we will die if we get separated?  Don’t you think that’s just a bit over the top, Jesus? Don’t you think you’re asking just a bit too much? 

Jesus obviously doesn’t think that he’s asking too much.  He obviously thinks that’s a perfectly doable thing. 

Here we are in the 5th week of Easter, still teaching ourselves to remember the power of the Resurrection in our lives-- how the resurrection transforms us and gives us the power to do the unimaginable. What the unimaginable looks like this week is being a thriving, fruit bearing, tangly uppy group of holy people.

What’s the secret?  It seems to come near the end of the passage as Jesus talks about “abiding with him.” The message translation phrases Jesus’ words this way: “Live in me. Make your home in me, just as I do in you.”  

I love that imagery of making a home in Christ.  But how do we do that? 

Obviously, home-making starts with having accepted Christ.  That’s the easy part.  Maybe the second part comes with being connected?  Connection seems easy too-- after all, we’re more connected than we’ve ever been.  Gone are the days that it took weeks to get a letter to a friend.  We email and have 24/7 access to news and weather.  There are entire rings called “social networks”.  I could pick up my phone, and depending on how quickly my fingers are moving, I could have a message sent almost instantly. If I were away on a trip, I could sit wherever I was and have a conversation with you-- where you could see my face and I could see yours.  We’ve never been so “connected”. 

So it’s odd that given all this “connection” people are talking more and more about how disconnected they feel.  They feel cut off from the world. The rates of depression and suicide are skyrocketing.  We have more and more facebook friends, but less and less friends that we see in person.  We text easily and quickly, but we’re starved for real conversation.

Maybe the case is that connection isn’t enough.  Maybe we have to go farther than “connection” and we have to create relationships.  Just being connected isn’t enough to sustain us.  Having relationships is part of what gives us roots that can withstand the meanest drought.  

Have you ever thought about the unique opportunities the church presents us for making not only connections, but relationships. Where else do you hold the struggles and joys of people in your hands, hearts, and prayers? Where else do you dare let yourself be vulnerable enough to let someone else hold yours? 

We’re hearing a lot of people say lately, “I’m spiritual, but not religious.” In other words, “I like God and Jesus, but I don’t need the church. I don’t need people in my business.  I don’t need them telling me how to be.  I’m just fine on my own.”  But here’s the best quote I’ve ever heard on the matter.  “Your yoga teacher won’t bring you a casserole when your mother dies.  You can have all the zen you want, but who will hold your soul?” 

“I am the vine and you are the branches” is what we hear.  All connected to Christ  who nourishes us and feeds us.  All connected to each other, in ways that we couldn’t easily run away from.  We’re a tangly uppy mess of people-- wild and out of control sometimes.  But the VInegrower, who knows enough to see beyond the nusiance of vines, wouldn’t have it any other way.  This is what a strong community looks like. 

Abiding in this way isn’t always easy.  We drive each other crazy.  We make even our loved ones want to head for the hills.  Perhaps that’s because connection is easy, but real relationships aren’t.  But abiding is the only way that we can continually be nourished by Christ.  Lovely as it would have been to be created to be sunflowers, we weren’t.  We were created as vines--because in order to live and thrive and produce fruit, we need to be tangled up with each other.  It’s a matter of life and death.