Rev. Molly Phinney Baskette ~ First Church Somerville
Sunday, May 11, 2008 ~ Feast of Pentecost
Acts 2:1-21
"Burned By God"
The preacher Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us of a story about Blaise Pascal,
the French philosopher and physicist. "When he died in 1662, his servant
found a scrap of paper hidden in the lining of his coat. It turned out to be
a testimony of something that had happened eight years earlier, which Pascal
had written down and kept close to his heart. Here is what it said:
In the year of Grace, 1654,
On Monday, 23rd of November,
Feast of St. Clement, Pope and Martyr,
And of others in the Martyrology,
Vigil of Saint Chrysogonus,
Martyr and others,
From about half past ten in the evening
Until about half past twelve
FIRE
God of Abraham, God of Isaac,
God of Jacob
Not of the philosophers and scholars.
Certitude. Certitude. Feeling. Joy. Peace.
God of Jesus Christ.
"Whatever happened to him that Monday night, FIRE was all he could say about
it. For two whole hours, nothing but FIRE-not the fire of philosophers and
scholars, but the fire of God, unmediated, undeniable, and finally,
unsayable, although the few words Pascal plucked out of the flames have more
power in them than five pages of precise description. These were the words
he carried next to his heart."
Pascal kept these words close to his heart because he wanted to remember. He
carried words because he couldn't carry that fire itself with him.
Nomadic primitive peoples used to carry a live coal around with them in a
hollowed-out bit of wood or shell so that they would always have fire
available. Having fire meant the difference between life and death. Today,
we turn a dial on a stove, we push the button on a plastic stick, and a
flame pops out. We are masters of the flame, we have domesticated and tamed
it. But for all this, we still can't summon the fire of the Holy Spirit at
will.
The fact that God's fire does not come at our beck and call seems right.
After all, God is God, and we are...not. But it is frightening, too. It is
frightening, because God might come at any time, without warning, in the
middle of supper, when things are good and peaceful and just the way we like
them for once. Or God might never come at all, though we cry and plead.
Years ago, I confessed to my spiritual director that I was afraid of going
into our church sanctuary alone. I thought God might see me vulnerable and
choose that moment to show up, a burning pew stopping me on my way to tidy
the Parlor cushions.
It's funny that I feel perfectly safe entering the sanctuary when it is
crowded with people. "Surely," I think, "God won't show up when there are so
many of us around on Sunday at 10 am."
But of course, this is wishful thinking. There is no safety in numbers. On
the day of Pentecost, they were there from "every nation under heaven," tons
of people gathered together, when little tongues of flame started dropping
out of the sky and setting them on fire. Just as Jesus had predicted, the
Holy Spirit descended on God's people, and burned them something fierce.
After that, they were able to do the kinds of things Jesus did, which was
exciting: they could make the blind see and the lame walk, they could speak
in foreign languages they had never gone on study abroad programs to learn.
Women led, the poor were fed, a new community exploded into being.
But there was a shadow side to the gift of this Spirit. To whom much is
given, much will be demanded. The early apostles were banished, imprisoned,
or executed. We are right to be cautious when God shows up, in burning bush,
pillar of flame, the funeral pyre Abraham approached on which to sacrifice
his only child Isaac before God provided a substitute at the last moment.
Even the dancing flames of Pentecost are not safe, because we know we will
have to sacrifice something to receive this gift.
We want a God who comes on our timetable, and who always comes to make life
sweeter. You have a strawberry. I want you to put it in your mouth, slowly,
eat it slowly, let the flavors develop and unfold. This is the sweetness of
sunlight turned into sugar, this too is the fire of God. Be fed.
A couple of weeks ago my 6 year old son confessed to finding some matches,
and coming up to the sanctuary, alone, to practice lighting them. Clearly,
he is not afraid of being alone in this sanctuary, nor of the fire, either
from God or human hands. His curiosity and desire outpaced his good sense,
and perhaps this is one more reason why Jesus said we ought to become like
little children if we don't want to miss out on the kingdom of God.
I gave my son a long lecture in fire safety after that, and painted drastic
pictures of a smoking ruin of a church. A week later, he did it again. I
marched him down to the fire station and asked the sternest-looking
firefighter on duty to have a talk with him. The firefighter said, "Uh,
don't do it again. And hey, next time you come down I'll put you up on the
fire truck and let you beep the horn." That's when I realized: I've brought
him to the wrong guy. I've brought him to the guy who likes fire and heads
into it.
You have in your other hand some chili pepper. Put some, but not all of it,
on your tongue. Feel it burn. Have you been burned in life? Have you been
burned by the church? Have you been burned by God? These are not all the
same things, but they can look the same from the outside.
Barbara Brown Taylor preaches that most of us are not up to direct encounter
with God. We want to be warmed; we do not want to be burned. But safe fire
is our invention, and so is a safe God. Neither one exists in reality.
If fire breaks out, we are to close doors to keep it from spreading. Some of
us know, because we have encountered the fire of God, what it is to leave
all of the doors inside of us open. We know that if we leave every room
available, that fire will tear through our whole being, and destroy
everything flammable. Flannery O'Connor speaks of heaven in terms of having
even our virtues burned away. This is the cleansing fire of God.
Ask Michael Schulman, who read in Portuguese for us today. Ask him about the
fire that destroyed his successful catering business after he moved back
from Brazil. That business was killing his spirit. He knows this fire
brought him to God.
Ask anyone who has been burned in life, and managed to see just what God was
burning away. Ask someone who has had their heart broken and mended, who has
gotten sick and healed, who has gotten drunk and then gotten sober with
God's help.
Ask any mother who has given birth, especially without benefit of epidural.
It burns.
All of it burns.
And yet not one of these people, who understand that God's fire is not safe
but it is always, always, good, would prefer the alternative. The chilly
absence of God, the safe but lonely life, the heart unbroken that has never
known love.
You have left in your hands a flame of a berry, and a little bit of pepper.
Dip the berry in the pepper and eat it now, slowly, slowly. Let the flavors
mingle and unfold and deepen each other. Do you really want your sweet
without your spicy? Would you really, really, rather be bored by God than
scared by God?
In the year of Grace, 2008,
On Sunday, 11th of May,
Feast of Pentecost,
Vigil of Mother's Day,
From about half past ten in the morning
Until about half past twelve
FIRE
God of Abraham, God of Isaac,
God of Jacob
Not of the philosophers and scholars.
Certitude. Certitude. Feeling. Joy. Peace.
God of Jesus Christ.
