Pentecost and Zeal

I want to repeat my comment from last week that we Presbyterians do ourselves a disservice by leaving Pentecost to Pentecostals. When I was being examined for ordination by the East Iowa Presbytery thirty years ago, most of the questions were concerned about my Pentecostal upbringing and whether I would try to impose Pentecostalism onto the congregations I served. I understood where the concerns were coming from and actually shared many of them. At the same time, I didn’t want to throw the story of the Day of Pentecost under the bus in order to demonstrate that I was a safe candidate. Growing up Pentecostal offered me a host of positive experiences, along with negative experiences that I’ve been trying to work through spiritually and theologically during my adulthood. I will save the negative experiences for a memoir or a comedy routine at a later time, but some of the positive experiences may surprise someone unaccustomed to the tradition: Women preachers (not pastors, but preachers) were common; we called one another “brother” or “sister” instead of “Mr., Mrs. Miss, or even Rev.”; men were unafraid to hug one another, even before the “bro hug” became a thing; and within the Christian life there was an expectation of zeal. Today I want to think about what it means to honor zeal as an important and valuable part of the Christian experience. 

 

First, the necessary caveat. Zeal comes in many forms, some of them awful. Unbridled zeal has often led to a fanatic willingness to commit atrocities in the name of some supposed commitment to a greater end. Zeal blurs the lines between sacrificing oneself and sacrificing another. Zeal often makes us unreasonable, unable or unwilling to see things from another perspective. Zeal justifies bombing villages, driving a truck into a crowd, conversion therapy, banning books, or declaring war. Just as emotions can often seem antithetical to reason, zeal can often seem antithetical to basic human decency. So, zeal rightly takes on a very negative connotation in many cases. 

 

Still, there is a lot to be said for zeal, enthusiasm, ardor, and an “all-in” level of commitment. Dr. King’s zeal for justice and human rights is what drove his feet to cross the Edmund Pettus bridge, despite the dangers that awaited him on the other side. Jesus’ zeal for God’s house is what compelled him to turn over tables and drive money-changers out of the temple. Any commitment to justice, peacemaking, inclusivity, or transformation that lacks zeal tends to flame out, because there are so many barriers that one needs the energy to push through. That might be a great definition of zeal: The energy to push through, especially when the initial euphoria has worn away. The word “zeal” brings to mind exclamation points, loud voices, adamant stances, and the like, but true zeal is often a matter of showing up, faithfully, time and time again. 

 

As zeal pertains to worship, the Presbyterian Book of Order has long described worship as containing both “order” and “ardor.” The wisdom of our tradition says order and ardor are not antithetical to one another, rather, they enhance each other. The “order” ensures that our zeal does not descend into fanaticism but is ever held accountable to other forms of God’s wisdom and grace. That’s how we ensure that our Pentecostal fire does not become wildfire, destroying everything in its wake. The “ardor” ensures that our propriety does not reduce our worship to rote, lifeless pronouncements that don’t recognize the presence of the living God right there with us whenever we gather. It is the Pentecost fire that stokes the engine to life, at times in a flash and at other times in a constant heat. 

 

I so appreciate those of you who show up again and again, ready to serve, ready to worship, and ready to lift one another up. That, to me, is the constant heat that the fire of Pentecost brings, which enables the church to be the church through thick and thin. I also appreciate those of you who “get fired up,” whether you express it by clapping or nodding or saying “amen” during worship, or by jumping in and making sure that we do what justice calls us to do. The fire of Pentecost is what keeps us writing that letter, making that call, marching that march, and telling that truth. 

 

So, while wearing red may feel a bit gimmicky, it will be a reminder to us that we are empowered, enflamed, energized by God’s own Spirit. What a beautiful gift that is. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

 

The Roots of Pentecost

 Friends, 

As I mentioned last week, we will spend the month of June focused on the story, event, and meaning of Pentecost. Christians ground our understanding of “the Day of Pentecost” in the story of the second chapter of Acts, when the Holy Spirit was poured out on the believers who had gathered to pray. That moment could only be described with poignant symbolism – tongues of fire, diverse languages, the sound of hurricane-like winds, and so on. As such, it was a phenomenal event (literally!), rich with meaning. 

 

While the event in Acts is often the way that Christians become familiar with Pentecost, it was a celebration with a long history before the early church’s experience. This weekend, we’ll read from the book of Leviticus how this celebration got its name and was initiated as an agricultural festival, namely the “Festival of Weeks.” Numbers matter. In the creation story of Genesis, the earth is created in six days, with God resting on the seventh, creating a “Sabbath.” That seven-day story seems less about geology and more about theology – God blessed the rhythm of work and rest. Consequently, the number seven became associated with completion, which is why is shows up so often in other biblical stories. 

 

The “Festival of Weeks,” was a time of seven weeks, which could be called “seven sevens,” “seven Sabbaths,” or “a week of weeks.” The day after these 49 days, day 50, was set apart as something like a “super-Sabbath.” It was called various things, such as “Shavuot,” based on the Hebrew word for ‘seven,’ or “Pentecost,” based on the Greek word for ‘fifty.’ As the second great celebration in Israel’s annual liturgical calendar after Passover, it was also a harvest festival, so it was celebrated with bringing in the “firstfruits” of the field and cattle. We will circle back to this brief history this weekend in worship. 

 

Pentecost was also at the heart of a controversy in the Jewish tradition, between the groups that we have come to know as the “Sadducees” and the “Pharisees.” The controversy was about when the count of 50 days was to begin. This controversy took place during what is often called the “Second Temple” period, when the temple had been rebuilt after the exile to Babylon. Also during that period, the celebration of Pentecost took on new meaning. It was interpreted as signifying how, seven weeks after leaving Egypt (as commemorated in the Passover meal), God gave Moses the Law on Mount Sinai. So, many Jews today will tell you that Shavuot is a celebration of when God gave the People of Israel the Law. 

 

To be honest, I have enough trouble keeping up with controversies and theological innovations within our own Presbyterian household to begin trying to comprehend the significance of the Pentecost tradition in Judaism. But I do find it important to remember that Pentecost is not a liturgical celebration that just plops out of nowhere onto the Christian Church in the book of Acts. “The Day of Pentecost” enters the story already full of meaning and that’s part of what we will hear this weekend. 

 

It may be due to my Pentecostal upbringing, but I think we Presbyterians have done ourselves, our history, and the Holy Spirit herself a disservice by leaving the story of the Day of Pentecost to Pentecostals. We worry that too much attention to it leads to excessive focus on excitable feelings. Believe me, I have my own criticisms of excessive focus on excitable feelings and worked hard to move myself from the Pentecostal tradition to one which, I think, has so much more value and meaning to it. But this story of Pentecost is way more than a moment of excitable feelings. And, to be honest, I’m not sure if excitable feelings are any worse than uber-controlled emotions. So, rather than choosing between the “Holy Roller” or the “Frozen Chosen” camps, we will chart a faithful course that listens to the story of the Day of Pentecost as the living Word of God today. I can’t wait.

 

Mark of St. Mark

Things at Hand; Things Forthcoming

 Friends, 

I have a few things to share about this weekend and beyond. 

First, in honor of Memorial Day weekend, you will find an opportunity in the foyer to write the names of those whom you remember this weekend and hang it up with others. As you enter the front doors, there is a table to your right, on which are small cards, markers, and clothespins (small and teeny). Feel free to write a name, a thought, a memory – whatever is on your heart this weekend, and attach it to the fishnets. It will be lovely way to honor those whom we remember this weekend and to do so alongside of one another. 

Second, I happened to meet someone yesterday who is a shopkeeper from Bethlehem. As a Palestinian Muslim, Adnan Subeh has seen his business devastated by the Israeli attacks on Gaza. While Bethlehem itself has not been under attack, shopkeepers like Adnan are dependent on tourism and that industry has dried up considerably. Adnan is being hosted by a pastor friend of mine, who is bringing him to our Saturdays @ 5 worship service and to Muldoon’s after. Since he is in the US to sell his wares, he will briefly share some of his experience with us and will have a table outside just outside of the sanctuary.  

Finally, the Season of Pentecost is coming soon and I invite you to prepare for it. The story of Pentecost in Acts 2 is chock full of symbolism – wind, spirit, breath (all three of those symbols are from one word, pneuma), fire, languages, and the Spirit which is symbolized throughout the gospels as a dove. In addition, the language of the story is the language of abundance, with references to “all of them” and “each of them,” a long list of other countries from which the participants came, as well as “young and old,” “men and women.” As we live the story today, we can imagine – in keeping with the spirit of Pentecost – even broader terms that would include non-binary, trans, differently-abled, and marginalized folk that are often overlooked. And there is no shortage in our own communities of diverse languages, ethnicities, and places of origin. The Pentecost story is a marvelous story because we can easily imagine the power of this Spirit in our own time. It is a story of “renewable energy,” so to speak. 

I have decided to dedicate the entire month of June’s worship services to visiting and revisiting this story. We’ll start on the weekend of May 31 and June 1, when we look at the agricultural backstory of Pentecost as we celebrate communion. Pentecost weekend itself is June 7-8, then we’ll have three more weekends to revel in the renewable energy of this story. And here is how you can prepare. 

1. Write a prayer for peace. You can write a letter, a poem, a haiku; or make a flyer, draw a picture, or create something that I don’t have the imagination to name here. It needs to be on flat paper and no larger than 8.5 x 11. The Worship Commission will install a large dove on the chancel, and we want to cover it with your prayers for peace. Please create your prayer and bring it by next weekend, May 31-June 1. 

2. Plan to wear red on Pentecost weekend, June 7 and 8. Something. Anything. You’ll look mahvelous! 

3. Pray for a Revival of Justice. That is what Pentecost is all about and that is why the church so desperately needs to return to this story again and again. 

More to come,

Mark of St. Mark

Storytelling and The Last Monk of Durau

 Friends, 

 Many of you have been very kind in your appreciation of the story about “The Last Monk of Durau” that I shared in my sermons last weekend. Here is a small tale behind my encounter with that story. I first read it in 2006, in a publication called Hungry Hearts: A Quarterly Journal of Reformed Spirituality that was once published by the Office of Theology and Worship in the Presbyterian Church. It was written by Joseph Small, who was the director of that office until 2011. Since it has been almost 20 years since I read it, you can see that it made quite an impression on me. Somewhere along the line, I wrote a brief version of that story – I don’t know when I did that originally, but that is the only version of it that I can find these days. I don’t think Hungry Hearts was ever digitalized, and it has been difficult trying to find a way to access it. (I did reach out to a friend who works in the PCUSA office in Louisville to see if she has any suggestions. Nothing yet.) 

 

With my maybe/maybe-not reliable version of the story, I went to the internet to find some more information about Durau itself. I was able to confirm that I’m spelling it correctly, that it is known for its ski resort and wild game reserve, and that there is a hermitage for nuns there, that was once a monastery. And I ended up reading a lot more about Nicholae Ceausescu than I intended. So, I figured that if my memory was correct on the particulars, I could rely on it for the gist of the story, which was the last monk of Durau’s faithfulness and endurance while outlasting the Ceausescu regime. 

 

I want to be transparent to you about this story, because I tell stories as part of preaching, and I know how manipulative or deceitful storytelling can be. I will, on occasion, change the names in a story if it doesn’t affect the truth of the it and if it seems wise to keep the story anonymous. Years ago, I mentioned a neighbor from my childhood in a sermon, back when my sermon manuscripts were published on a church website. Relying on my memories of my memories, I did not paint this neighbor in the most flattering light, and I received a scathing letter in response from one of his children. It was well-deserved, not because what I said was untrue, but because it was not the full story. Stories, particularly of the memoir variety, are always told from a perspective and never represent the whole truth of a person or an incident. So, stories allow us to draw conclusions, with all the proper caveats in place, but not to make final judgments. I told a story about Archbishop Tutu on Easter that I had read about. After worship on Saturday, Andy Scott told me more of the story, which I was able to include on Sunday. That’s a lovely part of stories – multiple accounts give them greater life. And, of course, if there is ever a question of confidentiality, then it is not a story for me to share. 

 

I think what fascinates me the most about the last monk of Durau is simply the power of doing what one is called to do. It’s not magic, not even miraculous, just the ordinary faithfulness of ordinary people serving an extraordinary God, even when it feels futile and hopeless. I continue to be in awe of that story and am so pleased that many of you are also. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

Foucault's Pendulum as a Metaphor

In the summer 0f 2016, I went to Portland, Oregon to attend the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church USA. At the convention center, just outside of the exhibition hall, was an installation of Foucault’s Pendulum. Foucault’s Pendulum is a large leaded ball hanging from a cable, swinging slowly and tantalizingly back and forth. Just watching it swing is captivating and soothing. But it’s not a meditation device and it does not just swing back and forth. Its pattern changes ever-so-slightly with each swing, so that the ball will eventually knock down one of the many pegs that encircle the top of the pendulum. Foucault’s Pendulum is an experiment that uses gravity to demonstrate the earth’s rotation. Unlike the pendulum on a grandfather clock, it does not simply swing back and forth and it does not require someone to go in and reposition the weights occasionally for it to continue swinging. Foucault’s Pendulum is driven by the unseen power of the earth’s spinning axis, so the back-and-forth movements of the pendulum do not end up back where it started. Over 24 hours, the pendulum will knock down every peg along the top. 

 

I think and speak of this pendulum often, so you’ve heard this description already. Beyond its brilliance as a scientific demonstration, I find Foucault’s Pendulum an apt metaphor for how God often works among us. 

 

We often say, “The more things change, the more they remain the same.” That may be a modern version of Ecclesiastes 1:9, “There is nothing new under the sun.” In fact, the whole opening portion of the book of Ecclesiastes seems to lay the groundwork for what some call “the Myth of Eternal Return.” There is something comforting about this rhythm – knowing the “the sun will come out … tomorrow” can bring us calm in a turbulent night. But the Myth of Eternal Return can also lead to despair. If there is nothing new under the sun, we seem to be in a cycle of repetition, leading nowhere in particular. “Nations rise, nations fall”; “the rich get richer, the poor get poorer”; and other anecdotes try to capture the futility we often feel with “one step forward; two steps back.”  

 

The Modern temper has often been convinced that the future can be different from the past. Whether we think of the science of evolution or the power of revolution, the one thing we take for granted is that an outcome can be substantially different from its origin. In that sense, we have embraced “the Myth of Progress.” Christianity has been partly responsible for giving us this temper with our belief that, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” (II Corinthians 5:17) (At the same time, the possibility of a different future often scares us, whether we think of a looming environmental disaster or unleashing a kind of AI-generated world that surpasses our control. In those moments we may echo some of the difficult language from the book of Revelation and wonder if doom is at hand. We might call that dystopian view, “the Myth of Regress.”) 

 

Instead of seeing the Myth of Eternal Return and the Myth of Progress as either/or possibilities, I think Foucault’s Pendulum offers a way of gathering our different experiences within the promise of the resurrection. We really do rely on the sun coming out tomorrow. We really do look in the mirror and find ourselves becoming our parents. In that moment, we might agree with the writer of Ecclesiastes that there is nothing new under the sun. That part of our experience is like the giant ball swinging slowly back and forth on Foucault’s pendulum. At the same time, we really do make and keep disciplines that enable us to overcome addictions or learn new skills. We really do live in a world that is experiencing Climate Change, calling us to live differently than our trajectory suggests. At that moment, we echo the Apostle Paul that, in Christ’s resurrection, God is doing a new thing. That part of our experience is often like the barely noticeable change in the course of the pendulum, as it actually does knock down one peg and then another, demonstrating that there is more to its movement than a simple back and forth like the grandfather clock.  

 

My hope here is to offer a metaphor of hope in times when it seems that our work is in vain and even when all we see are setbacks. I guess that’s just another way of repeating, “We have the resurrection, Chappies!” 

 

Mark of St. Mark

 

 

Mental Health and Religious Nationalism

 Friends, 

May is Mental Health Awareness month, a designation that we will try to address and honor throughout the month in our worship services. If you ever get ahold of a Presbyterian Planning Calendar, it seems that every month, even every weekend, tries to recognize something or another. I don’t always find the recognitions helpful, but I am all on board when it comes to recognizing Mental Health Awareness Month. Here’s why.

For too long, matters related to mental health have been stigmatized in our language and our imaginations. Nobody disqualifies someone for seeing a doctor over a matter of physical health, but mental health has been treated differently. Think back to the Nixon Administration’s reaction to the release of “The Pentagon Papers.” They tried to discredit the information that Daniel Elsberg released by burgling the office of Elberg’s psychiatrist, hoping to uncover embarrassing information about his state of mind. They presumed the stigma of Elsberg’s mental health challenges would call his reliability into question and overshadow the administration’s own illegalities. The plan backfired, but the presumption behind it reveals the kind of stigma that has often been attached to mental health.

Throughout this month, our Health Commission, and especially our Parish Counselor Gretchen Carrillo, will offer us encouraging and instructive ways to learn more about how we can be a more faithful community with regard to mental health. If nothing else, honoring Mental Health Awareness month can help us understand how easily many of us have internalized stigmas into our language and presumptions. You may recall a moment in Jesus’ life, when his mother and brothers came to fetch him, in response to concerns that he was beside himself or perhaps even driven by evil spirits. Human communities have always found ways to presume a norm and marginalize those who don’t live into it, even coopting loving families into that circle of stigmatization. 

…………………………..

There was an excellent and troubling Opinion piece in Thursday’s New York Times about by David French (with whom I do not always agree) about what I am now going to call “Religious Nationalism.” You can read it here. I think he summarized it well when he said, "The Christian right is dead, but the religious right is stronger than it’s ever been. Another way of putting it is that the religious right has divorced itself from historical Christian theology, but still holds its partisan beliefs with religious intensity. The religious fervor is there. Christian virtues are not." That’s powerful and insightful. 

For those who were with us on Easter weekend, remember, “"We have the resurrection!” 

Mark of St. Mark

 

Easter Weekend

 A Long Weekend of Extremes

 

I like to think of this weekend as a long weekend, a loooooooong weekend that begins on Thursday and begins again on Sunday. On Thursday, as we signified in our Maundy Thursday service, Jesus sat at the table with his disciples for a last meal. It’s called “Maundy” Thursday because, in John’s gospel, Jesus got up from the table and washed the disciples’ feet, giving them the command (mandate) to love each other in the same way. 

 

Then, there’s “Good Friday,” which seems like such a misnomer, since there is nothing “good” about any of the human actions that happen on that day. A friend betrays; religious leaders persecute; disciples flee; political leaders waffle; soldiers torture; crowds jeer. If one ever wants to glimpse the worst of human nature, Friday is the place to look. And yet, with deliberate irony, the church began to see God’s ability to bring good out of evil at work, even on this day, within acts of violence and perfidy. 

 

The longest day of this long weekend might be Saturday. On Saturday, nothing happens. At least in the gospel stories, on Saturday everyone rested and abstained from doing work of any sort. The women disciples prepared their spices and ointments on Friday, so they could observe the day of rest on Saturday, before approaching the tomb to anoint a dead body just as soon as the sun arose on Sunday. The men disciples … well, we don’t know what they rested from on Saturday because they had not been performing very admirably on Friday and did not seem to have a plan for doing anything noteworthy on Sunday. I imagine Jesus’ opponents spent the day feeling victorious, while his followers spent the day in the depths of despair. But we can only conjecture, because the biblical accounts themselves are silent about Saturday. More about that below. 

 

Then came Sunday. Sunday starts with the women, going to find and anoint a corpse. What they find is a stone that had been removed and an empty tomb. Then, according to different stories, various individuals and groups began to encounter the risen Christ and so the joy of Easter hope begins. Death has been so many things to so many people – the shadow into which we must all journey ultimately; the inevitability that raises the question of whether life itself has meaning; the threat by which tyranny has always found its power. And now, the power of death is broken, and it is not just a story that affects Jesus. As the Apostle Paul puts it, “Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:4). For the early believers, our participation in resurrection begins in our baptism, not after our death. And that assurance is what empowered the church to face the threat of the sword and keep its profession that Jesus, not Caesar, not popularity, not even one’s own wants or needs, but Jesus is Lord. Sunday alone is a mouthful of a day. 

 

So, I hope you are experiencing the longest weekend right now. It is a time when we face our own duplicities and fear. It is a time for asking who we are willing to scapegoat in order to secure our own safety. It’s not all colorful and delicious – certainly not all fun. But it is all intentional, focused, ever moving toward the good news of the resurrection. 

 

So, let’s circle back to Saturday for a moment. In the gospels, nothing happens on Saturday because it is the Jewish Sabbath, and all of the disciples were faithful Jews. The early Christian tradition wondered what was happening with Jesus on Saturday, and they developed a tradition that, on Saturday, Jesus descended into hell and set the captives free. It was called “the Harrowing of Hell.” While I think the rationale for this tradition is sketchy, I love the intent. As the disciples weep, as the killers gloat, as the sinners bask in self-righteousness, Jesus is entering into the depths of hell itself and liberating captives. I think we should all embrace the Saturday of this long weekend as “Liberation Saturday,” a time to offer hope to the hopeless, food to the hungry, care to the injured, welcome to the marginalized, and freedom for the prisoners. 

 

It is a long weekend indeed, from Thursday to Sunday, from tears to joy, from brokenness to new life. Come, let’s celebrate it together.

 

Mark of St. Mark