“The Way to Pentecost”
John 17:1a, 6-11
Acts 1:11a, 12-14
A funny thing happened on the way to Pentecost, a holy day known to Jesus followers as the birthday of the church.
Yes, I know Pentecost isn’t until next Sunday, and on that day we’ll celebrate the coming of the Spirit and what that means all these years later.
But today I think it’s worth thinking about the run-up to the day on which the same God who had taken on flesh and dwelt among us as one of us suddenly took on wind and fire and power and began dwelling within all of us.
Because, as I said, a funny thing happened along the way—actually, at least three curious things:
First, Jesus left the building—which is to say that 40 days after the crucified Christ was restored to life, the Risen Christ was fully restored to the heart of God.
Second, what some of us know as the ascension of Christ had a lot of parallels to the dramatic ascension—complete with a whirlwind and witnesses and a chariot and horses of fire—of the ancient Hebrew prophet Elijah. While these commonalities are lost of most of us, they would have resonated with Jesus’ disciples and Jewish followers of The Way.
These parallels affirm that, like Elijah passing the mantle to his protege Elisha, Christ had completed his work on earth and was passing his mantle to the as-yet-unformed church—so that even greater things might be done in God’s name, so that all things on earth might be as they are in heaven.
The truth of the ascension is not to be found in the truly hard-to-believe details but in the meaning of what is happening: Christ is going up, but the Spirit power that formed him and guided his ministry is coming down.
And the third amazing thing that happened on the way to Pentecost is that after Christ was raised to heaven, his followers rose to the occasion.
When they might have heard the angels’ question about why they were just standing there looking up to heaven as a challenge to hurry up and get busy, they did not panic.
When they might have scattered and returned to their homes and their lives in Galilee, they stayed put in Jerusalem and hung together.
And just when there might have been a lot of pressure to draw up an action plan and do something, they devoted themselves to prayer, which might have felt to some folks like doing nothing.
Instead of immediately running with Christ’s commission to take the gospel to the ends of the earth, they sat with it. Instead of arguing about who was in charge or who was in and who was out, they seemed—for a while at least—to act as one.
It’s almost as if Jesus’ heartbreaking prayer—that God might make them one—had been answered. It’s almost as if the Spirit was knitting their hearts together as they prayed. It’s almost as if they were, for a hot minute at least, showing us what it means to be grounded in trust and hope.
I can’t help but wonder what we have to learn from this overlooked moment in the history of the church.
The moment is overlooked, I think, because we are naturally drawn to drama and action—and Christ being beamed up to heaven like Captain Kirk returning to the Starship Enterprise is pretty dramatic. The Holy Spirit descending on people in tongues of fire that empower them to be heard in other languages? That’s some serious action!
But a few people sitting together in an isolated room and praying together? No so interesting.
But here’s the thing: Before Jesus beamed up to glory, the disciples had peppered him with questions.
What now? they wanted to know. Is this when you’ll make Israel great again?
God’s timing is not for you to know, Jesus told them. But the Holy Spirit is going to come upon you, and when it does you’ll be empowered to share the good news of God’s love and justice to all the world.
Which is to say: All that prayer the disciples, certain unnamed women, Jesus’ mother and brothers were doing?
They were expecting something amazing to happen. They didn’t know exactly what it was or how or when it would happen, but they wanted to be ready.
And so they got together and prayed. Day after day after day.
Now, I’ve gotta say that, up until now, I thought the coming of the Spirit was written in big red letters on the heavenly calendar. Pentecost, or Shavuot, was a hugeJewish festival that came 50 days after Passover and celebrated the first fruits of the harvest. Jews came to Jerusalem from all over the known world to celebrate and worship on Pentecost, and so it would have seemed like a perfect time for the Holy Spirit to make a grand entrance.
But now I’m not so sure about that. Now I can’t help but wonder if the Spirit came not at some pre-ordained time but when the people had let go of their own timing and plans and ambitions, prepared their hearts, and were ready to receive Her.
I know it sounds far-fetched, but hear me out.
Something was happening in that upper room in the 10 days between Christ’s ascension and the coming of the Spirit. What had started as a prayer meeting of 11 disciples, a few women, and Jesus’ brothers had grown almost tenfold by Pentecost.
Something was happening. Hearts were opening, trust was deepening, community was building, everyone was listening for a word, and then—seemingly all of a sudden, but actually after 10 days of fervent prayer—the Spirit arrived like never before.
And so I can’t help but wonder what would happen if we consistently devoted ourselves to prayer.
Yes, I understand that the world is on fire. Yes, I realize that we are bombarded daily with more government corruption, more blatant and unabashed racism, more authoritarianism, more war-making, more cruelty-as-policy, and more callous disregard for the lives of the poor and oppressed than we could have ever imagined.
I know that right now, at this very moment, white Christian nationalists have gathered on the National Mall in Washington, D.C., at the behest of the president, to “rededicat[e] our country as One Nation to God” with speeches and prayers that will distort both history and reality while ignoring the teachings of Jesus.
Like you, perhaps, I am sometimes torn between a reactive need to do something—almost anything—and a survivalist impulse to crawl under the nearest rock and stay there.
But on this Ascension Sunday, I can’t help but wonder if I—if we—should get more serious about praying together.
What if transformation and new life begin not in a whirlwind of activity but in the quiet and courageous commitment to walk open-hearted through this world of hurt?
What if the most effective form of resistance is a faith that can make peace with unknowing, a trust that can listen for the voice of God, and communities that realize their impact comes not primarily from the things they do but from living out of the wondrous love that already has done great things for them and for all?
I know each one of us needs to develop spiritual practices that help us stay grounded in the goodness, love, and hope of God, and I wonder how we could more fully develop those practices in community.
What would happen if we committed ourselves to praying together in a shared space for hours and days on end? What would happen—within and among ourselves, and in the world—if we were able to let go of our own agendas and fears and spend time listening for Spirit’s wisdom together?
I don’t mean to suggest that our current ministries are not already guided by prayerful discernment and deep commitment. And yet the times we are in call for something more—more listening to Spirit and one another, perhaps; more grounding in goodness, for sure, and more intentionality. More trust that God is yet at work in us and in the world, and more willingness to be led by Spirit.
I believe God wants to clothe us with power. I believe Spirit wants to work through us to bring healing, justice, and peace to a broken world.
What if the Spirit is waiting on us for an invitation?
