Pentecost Sunday
All of [the apostles] were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. -- Acts 2:4
Many years ago, as I worshiped with a congregation in a small community in Guatemala, I experienced a taste of the miracle of Pentecost. This was a Mayan community, located in the jungle on the side of a mountain. The community was very poor. Their church building had been wounded by an earthquake. A huge crack, a foot wide, ran from one side of the sanctuary to the other. The people worked hard to raise the corn that barely fed their families. They only had water a few hours a day. That is, when they could afford the gasoline to pump it from beneath the mountain. I have rarely met a people with more faith.
Many years ago, as I worshiped with a congregation in a small community in Guatemala, I experienced a taste of the miracle of Pentecost. This was a Mayan community, located in the jungle on the side of a mountain. The community was very poor. Their church building had been wounded by an earthquake. A huge crack, a foot wide, ran from one side of the sanctuary to the other. The people worked hard to raise the corn that barely fed their families. They only had water a few hours a day. That is, when they could afford the gasoline to pump it from beneath the mountain. I have rarely met a people with more faith.
Though the worship service was in Spanish and Mayan, I knew
exactly what was happening. The familiar
pattern of the ancient liturgy overcame the unfamiliarity of the language and
culture. Following the sermon and the hymn, the
minister called the people to prayer. That’s
when it happened. Like the rush of a
mighty wind, the Spirit descended upon the small gathering. Everyone, from the youngest to the eldest,
started praying. Out loud. I was swept up in the holy sound filling the
broken church. I listened for a moment. Though I didn’t understand the language, I
understood the prayer. There were
prayers for health and healing, prayers of mourning and grief, prayers of
rejoicing and thanksgiving, prayers of joy and sorrow. I found myself joining my voice, my prayers,
to theirs, tears in my eyes. For all our
differences, we were one people of God, joined as one in the mystery and the
promise of Jesus Christ.
Pentecost reminds us that God is bigger than we are. God, our Creator, is bigger than our
individual lives, bigger than our congregations, denominations or churches. God is bigger than any nation, language or
culture. God transcends all human
pettiness, bickering and conflict. God
is bigger than life and more powerful than death. This is the God that Jesus embodied. This is the God to whom the cross and resurrection
bear witness. This is the God that the
Spirit reveals. This is the God that I
encountered among my brothers and sisters in Guatemala. This is the God in whom I imperfectly place my trust and my
very life every day, confident that all God’s promises to me are perfectly true.
Peace,
Bishop Mike Girlinghouse
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