Pentecostal Protest

Imagine a unified nation not divided by an invisible line, but united by an invisible spirit. God is summoning us—the church—back to our protest-ant roots for such a time as this.

Borders, boundaries, barriers.

There are a number of things in place to separate and segregate us from one another. Some of it is geographical like mountains, bodies of water, and canyons. Most are man-made, like fences, walls, and checkpoints. But the remaining borders, boundaries, and barriers that separate us are invisible lines drawn by society. For the last 400 years this country has been in the throes of inequality where invisible lines have been drawn to divide us on the basis of racial, ethnic, and cultural differences.

The lines have especially been drawn this year—lines that carry the permanent sting of tattoo ink piercing the skin. COVID-19 has drawn a line as black people have and continue to die disproportionately. White men have drawn a line as we watched two of them hunt down and murder Ahmaud Arbery for running while black. White women have drawn a line as one in Florida blamed her autistic son's death on black men, when she was the one who drowned him. Another in New York City called the cops on a black man because he asked her to leash her dog, as is the rule in Central Park. Police officers drew a line when they murdered first responder Breonna Taylor in her own home, only to learn that they burst into the wrong home, guns blazing. Then a Minneapolis police officer crossed the line already drawn by law enforcement when he dropped his knee on George Floyd's neck, strangling him to death.

So I wonder, what would our world be without borders, boundaries, barriers, and invisible lines? Can you imagine a world with no mountains, or oceans, or walls, or fences to separate us? Or better yet, a country with no racism, or sexism, or classism, or ageism to segregate us?

No invisible lines.

Imagine instead a unified nation not divided by an invisible line, but united by an invisible spirit. The Holy Spirit, or as my grannie used to say, “The Holy Ghost!” This season of Pentecost is a reminder that God has given us another Advocate in the Holy Spirit that has the power to break down borders, boundaries, barriers and invisible lines. We just have to accept that the Holy Spirit advocates for EVERYONE.

What really stood out to me in the Acts of the Apostles is the authoritative interpretation of the Pentecost event by the prophet Joel. He speaks of this new community that is remarkably and radically inclusive in gender, age, class, race and ethnicity. It's a community that we've fantastically failed to live into as both church and society. But I believe God is summoning us—the church—back to our protest-ant roots for such a time as this. As the country is reeling in the protest of division by invisible lines, God too is challenging us into a Pentecostal protest of unity ushered in by a Holy Ghost that is inclusive of all and alienating of none.

Unity is an ideal we pretend to comprehend but struggle to execute—even as church. We often confuse unity with uniformity, because it is much easier to gather with people who are like us than it is to reach across the divisions which mark our culture. It's why very few of our churches reflect the ethnic, social, and economic diversity of the country we live in. Martin Luther King Jr. said 11 o'clock on Sunday is the most segregated hour in America, and he'd still be right today.

So we can't expect society to resemble that which we've yet to achieve as church. We have to erase the invisible lines of division in Christianity before we can lead as the nation's moral compass. In order to unite and end segregation in church and society, the body of Christ has to acknowledge its role in oppression and liberate itself through repentance for its participation in America's first sin—racism.

We often only think of the oppressed as being stuck—and therefore, the only people in need of liberation. But the truth is, both the oppressor and the oppressed are in bondage together, and our liberation is bound. Imagine someone pinned down on the ground unable to move because someone else is holding them there. Better yet, don’t imagine it, just see the nearly nine minutes George Floyd gasped for air as the life was squeezed out of him by a deadly knee of oppression. Our first mind says that the one being held down is the only one in need of freedom, but the reality is, both are stuck. The oppressed can’t get up, and for that to remain true, the oppressor can’t let up. In order to end oppression, both the oppressed and the oppressor have to be liberated.

God is calling the church to the forefront of a liberation movement where we move forward together toward repair in Holy Ghost Pentecostal protest; the kind of protest where our knees are only dropped for reverent prayer and solidarity, and not brutality. I know we'll get there, because Pentecost is here.

The 40 days of Lent marked a difficult time of sacrifice, prayer, penance, repentance of sins, and self-denial mirroring Jesus' time in the wilderness that climaxed with His crucifixion. The 50 days of Easter was a period to celebrate in the resurrection of our risen savior. Easter is ten days longer than Lent—that means our celebration is ten days longer than our sacrifice. The arrival of Pentecost is a beautiful reminder that our rejoicing in God is always longer than any trials and tribulations that come our way.

So if these times of unrest have left you weary—do not despair. Whether it's the invisible lines drawn by the virus of COVID-19 or the virus of racism, the invisible Spirit has come to erase those lines. While the fires burning down buildings don't quite feel like the burning flame of the Holy Spirit, or George Floyd's last words, "I Can't Breathe", don't quite feel like Jesus breathing life into us to receive the Holy Spirit—do not be discouraged. Because God has sent us an advocate to ensure that our days of celebration are always longer than our nights of rioting. 

Ulysses Burley III

Dr. Ulysses W. Burley III is the founder of UBtheCURE, LLC – a proprietary consulting company on the intersection of Faith, Health, and Human Rights. Ulysses served as a member of the Executive Committee of the World Council of Churches as well as the United States Presidential Advisory Council on HIV/AIDS (PACHA) under the Obama Administration. He has been recognized by the National Minority Quality Forum as a top 40 under 40 Minority Health Leader for his work in faith and HIV in communities of color and serves on the NMQF Advisory Board. Ulysses is an internationally recognized speaker and award winning writer on topics including faith, HIV/AIDS policy, LGBTQIA, gender and racial justice, food security, and peace in the Middle East. He is a lay leader at St. Stephen’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Chicago, IL.

Facebook | @UlyssesIII
Twitter | @ulyssesburley
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Website | www.ubthecure.com
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Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.

As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.

Difference Is a Gift (Acts 2:1-11)

A sermon for Day of Pentecost for a world riven by division and injustice. God shows us a different path.

There's no better place to start a study of the Book of Acts than the account of Pentecost. Now, this is a moment we often identity as the birth of the church, that moment when God's blessings poured down upon us and the church tasted God's goodness.

But what happened that momentous day, and what does it all mean for us today? The story of Pentecost makes us wonder about a different world. Wouldn't life be easier if we were all the same? If we all spoke the same language, wouldn't we avoid so many of the conflicts and rifts that destroy our relationships? If we all shared a common culture, wouldn't we all be much better off?

I want to propose today that there are a number of problems with this line of questions. Initially, the question isn't as honest as it should be. The real question we ought to pose is: "Wouldn't life be easier if we were all just like me?" After all, that is so often what we really hope for. Too often, Christians have hoped for a time when our differences would cease, when in Christ we would all be indistinguishable. Such impulses are earnest but fundamentally misguided.

Many such interpretations emerge from a fervent hope that the specters of racism, sexism, and myriad other destructive "isms" would no longer bind us to cycles of violence and hate. Such interpretations imagine that becoming Christians means becoming all the same in all ways. But, nothing could be further from the truth.

Our adoption as children of God does not erase our differences. Instead, that adoption erases the need to claim superiority or inferiority based on these markers of identity. We are not the same, but we are reminded that our differences are not ways to measure our value in the eyes of God or in the eyes of one another.

The story of Pentecost in Acts Chapter 2 helps us understand how God sees our differences. Simply put, diversity is one of God's greatest gifts to the world. At Pentecost, God through the Spirit does not erase our differences but embraces the fact that God has made us all so wonderfully different.

First, a quick recap. The final chapters of the Gospel of Luke and the first chapters of Acts find the disciples and other followers of Jesus regrouping and discerning what a life of faith together looks like after Jesus' death, resurrection, and ascension. And, both at the end of the Gospel of Luke and again at the beginning of Acts, Jesus promises that he would grant this gathered community with the gift of the Spirit.

And that gift arrives in grand style. These early followers of Jesus gather in Jerusalem along with fellow Jews from around the Mediterranean world. They are gathered together in one place when suddenly tongues of fire descend from the heavens on the day of Pentecost. The gift of the spirit precipitates an extraordinary event. As the disciples proclaim the good news, everyone hears the good news proclaimed in their own language.

What might this all mean? After all, I don't remember the last time I was able to speak another language without a great deal of study and effort along with more mistakes than I can count. Speaking a new language always involves more than a few moments of embarrassment. And yet, none of that is narrated here. What then might this all mean?

Many interpreters have viewed this Pentecost moment as a direct response to the Tower of Babel in Genesis 11. That's a fantastic story that seeks to explain how a people once united by common ancestors eventually became peoples with many different languages. Some have forwarded that Pentecost reverses the punishment God meted out at Babel. Finally, we can understand one another because the Spirit enables all to understand one language.

But to me, this is a significant misreading of Babel. Is it really a punishment from God that we are all different, that we speak different languages and live in different cultures? That is, is difference a problem in need of a solution? I certainly don't think so, and the vibrancy of the world's cultures is evidence against the misreading of Babel.

Most importantly, if Pentecost were a reversal of Babel, if Pentecost undid the diversity of human languages precipitated by Babel, why would the Spirit enable everyone to hear the gospel preached in their own languages? Why not cause everyone to understand one, universal, heavenly language? Perhaps because Acts does not understand Babel to be a punishment God inflicted upon us. Perhaps because Acts understands Babel as an expression of God's greatest hopes for all of humankind, not a punishment. Perhaps because Acts understands God's commitment to our differences.

So, notice what happens at Pentecost. God, through the Spirit, chooses to meet us where we are: in the midst of a multitude of languages and experiences. The Spirit translates the gospel instantly into myriad languages. And if you think this is easy, then you have never tried learning a new language! You don't just substitute one word in one language for a corresponding word in another language. Language, as we know, is messy and it's intricate. Language is rooted in a wider and complex culture and way of thinking and living. Even when we speak the same language, don't we still have a hard time understanding one another? Imagine then the miracle of Pentecost and what it means for us today.

God meets us in the messiness of different languages and does not asks us to speak God's language. Instead, God chooses to speak our many languages. God does not speak in a divine language beyond our comprehension. At Pentecost, God speaks in Aramaic and in Greek and other ancient languages. And today, God continues to speak in Spanish and Greek and Hindi and Chinese alike.

At Pentecost, God makes God's choice clear. God joins us in the midst of the messiness and the difficulties of speaking different languages, eating different foods, and living in different cultures, and that is good news.

So, what would it mean for a church to be Pentecostal in this way? Well, first, like those early disciples, we might be accused of being drunks, but that's okay, I guess. That puts us in good company with the first Christians and even Jesus himself! But, more seriously, we might find ourselves surrounded by people and languages we don't understand; but we will also know that what sounds like babbling to us, that's sweet music in God's ears.

But most important is that such a church will open its doors and its people will open their arms as widely as possible. That church will seek out all kinds of people and not require them to become like us. That church will recognize that without "those" people we cannot be God's people. That church will take a risk, but a risk worth taking, a risk God has called us to embrace. And last of all, that church just might be changed by God at its core. And that would be the greatest gift of all.

Let us pray.

God, we are a people in need of a miracle. Ours is a world riven by division and injustice, but you, God, have shown us a different path. Lead us on the paths of understanding and love. Forgive us when we declare the differences you have created a curse. Teach us to cherish our differences as precious gifts. Amen.

Used with permission. Originally posted on Day1.org.

Eric D. Barreto

Eric D. Barreto is the Weyerhaeuser Associate Professor of New Testament at Princeton Theological Seminary. His passion is to pursue scholarship for the sake of the church, and he regularly writes for and teaches in faith communities around the country.

Twitter @ericbarreto

Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.

As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.

Pentecost, Prejudice, and Pandemic

A sermon for Pentecost,
May 31, 2020

Ahmaud Arbery

George Floyd

1,000 names

100,000 dead

(Silence)

Pentecost is the noisiest of all Christian holy days—a party, the “birthday of the church,” celebrated with banners, red balloons, and cake. We hear rushing wind, tongues of fire, and cacophonous crowds. We re-enact Acts 2 in multiple languages, reminding us that God sent all humankind a gift—the spirit with its promise of peace and portents of salvus for the healing of the earth.

Alleluia! The long awaited day of the Lord is here!

But this week, names:

A man, panting, running, and fighting for his life.
“I can’t breathe; I can’t breathe…” and, then, no breath.
A thousand names in print takes our breath away.
100,000 stopped breathing.

A celebration, a birthday?

No thank you.

I feel like we are being strangled, the life choked from us—disbelief, sorrow, fear, rage. Violence in the streets, jails, and cages at our border, targeting black and brown men, women, and children; a virus stalking us all, turning familiar comforts into threats. We are hunted and haunted by guns and germs, prejudice and plague. And the victims mount. Each with a name, many known, some known only to God. From a single name to the many to myriads, this unholy litany of grief.

Pentecost is no party this year. Indeed, this feast falls on the eve of a National Day of Prayer and Remembrance, June 1, to be marked with silence at noon. Silence, more than shouting this year. Mourning, not celebration.

This discomforting Pentecost drew my attention away from the traditional readings. (Although I confess it would be tempting to preach on fire, myself wanting to call down the fire of heaven on this whole, unjust, unfair, unwelcome mess!) Of all the alternatives offered by the lectionary, a single verse—1 Corinthians 12:13—spoke to most deeply my heart:

For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.

Pentecost is, of course, not only about birth but baptism. And here, in First Corinthians, Paul speaks about what it means to be baptized and to live in the Spirit. We are in one Spirit, with one body, he insists. And then, in words that sound familiar—he reminds of that oneness, whether we are “Jews or Greeks, slaves or free,” we all drink the same Spirit.

That short clause echoes Paul’s other (and more extended) use of those words, found in an older letter, in Galatians 3:27-28 —

“As many of you are were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female: for you are one in Christ Jesus.”

Galatians 3:27-28 has long been one of my favorite bits of Paul. And I’m not alone in that. The words have been referred to as Paul’s finest writing, his best religious vision and poetry, and the lens through which the whole of Pauline theology should be read. For centuries, Christians have drawn inspiration from them for causes of justice including abolition, economic reform, and women’s rights. Galatians 3:28 is Paul’s rallying cry to overcome divisions of race, class, and gender, poetically and theologically interwoven with baptism, proclaiming justice as heart of life in Christ.

Like most readers, I have attributed their lyrical and political power to Paul. However, New Testament scholar Stephen Patterson has recently offered a far more provocative understanding of the origin of these words. Paul, he insists, was not their author. Paul was quoting them from an older source. With close historical detail, reconstructing and comparing texts, Patterson argues that these words were the very first Christian creed. Paul was quoting an ancient liturgy dating from the earliest years of the Jesus movement, said by the first baptized, a credo that probably went something like this:

For you are all children of God in the Spirit.
There is no Jew or Greek,
There is no slave or free,
There is no male and female;
For you are all one in the Spirit.

This forgotten baptismal creed, with its powerful words, was perhaps shouted by some baptized on that very first day, the day of fire, wind, and water.

Patterson goes on to say: “If you are interested in the origins of Christianity, in those first ten to twenty years when the memory of Jesus was still fresh, before Paul came along and made his distinctive impact on the Jesus movement… In the earliest years of the Jesus movement it was repeated again and again by people who were baptized as followers of Jesus.”

And he continues, pointing out that this forgotten creed:

…is a statement of convictions of the Jesus people. It is not a statement about God, or about the mysteries of Christ. It is about people and who they are, really. In baptism, they were committed to giving up old identities falsely acquired on the basis of baseless assumptions—Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female—and declared themselves to be children of God. [1]

Of course, it is our “baseless assumptions” that made this week, these weeks, all the sorrows of human history, so unbearable. We assume we are better because, as our own president recently said, that “good bloodlines” make some smarter, more deserving. That breeding and wealth and blood entail status, naming some as superior and consigning others to less-than, less than privileged, less than human. This is the baseless assumption of Cain, that his offering was better than his brother’s, that he deserved more than Abel. Our baseless assumptions have dogged us since exile from Eden, we have almost forgotten how baseless they are.

Pentecost burns away those baseless assumptions in a fire from heaven. The Spirit incinerates our old identities—inherited status from our ancestors, our senses of innate superiority or inferiority, our privilege or poverty, freedom or bondage, the roles assigned to us by biology. Yet, this baptism leaves us not as ash. For the baptism of fire is followed by the more mundane one, the baptism of water. Fire is quickly followed by the flow, the pouring out of Spirit, the living water. We are washed, refreshed, and remade. We drink of one Spirit and find a new identity: Child of God.

We are named, each with our individual names, and with that familial name: Child of God. We have names. We share a name. We are fully ourselves; we are fully one with each other.

The ancient baptismal creed marked that new identity as neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female. As Patterson points out, it proclaimed “a world in which...female slaves could be leaders of free men, where foreigners and native born stood with equal power and equal rights. ‘You are all one’ signifies solidarity.”

Our names are our individual beauty, uniqueness. And our Name is our solidarity.

Pentecost this year is not as much party as protest. To name is to mourn the loss of individuals with gifts and loves. But Pentecost calls us to take another step beyond our personal laments and to be found together in a shared name – child of God. In this relation, Pentecost emerges as human solidarity. We stand together, in the same family, the same name, with and for and (even) as victims of the violence sadly endemic in this broken world. We are all Ahmaud, we are all George, we are all the thousand, we all the 100,000. What happens to one, happens to us all. We are not separate, not really. The fire of God has burned into the world, reducing to ash all division. A new human family has been born: sons and daughters dare to prophesy; old and young dream dreams; and slaves, men and women alike, announce God’s justice in the world.

The great and glorious day is truly here: You are all children of God.

May we live in the reality of Pentecost. Even now. Especially now, children of God.

* * * *

A Prayer for Pentecost:

Spirit of truth:
guide us into all the truth;
consume the lies
that shroud the world in hate;
pray in us
with sighs too deep for words;
and let the victim’s voice ring out
with hope for a new world;
through Jesus Christ, who goes to the right hand of God.
Amen.

(from Steven Shakespeare, Prayers for an Inclusive Church)

[1] Stephen Patterson, The Forgotten Creed: Christianity’s Original Struggle against Bigotry, Slavery, and Sexism (Oxford, 2018), quotes from page 29. Patterson’s book won the 2019 Louisville Grawemeyer Award in Religion.

Diana Butler Bass

Diana Butler Bass, Ph.D., is a multiple award-winning author, popular speaker, inspiring preacher, and one of America’s most trusted commentators on religion and contemporary spirituality. She holds a doctorate in religious studies from Duke University and is the author of ten books, including Christianity After Religion and Grounded: Finding God in the World, A Spiritual Revolution. For more information on Diana and her work, see http://www.chaffeemanagement.com/dianabutlerbass

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Church Anew is dedicated to igniting faithful imagination and sustaining inspired innovation by offering transformative learning opportunities for church leaders and faithful people.

As an ecumenical and inclusive ministry of St. Andrew Lutheran Church, the content of each Church Anew blog represents the voice of the individual writer and does not necessarily reflect the position of Church Anew or St. Andrew Lutheran Church on any specific topic.