Resistance

Dear friends,

Our hearts are heavy on this Pentecost Sunday. There is so much to grieve in this broken, beautiful world. We pray for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit to empower us to embody God’s dream for all creation.

Here is today’s worship service in its entirety:

If you’d prefer to listen only to the sermon, listen here:

https://soundcloud.com/stacey-nalean-carlson/resistance-a-sermon-for-the-day-of-pentecost

Today’s sermon is based on Acts 2:1-21

¹When the day of Pentecost had come, [the apostles] were all together in one place. ²And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. ³Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. ⁴All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

⁵Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. ⁶And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. ⁷Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? ⁸And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? ⁹Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, ¹⁰Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, ¹¹Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” ¹²All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” ¹³But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”
¹⁴But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. ¹⁵Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. ¹⁶No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:
¹⁷‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams.
¹⁸Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy. ¹⁹And I will show portents in the heaven above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and smoky mist. ²⁰The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day. ²¹Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’ ”

 

Beloved of God, grace and peace to you in the name of Jesus. Amen.

I spent nearly the entire day on Friday removing the carpet from the stairs leading to the second story of our house. I don’t know yet if it will be replaced with new carpet—or if, instead, the hardwood floors I uncovered can be refinished and restored. I don’t know yet where Friday’s kneeling, and cutting, pulling, and prying will lead, but the carpet had to go. It had to go because it was harboring years of filth. And it had to go, because on Friday I needed to deconstruct something, dismantle something, make visible progress toward something.

Because Friday marked the end of a week when the number of people in this country who have died of Covid-19 surpassed 100,000…

Because Friday marked the end of a week when George Floyd was killed and Minneapolis and St. Paul burned…

Because Friday marked the end of a week when the headlines included words like these: nationwide protests, the maddening normalcy of racism, retaliating, withdraw, suspicions, discriminates, lawsuits, caught in the middle, the battle between the masked and the masked-nots…

Because Friday marked the end of a week when I searched the scripture, begging to see clearly, and then in some sort of divine object lesson actually went to my annual eye exam and learned that my prescription hasn’t changed. I have 20/20 vision with my glasses. Of course, you’re still extremely near-sighted my eye doctor said.

Yes, I am. I can’t see far away. I can’t see down this road we’re walking as a nation. I can’t see the systemic racism and the ever-widening political divisions—the lack of simple civility, the inability to dialogue and empathize—I can’t see my way through those right now, I can’t see that they will ever change.

I don’t know how to deconstruct the systems that harbor years of racism and white privilege. I don’t know how to dismantle the hatred, the suspicion, the unwillingness to work for the common good, the refusal to see one another as human beings.

So on Friday, I pulled up carpet instead. Because that I could do.

And when I got to the last stair and removed the last staple, I heard NPR’s Mary Louise Kelly ask  Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor, assistant professor of African-American Studies at Princeton University, What is giving you hope as you look back over a truly awful week?¹

I could not wait to hear her answer. Because on Friday, I couldn’t see any hope.

 What is giving you hope as you look back over a truly awful week?

Taylor answered, Resistance…the events over the last week have shown that people are—even in the midst of this pandemic and social distancing and self-isolation—are going to fight for a different kind of reality. And the struggle on the streets has to be turned into organizing, has to be turned into a set of achievable demands, but it begins with resisting the status quo…

No more filthy carpet, harboring years of inequity and injustice. No more.

It’s Pentecost.

This is a day, a season, a way of being, that resists the status quo. This is a day that gives us hope.

For the first apostles, and for us today, the day of Pentecost means no more waiting for power from on high, no more living in fear, no more suffering without redemption and resurrection, no more idle tales, no more not seeing, no more thinking that restoration of an earthly kingdom is the ultimate goal, but becoming active citizens of God’s kingdom, God’s dream of peace and justice and abundant life for all the world. No more limits. No more borders. No more small dreams.

Pentecost resists the status quo. And when the Spirit comes, it sounds like a violent wind. It looks like fire and chaos. Because when God’s Spirit is poured out on all flesh, when God’s deeds of power are spoken in every language, the world might no longer look the way you thought it should look. And you—we—might look for some way of explaining away this act of resistance on the part of God.

 All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”

No one knew what it meant when God’s Spirit rushed into the world that day. No one understood the ramifications of God’s resistance to the status quo. Everyone was near-sighted that day; they couldn’t possibly see where that Spirit would lead them. But some chose to ask a question, to get curious, to wrestle with the implications, to struggle for direction, saying to one another, What does this mean? While others chose to make a judgment, to react with cynicism, to assume that there could only be one reason for such violence and chaos. They are filled with new wine.

Peter stands up to address them all. Simon Peter met Jesus when his net was empty after a long night’s work that ended in nothing. At Jesus’ command, Peter cast off his weariness and despair and hauled in an amazing catch of fish. Don’t be afraid, Jesus told Peter, from now on you will be catching people.

Peter recognized Jesus as the promised Messiah, God’s promised salvation for the world. Peter was there on the mountain when Jesus was transfigured. Peter prepared the Passover meal on that night when Jesus gathered with his disciples for the last time. Peter denied his Savior three times and then, when the others dismissed the women’s experience at the empty tomb as an idle tale, Peter ran to the tomb, looked in and saw that Jesus was not there, and went home amazed.

Peter has experienced an ongoing relationship with Jesus, a relationship that has held fear and trust, bold confessions of faith and equally bold failures. Now, Peter—transformed by God’s Word made flesh, called to fish for people, a witness to Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection as the promised Messiah—draws on the word of scripture to interpret what is happening, to make sense of the world around him, to place this violent wind, and burning flame, and chaotic speech into the context of God’s work in the world.

Let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:
‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy.

We are a world on fire—a church on fire—and we are seeing visions this week. We are dreaming dreams. We are prophesying. Presiding Bishop of the ELCA, Elizabeth Eaton, said this week: Until a white majority feels so deeply in our soul that the pain of black and brown people is our own pain, it will continue to be dangerous to be black or brown in America.

Our siblings of color are prophesying, telling the truth about what it means for them to live in this country, lifting up God’s dream of justice. The Rev. Dr. Ron Bell, Jr., pastor of a church in St. Paul, wrote this week: I think you were so busy looking for a riot that you missed the gathering of the grieving. I think you were so busy looking for looters that you missed the lament and heartbreak of a community. I think you were so busy looking for trouble that you missed the tragedy of systemic racialized trauma on the bodies of black and brown people. Tonight, tomorrow, and even the next day I beg of you, look again. Look again.²

Listen again, when the Rev. Dr. Wil Gafney says, Every black lives matter protest I have ever been to had white agitators who were not part of our march who defied the instructions of the march leaders and antagonized police and provoked violence. Every single one.

Look again, church. Listen again. As the Rev. Dr. William J. Barber II said recently, Houses of worship are not essential, but true worship is: ‘When I was hungry, did you feed me? When I was thirsty, did you give me a drink? When I was a stranger, did you invite me in? When I was naked, did you clothe me? When I was sick and in prison, did you visit me?

We are the church, called to true worship, birthed this day—this Pentecost day—by the outpouring of God’s Spirit. We, like Peter, have experienced an ongoing relationship with Jesus, a relationship that makes room for fear and trust, bold confessions of faith and equally bold failures. We, like Peter, can say with confidence in God, look again. Listen again. God is speaking truth to power, naming the systems of injustice we would just as soon keep covering up no matter how filthy the carpet. God is inspiring visions of a world redeemed, healed, freed from all oppression, united in love. In the voice of resistance, God is working hope for a world weary of sin and death.

Professor Taylor, in that NPR interview, named the weariness so succinctly: the idea that the richest country in the history of the world cannot get people face masks, cannot ensure that people will not be thrown out of their houses, cannot ensure that people will be fed is an abomination.

We are weary. We are wary.

What is giving you hope as you look back over a truly awful week?

Resistance.

And, for me, prayer.

The last thing I did Friday night was listen to the music for this worship service. Every song is a prayer. Contrast the words we sing with those headline words I mentioned earlier. Breathe into the earth, Holy One, and renew us. It’s a new day. O Holy Spirit, enter in. Gently heal those hearts now broken. Let your good Word in doubt and strife be in us strongly burning. O Holy Spirit, anoint our wounds, awaken us with lustrous movement of your wings. All creation is restored. Endless singing; true healing; new life revealing, that we might no more in death be lost.

We are lost in death. Come, Holy Spirit, come. Help us look again. Help us listen again. Inspire us to resistance of the status quo. Inspire us to embody God’s dream of abundant life for all. Amen.

 

1 https://www.npr.org

2 https://www.drronbell.com/post/do-not-look-away

 

Until a white majority feels so deeply in our soul that the pain of black and brown people is our own pain, it will continue to be dangerous to be black or brown in America. #BlackLivesMatter #icantbreathe

— Bishop Eaton (@ELCABishopEaton) May 28, 2020

Every black lives matter protest I have ever been to had white agitators who were not part of our march who defied the instructions of the march leaders and antagonized police and provoked violence. Every single one.

— Won't B Fooled Again (@WilGafney) May 30, 2020

Houses of worship are not essential, but true worship is: “When I was hungry, did you feed me? When I was thirsty, did you give me a drink? When I was a stranger, did you invite me in? When I was naked, did you clothe me? When I was sick and in prison, did you visit me?”

— Rev. Dr. William J. Barber II (@RevDrBarber) May 22, 2020