The Sauntering Pilgrim

For many, the story of Pentecost (Acts 2:1-42) has acquired a patina of mystery and magic that obscures what really happened that day. The story begins with strange auditory and visual phenomena – a sound like a violent wind and something like tongues of fire resting on each of the disciples. Now, most people stop there, or they move on to what has been popularized as “speaking in tongues,” although Luke reports only that they spoke in “other languages.”

“What does this mean?” the crowd asked. And we chime in, at least I certainly do, “What’s going on here?” Fortunately, once we get past the sound-and-light show, Peter answers our question. Listen carefully, he said, and get this straight. This is what the prophet Joel predicted. “In the last days,” God says, “I will pour out my Spirit on all people, on everybody. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, young men will see visions, old men will dream dreams, and everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved” (Acts 2:17-21, alt.).

“I will pour out my Spirit on all people.” Not only on the disciples, not only on Jews, but on all people: Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and Mesopotamians – people from Judea, yes, and from Assyria and Babylon and Egypt, the historic enemies of Israel (vv. 9-11). God’s Spirit will leap over boundaries of geography and language, of culture and religion, to embrace all people in one human family. Peter tells us that’s what happened at Pentecost.

Luke tells us that at the sound of whatever happened that day, “the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each (v. 6). This great, diverse crowd, from all the surrounding nations, from all their varied backgrounds and traditions, all of these people heard each other. Something holy broke through the barriers of difference and division, and in that moment they heard each other.

The story of Pentecost is not about violent wind and mysterious fire, nor is it about speaking in other languages. It’s not about speaking at all. It’s about hearing, and it’s about listening carefully, with the ear of the heart, to what we hear. It’s about the fulfillment of God’s promise, the promise of the ages, in that moment. It’s about the completion of what God promised in the Hebrew scriptures to do, what God started to do in Jesus of Nazareth, and what God is continuing to do in the church, the body of Christ today.

Jeremiah saw it coming – a new covenant not written on stone, not written on immutable human tradition or loyalties, forever unchanging, but one written on the human heart (Jer. 31:31-34). Not the Jewish heart but the human heart, the core of what we share with every human being who lives and breathes, regardless of any distinction we may make.

The psalmist saw it coming, envisioning a time when the city God established would include even the historic enemies of those who thought of themselves as God’s chosen people, a holy city in which every human being would find a home (Ps. 87), a city where all of humankind would live together in unity and find God’s blessing: life forevermore (Ps. 133).

St. Paul understood that in Jesus of Nazareth, that time of reconciliation and perfect unity had come, that “in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself,” not merely some chosen people but the world, “not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us” (2 Cor. 5:19), a message that we would embody and carry into every interaction we have with the world around us, from the check-out line at the grocery store to the voting booth to the halls of Congress.

St. Luke understood that our differences of place and language and tradition are not cause for division but are divinely ordained opportunities to “search for God and perhaps grope for [God] and find [God] (Acts 17:27f).

The best way to observe Pentecost – indeed, I believe, the only way to observe it with integrity – is not to wear red or plant red geraniums, nor to pray for the gift of speaking in tongues, nor to seek some experience of emotional or spiritual ecstasy.

The way to observe Pentecost with integrity is to do what may be the hardest thing imaginable. It is to set aside our egos, suspend our judgment, and let others – especially those of other languages and cultures and races (you know Juneteenth is coming up this month) and of other faith traditions and sexual preferences and gender orientations (this is Pride Month, you know) and of other political persuasions – to let them into our consciousness on their own terms, to understand them in their native languages, to show hospitality to strangers and treat them as our own brothers and sisters (cf. Isa. 58:6f).

“Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

“You may say that I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will be as one”

—John Lennon, “Imagine”