Fire… One of the four elements that unites us all.
Breath… all sentient creatures breathe. Even Hippocrates, of the 4th century BCE, said, ‘There is one common flow, one common breathing; all things are in sympathy.’
These two elements are fundamental to the story of Pentecost, as they are fundamental to where we find ourselves this morning in a nation wracked by a pandemic and protests.
In archetypes, fire is at the beginning of all transformation, purification, and manifestation. Nearly every spiritual lineage honours the flame. Fire, the dancing flames associated with Pentecost. Fire, cleansing. Fire… Moses and the burning bush. Fire… the symbol of the feast which we celebrate today.
Breath… the breath of God at the moment of creation. Breath… God breathes life into the bones of Israel, as recounted by Ezekiel. Breath… Jesus breathes the Holy Spirit onto the disciples when he returns to the Upper Room after his crucifixion and resurrection. Breath… we cannot exist without it. Eternity enters into that space between one’s last breath and death. The molecules of the universe jump.
Fire and breath are so much on our minds now.
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The positive flames of Pentecost stand in stark contrast to the flames of burning stores and cars and police stations in the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and Saint Paul, and across the nation. As Friday’s news conference with the mayors of both cities and governor of Minnesota revealed, those responsible for the fires, the looting, are not local people but anarchists from away. Almost all the people arrested on Friday night were not residents of either city or the state. And things escalated last night.
Forty years ago, Kate Bush released the mesmirising, but chilling, song ‘Breathing’ as the world careened to an escalation of nuclear weaponry. The in-out, in-out rhythm of the refrain mimics our breath, while the lyrics describe the moment of explosion as seen from the point-of-view of a fetus. As I learned of George Floyd’s murder, this song came to mind:
Out in, out in, out in, out in
Out in, out in, out in, out
(Out, out, out)
Ooh please!
(What are we going to do without)
Let me breathe!
(What are we going to do without)
Ooh, breathe in
(We are all going to die without)
Leave me something to breathe!
(What are we going to do without)
Oh, leave me something to breathe!
(We are all going to die without)
Oh, God, please leave us something to breathe!
(What are we going to do without)
Oh, life is 1
The mere fact that we take for granted the zillions of breaths we take over our lifetimes means that we cannot unhear or erase Eric Garner’s or George Floyd’s last words, ‘I can’t breathe,’ as their lives were snuffed out by police officers, murdering them for petty accusations (selling cigarettes on a sidewalk or perhaps passing a counterfeit $20 bill). They and so many other black people have died, have been murdered by excessive force and sought out because they were black.
A prayer that I posted on my computer monitor years ago and used to see all day long every day expresses the thanksgiving of daily breath:
The breath of my life will bless,
the cells of my being sing,
in gratitude, reawakening.
Breath. How do we move from these horrific images to a way forward?
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The reading from Acts, probably the one we know the most well, depicts the Holy Spirit as a violent wind that fills the house where the disciples are sitting. The outward visible sign of the Holy Spirit’s arrival is the appearance of flames, divided tongues. The outward aural sign of the Holy Spirit’s arrival is the capacity given to each disciple to speak the native language of all the devout Jews who were present in Jerusalem. Indeed, their surprise is understandable: Aren’t they all Galileans? How can it be that they speak my language? Where do we need to find new language to cross our barriers?
The reading from the Gospel of John depicts a much calmer, though just as miraculous, scene, one that we always hear the Second Sunday of Easter—then its focus is on Thomas and his doubts; now the gospel focuses on how Jesus bestows the Holy Spirit on the disciples. Jesus arrives the evening of the resurrection. He finds his disciples cowering, locked up in a room, afraid of the world outside their doors. Their world has been turned upside-down, much in the same way that the Book of Acts describes on the day of Pentecost. He breathes on them and says, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’
The Greek verb, to breathe, is the same form that is used in the Greek translation of the creation story in the book of Genesis when God breathes life into the human being. Jesus’ act of ‘blowing in’ spirit is directly evocative of God’s first breath of infusion: ‘And God… breathed in his face the breath of life, and the person became a living soul’ (Gen 2.7). Jesus’ act is linked with this initial creation of humanity. The fearful community, hiding in the dust of its shame, is infused with ‘holy spirit’ from the mouth of Jesus.
It is important to note that the text does not suggest that Jesus is giving them an entity, ‘the holy spirit,’ but rather a share in his relationship with God that flows and blows like the wind. Certainly the later Christian understanding of what Jesus has given the disciples here is identical with that given to the first human, the presence of God that allows life to come into being. Each of us, and each and every other part of the body as well, owes our existence, breath by breath as we inhale, to God. We ‘live and move and have our being’ in God (Acts 17.28). Indeed we do. That is, perhaps the most basic confession that can be made: I owe my existence at its most fundamental level—the gift of my next breath—to God. God is my creator and my recreator, the One who gives and renews my life, moment by moment, at its most basic, physical level. And so does everything else in creation also live, moment by moment, by the breath of God… 2
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Meister Eckhart wrote that ‘Fire transforms all things it touches into its own nature…. In the same way we are transformed into God so that we may know God as God is.’
For those of us who benefit from white privilege, we need to get our act together, do the work of educating ourselves and not expect that our brothers and sisters of colour do that work for us. Just as one would do a self-examination before a confession, we need to look deeply into our lives to see how much we and societal structures have benefited, for the simple reason that we are white.
We need to examine and then work against the systemic racism that infects our nation’s current-day life and permeates its 400-year history.
We need to make the words of the Pledge of Allegiance, ‘with liberty and justice for all,’ a reality, not just a dream, part of our mythology.
Check out this link to ’75 Things White People Can Do For Racial Justice. 3 Choose one thing for starters.
If anyone says that these suggestions are ‘too political,’ remember the baptismal vow that, under normal circumstances, we would be saying shortly upon the conclusion of this sermon, ‘Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?’
Donna Hicks maintains that dignity is a God-given gift, and not something for which people need to work. We need, whites, however, to work to assure that everyone’s dignity is maintained.
On this Feast of Pentecost, read the Baptismal Covenant (304-305). Make your vows and pray to God that these words be more than words, and that God give you the Spirit of Jesus. Amen.
END NOTES
1https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzlofSthVwc
2 Sallie McFague, The Body of God: An Ecological Theology (Minneopolis: Fortress Press, 1993) 141-49.
3 https://medium.com/equality-includes-you/what-white-people-can-do-for-racial-justice-f2d18b0e0234
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