Pentecost Year C
Genesis 11:1-9 and Acts 2:1-21
Almighty God, on this day you opened the way of eternal life to every race and nation by the promised gift of your Holy Spirit: Shed abroad this gift throughout the world by the preaching of the Gospel, that it may reach to the ends of the earth; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
“Yes,” I explain. “You are going to work together for 10 minutes to build the tallest, most amazing tower that you can. But here’s the catch: There will be no talking! You may make noises. You may gesture. You may even speak a language that others don’t know, but you may NOT speak one word of English. I want you to feel like those folks in Babel who have to work together while no longer understanding one another's speech.”
After some grumbling, the wide-eyed
students dig into the blocks. Here’s what happens:
Invariably, they start out working
together, using gibberish and directing one another with pokes and pantomime.
Invariably, half of the students quickly give
up. They find more pleasure in pulling out interesting bits of Lego than in
trying to communicate with the others. Instead of a common tower rising high in
the air, several small, individual creations start to pop up around the table.
Invariably, one or two of the students
decide that this won’t do. Not allowed to talk, the self-appointed leaders start
using physical violence to convince their classmates to cooperate. They try to smash
the individual creations, or slap away wayward hands, or snatch all of the
pieces. And then I have to intervene.
This part of the assignment works as
expected. Lack of communication has confounded the unity of the group. I snap a
photo of their work.
Then I move on to the counterexample. “That
was hard, wasn’t it?” I affirm. We’re going to build again, but this time you
are going to be able to talk to one another,” I explain. The students cheer and
wiggle with excitement. “Let’s see what happens. Ready, set, go!”
This part of the lesson fails every
time.
Invariably, they start out working
together, talking merrily and planning great things.
Invariably, half of the students get
distracted, mining for cool pieces in the pile of Legos and doing their own
thing.
Invariably, the self-appointed leaders
get annoyed. They try to gain the attention and obedience of the creative-types.
They cajole and insult in turn. When their wayward classmates don’t listen,
they abandon words and start to grab, destroy, and snatch. And then I have to
intervene. When I snap a photo of the second “tower,” it is not much higher or grander
than the first one.
Every year, the children prove that
the Tower of Babel story is not as simple as we often make it out to be. It is
about more than language.
God has told humankind after the Flood to
spread out and start over with a new kind of world. “Scatter, multiply, fill
the empty land with my beloved children. Create, plant, harvest, care for my
land,” God cries. And instead, what do the people do? They stop in the land of
Shinar and settle there. They stop exploring. They stop listening to God’s
desire for them. Unity becomes an excuse for the powerful to take control. “Make
those bricks, or else,” the strong ones bellow like the Egyptian lords to their
Hebrew slaves. “More straw, more bricks, faster, faster! Babel must be Number
One.” Like a teacher watching her lesson
plan go awry, God has to intervene. God
confuses and scatters the proud in their conceit. God sends the cautious and
fearful sprawling over the face of all the earth, ready or not.
Our Christian Pentecost is often cast as
the undoing of the scattering and confusion at Babel. If so, it too must be
about more than language, about more than showing off how many foreign tongues
we know. All of those
Judeans gathered in Jerusalem for the Jewish festival of Pentecost were Jews. They might have been born—or had ancestors who were born—in far-flung
regions of the Mediterranean world. But they already shared a common identity—and
language. Like the disciples, many of them likely understood both Aramaic and
Greek. Aramaic and Greek were common languages learned throughout the region
for the purpose of trade and commerce. Gathered on Pentecost in Jerusalem, the
disciples could have just spoken Aramaic to the crowd, and all of those
Phrygians and Cappadocians would have understood them--no big deal. If the
problem that day were one of mere comprehension, there was no need for a
miracle.
While they could understand Greek, these Jews
would also have had “birth languages” that they spoke at home with family and
friends. It is these “birth languages” that they heard coming from the lips of
the disciples. My
daughter learned about the importance of “birth languages" when she
spent her junior year abroad in Senegal. She went over there thinking that
everyone would be speaking French, the “official language” imposed by the
French colonizers and inscribed on the brochures. What she learned was that,
while many people understood French, they hated speaking it. To them, French
rang out in tones of oppression and fear. In order to join the conversation, my
daughter had to quickly learn Wolof, the birth language of the people in her
region. Only in Wolof would the people share their deepest identity and bare
their souls.
When
the Judeans in Jerusalem began to hear and to speak God’s word in all of their
various birth languages, God was speaking to their inmost being. God didn’t act
like the many Christian missionaries who went over to Africa saying, “You had
better learn our language and follow our cultural patterns if you want to know
God.” Instead, the Holy Spirit was bringing the Good News to each small group,
celebrating and amplifying their diversity by using their birth languages.
After the miracle at Pentecost, the identity of Parthians, Arabs, and Cappadocians
did not depend on their ability to speak Greek or to share one culture; instead
it was based on the Spirit gathering them as a diverse Christian people under the Lordship of Jesus.
What
matters at Pentecost then is the spiritual transformation. What matters are
changed hearts and emboldened souls: hearts and souls ready to go out to spread
the hope and promise of new life to all the nations of the earth. Suddenly, Jesus’
fearful disciples are no longer hiding in an upper room for fear of persecution.
Suddenly, they are empowered to shout the Good News of hope and freedom in Christ.
Suddenly, the downtrodden Judeans are no longer unified only as a conquered
people speaking an imposed tongue. Now they are free to hear the Good News in
their God-given diversity.
An
interesting fact in our lesson from Acts is that Luke’s list is not
historically accurate. The Medes and Elamites no longer existed as nations in
Luke’s day. They were ancient peoples of the region, gone way before Jesus was
even born. The outpouring of the Holy Spirit cannot be bound by time or place,
Luke shows us. If Luke could place the long-ago past in the presence of the
Spirit, couldn’t present-day Episcopalians, present-day St. Andreans, be there,
too?
We,
too, live in and among a great deal of fear and trembling these days. The
Powers and Principalities that oppress and control seem to grow bolder every
day. Our common language is interwoven with lies and threats. Some birth
languages are ridiculed and denied. Social media carves us into small groups that
don’t understand one another. Even the Church shrinks and huddles, too afraid
of dying truly to live.
But
today, yes, today and every day, the Holy Spirit takes a giant bucket of Hope
and Promise and pours it out in our huddled midst like Legos on a table. “Whoosh,”
fall the pieces, bouncing and crashing and stirring up dust. Flames flicker and
bulletins rattle and little children shout, “Hurray!”
“Build,” God says, “build my Kingdom of Love! Carry
it out into the world and scatter it among all people.” The Spirit whispers to
me, to you, in our birth languages, encouraging the diversity of our gifts. “It’s
OK to paw through here to find the pieces that speak to your heart,” She encourages.
“Find them and hold them up for all to see. Don’t hoard them. Build with them.
Join them with what others have found. Go on—I am with you. The power of Love holds you up on all sides.”
“What
does this mean?” we ask with the perplexed Judeans. "What does this mean?" we ask with my amazed students. But we must answer. Will we build together? Or will some withdraw, while others
try to maintain control? Are we ready to join together in dreaming God’s active dream
of Love for the whole world? The Spirit is stubborn. Like my lesson plan, the question will just keep coming, again and again.
