Dreaming Through the End of Days [Pentecost B]
The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
Acts 2:1-21
Dreaming Through the End of Days
It must have felt like the end of
days. The labor pains: they were growing
more and more intense. And whatever was
coming would change their lives, would change the world, forever. The signs were all there – one paradigm-altering
event after another. First the
crucifixion, all black skies and earthquakes and the Temple veil torn in two. Then the resurrection – the most impossible
event in the history of the world. The
nail holes and the pierced side and that moment Jesus gave up his spirit: all
of that happened. But then they saw him,
after the crucifixion, and he was alive again; they saw the wounds; they heard
his voice. He lived with them for forty
days of unimaginable bliss, and then, like being roused from the perfect dream,
Ascension Day came, and he just floated out of sight. And after Jesus, because things were not
quite surreal enough, there were angels – which is why the disciples were
gathered in that room to begin with.
Heavenly creatures, divine messengers directed them to go to Jerusalem –
to wait…for something. The disciples
experienced the most unbelievable, emotional, life-changing two months
ever. So yeah, it kinda feels like the
end of days.
There they are, just waiting – as instructed. For what?
They don't know. They are just
waiting. The twelve disciples and 108 of
their closest friends squeezed into an attic, for ten days – with no air
conditioning and no showers. One-hundred and twenty believers holding
their collective breath, standing at the edge of eternity, waiting for
something to happen – holding to hope with all their might.
They do not know for what they are
waiting, but we do; we know they are waiting for the Holy Spirit – the sweet
Holy Spirit, the sweet heavenly dove. The
Comforter: that is often the way in which the Holy Spirit is presented – a
sweet presence as soothing as the murmur of a dove's song. The Holy Spirit: all cotton candy, summer
breezes, wispy clouds, the pillow into which we cozy our troubled heads.
But this ain't that. The believers packed into that upper room
experience a force anything but subtle.
What they experience is violent – like all the force of a tornado or
hurricane packed into an attic. Less
dove's song; more lion's roar. Less
summer breeze; more forest fire. I’m not
sure what they were expecting – probably weren’t expecting to have their heads
engulfed in flames – so probably not this.
And yet, they are not afraid. In some mysterious way, the violence and
intensity of the moment does provide a kind of comfort. Not the comfort of a gentle hug, but the kind
of comfort that comes from knowing the wait is over and the promise is
true. Sally Lloyd-Jones writes, in The Jesus Storybook Bible, the best
children's Bible ever, “[T]hey knew God's power had struck their hearts ablaze
– and Jesus himself was coming to live inside them. They had seen Jesus go away, but now he was
closer than he had ever been – inside their hearts. And this time nothing could ever separate
them. Jesus would always be there. With them....
They unlocked the door and surged out into the streets – as if they had
never been afraid.”[1]
This is what they were waiting
for. When they gathered in that room,
they had no idea what was coming. And
when you don’t know what’s coming, there is always that fear in the back on
your mind that you might miss it. There
was no missing this. The Holy Spirit hit
them right upside the head. You see, it
had to be obvious – the work to which Jesus calls the Church is “disruptive,
difficult, and at times even dangerous.”
It is Jesus' work; it is love.
And we know that love is not easy or safe because we see the cost Jesus
paid. And so something big was required
to push them through the door and out into the dangerous world.
The Holy Spirit. Jesus sends the Holy Spirit to, as David Lose
says, “encourage, equip, strengthen, provoke, and, yes, at times to comfort us
so that we can get out there and do it all again.”[2] Because while the Church waits for the Holy
Spirit; the world is waiting for the Church.
We are the light of the world. In fact, the Spirit lights us up like
candles, or maybe firecrackers. Our job
is to dream through the end of days. To
hope for what we do not see. To
stubbornly love when love is disruptive, when love is difficult, and even when
love is dangerous. The Holy Spirit sets
us on fire for a reason: so that we will torch this earth. Jesus lives in our hearts so that we will
carry him around for all the world to see.
Our world is waiting for the Church
to unlock our doors and surge into the streets like those first
Christians. Because people need to
experience Jesus. Because people are
afraid. People are desperate. People are dying for hope and love. All the signs around us seem to point to
destruction: ISIS and Global Warming and nuclear weapons and the latest
super-bug that threatens to usher in mass extinction. It seems like hope is folly – like pain and
death will eventually win.
But we know better. Death does not win. Life is unstoppable. Not even the tomb could contain it. And that same Spirit that raised Jesus from
the dead lives now in us. And it is
still unstoppable.
That is why we dream dreams. That is why we hope for what we cannot
see. That is why we love. Because the pains are not terminal; they are
labor pains and will one day fade into new life. The kingdom of God is coming – a kingdom in
which death will be no more; mourning, crying, and pain will be no more. One day God will wipe away every tear.
It sounds too good to be true. It sounds like a dream. But we are called to dream dreams. Not in the privacy of our beds; we are called
to dream out loud. To let hope spread
like a fire. Because our good news is still
good news and it still has the power to change lives.
Our world is waiting for the Church
to unlock our doors and surge into the streets.
So what are we waiting for?
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