The miracle of Pentecost is still a great mystery for us to unravel. Most, I would say, if not all mainline Presbyterian Churches are unaccustomed to promoting the type of atmosphere where it would be encouraged for people to speak in tongues. And along with that, most Presbyterians would be lost in the kind of environment where people were demonstrating the charismatic gifts. Presbyterian assemblies, of whatever sort, seem to ripple with discomfort simply when an audience member chooses to pray with or sing with arms outstretched! These types of displays make low-key, orderly Presbyterians writhe with anxiety. Therefore, we might be totally lost and confused if an actual "Pentecost" moment descended on us, but then again, we may just end up wondering like the rest of the crowd did, "What does this mean?"

So what does it mean for us to celebrate this particular story year after year as one of the highlights of the Christian calendar when it seems so far from where we call home in our own religious tradition? It especially seems foreign to us when just outside our borders there are those churches who boldly claim the title "Pentecostal" or who adorn their non-denominational signs with symbols of "Word" and "Flame" identifying scripture and Spirit as the powerful entities that hold their communities together. I think we are, at the same time, both envious of and frightened of their passion for their faith. We are certainly curious about the ability of some Christian groups to proclaim God's salvation without wavering, and yet Presbyterians are defined as a denomination by our hesitancy to lay claim to salvation for any reason that falls outside of God's own grace and judgment. So we hear this scripture text again this year with our very own ears and still want to know, "what does it mean?"

And by that, "What does it mean for us? For our particular tribe of Christian believers?"

Because I don't expect that any of us from just hearing this story will change our stripes and join another church that regards this passage as the defining moment of the Christian life, we need to explore what is basic to all Christians in this reading. Even the most Pentecostal of Pentecostal churches incorporate more of the Christian life into their vision than just speaking in tongues. What I do hope is possible is that you'll join me on this journey of seeing how a Presbyterian might look at Pentecost - a little differently.

In my own worst imaginations of that Pentecost moment in Acts, I envision a lot of Presbyterians carrying that tell-tale sneer on their faces wondering if the disciples had been "filled with new wine?" It's an easy write-off to assess that another church that does things differently is crazy or somehow inadequate in their own theological exploration. We discount the more fundamental or conservative churches all the time as "holy-rollers, bible-beaters," or at the very least as less socially enlightened than our own church. Likewise, the Pharisees, who were the keepers of the guard religiously, would have found it easier to say that the disciples were drunk than to really listen to anything they had to say. Just because our interpretation of the political or social arena comes from a vastly different climate than say, a non-denominational church, sometimes we brush off anything smelling of spiritual fervor as the test sign for religious fanaticism.

Surely, there are those instances in which dastardly things have been done in the name of Christ across the breadth of the religious spectrum, but I must say, we who find ourselves descended from the liberal Protestant ilk, have been known to throw the baby out with the bath-water. We lose the passionate spiritual strength of our faith in an attempt to be more somberly intellectual, or theological, or anything but be purely emotional about our faith. The giant tomes of the early liberal Protestant movement bear me out on this one. These famous works by incredibly studious theologians labor on for page, after page, after page for VOLUMES trying to make sense out of something that is much more than our senses can tell us. The indescribable mystery of our faith is just that - indescribable. Therefore, sometimes the only valid explanation is to revert to our more poetic language - our "tongues of fire" if you will.

So what does it mean for people gathered from many different places, cultures, and awarenesses to be able to communicate - not just in speech but also in hearing? How would you describe such a moment when those who were apt to not just stand on opposite sides of the fence, but to also yell across those sides, all stood together under one name - the name of Jesus Christ? If you were in that crowd observing such strangeness, what would you suppose it to mean?

Such a coming together of spiritual energy is a phenomenon unlike any other. It prickles the hair on the back of your neck. It may make you euphoric, or nervous, or angry. The convergence of many different people to a sense of unity of purpose even for a short span of time is an incredible rush, more like being carried along by wind or fire than something that might be referred to as the "solemn assembly of the church." Those observing from the outside seats may feel the power of that energy and yet not know what to do with it. It is, for that split second, the birth of something greater than the sum of its parts. And Pentecost is that birth for the church.

Churches today, even Presbyterian churches, are pregnant with the potential for receiving that power. For us, it may not happen in a sudden burst of speaking in tongues, but in making room for the Holy Spirit, we do invite that power into our sacred space. We invite the presence of the holy to change us and make us somehow different, somehow greater than the sum of our parts. The work of worship comes together in that one moment when the living Word is spoken and all hear in their own language of knowing - that's why the things that I hear myself saying in worship that speak to me or are what I think speak to a particular aspect of our common church life may go totally unheard when something else that I thought of as "filler" for the service touches someone else in a deeply profound way. The Holy Spirit works in and through all of us with "sighs too deep for words." The coincidences that come together bringing music, and prayer, and scripture, and preaching to an hour vigil on Sunday morning are divinely orchestrated beyond my control. Once worship begins, it is not the "Kerra show" or a "musical performance," nor is it a time for you as the gathered congregation to sit back and passively absorb some sort of feel-good moment for the week. It is just one of many opportunities for us to invite the Spirit's presence to speak to us and through us that we may hear and do what God is asking of us.

So again, we have no choice but to be outside observers of the Pentecost story. The only recollection we have is a written account from an ancient language put to paper decades after that moment in time had occurred. But even then, people were watching and wondering, "What does this mean?" Indeed, many of those profound moments that become life-altering call forth the question, "What does this mean?" And we must keep wondering and answering, then backing up and starting over, and doing what we can, and letting go of what we can't seem to fit into the picture. Rather than sloughing off those epiphanies as drunken or crazy, we must go deeper. We must allow ourselves the opportunity to experience the awe and mystery of the holy parts of life that may never fully be satisfied by any one particular explanation.

I find that it involves a "letting go" for most Presbyterians to be touched by an energy that will not fit neatly into our "Book of Order" categories. We are a highly rational, organized tribe. We are the organized religion in a sea of disorganized religion - and "letting go" therefore becomes problematic for us. We crave "safe" ways of being touched by fire and I find that the fire of the Spirit is never all that safe. Even in our Presbyterian seal, the fire of the Spirit fits squarely under the table, the pulpit, and the font without engulfing any of them. So, even though it may be like rubbing a cat the wrong way, we need to pry ourselves open to the presence of the Holy Spirit, so that we may be touched by the sacred holiness of life that is honored right here in this sanctuary. Amen.