“The Medium is the Message”

Acts 2: 1-21

May 27, 2012

Pentecost

First United Church – Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

I can remember clearly the first time I ever heard a sermon that I cared to listen to. I was seventeen years old and attending a large regional youth event. Now I had sat through many many sermons by that point. I had tried to listen to some, but had never found anything worth hearing.

The first sermon I ever truly heard was on the passage we just heard from Acts 2. And the reason I listened to it is this: the preacher spoke my language.

I’ve long-since lost the man’s name, but I can still see him clearly in my mind’s eye. He went through this passage sentence-by-sentence, line-by-line. He talked about the Greek. He talked about the grammar. He analyzed it historically and from a literary perspective. He ripped it apart and put it back together again.

And I ate it up.

I had never in my life realized that you could do this with a Biblical text. And for my 17-year-old-analytic-information-craving-brain it was paradise. That one sermon opened up a new world to me. I experienced the Bible, the art of proclamation, and the idea of Church in a whole new way….simply because someone finally spoke to me in my own language.

Sometimes the medium is the message.[1]

Now I don’t know if it’s irony or just good ol’ holy mischief but in this very passage from Acts, the medium is the message, too.

Frequently, I think we allow ourselves get bogged down in the details of this text – what exactly did those flaming tongues look like? How, really, do you expect me to believe that these people started speaking in languages they didn’t know?

It has been my experience that when we allow ourselves to get hung up on these kinds of details, we get so stuck in searching for fact versus fiction that we miss the larger truths the text is trying to share with us. So, let’s go looking for the truths, shall we?

As the story opens, the disciples are gathered in Jerusalem for the Jewish festival of Shavuot. You’ve probably not heard of Shavuot and the NRSV translates it as “Pentecost.” The celebration is called by various names – Shavuot, the Festival of Weeks, or Pentecost (which means fiftieth day). It is the fiftieth day after Passover in the Jewish calendar and the holiday is a commemoration of when God gave the Israelites the Law from Mt. Sinai.

It’s worth noting that Shavuot and the Christian holiday of Pentecost really had nothing to do with each other in the beginning. My best guess is that as they were writing down the stories in those early days of the Church they chose this connection with Shavuot because they wanted to clearly make a tie between God giving the Law and God giving the Holy Spirit. Christians in later centuries misused this tie, stating that the gift of the Holy Spirit was better than and superseded the Law, but I prefer to see the two events as two sides of the same coin – our Stillspeaking God choosing to reveal herself to different people in different times in different ways that they found meaningful.

I think God’s PR person has always been quite aware that the medium is often the message.

So – back to Shavuot. This was one of the three great pilgrim holy days. That means that Jews from all over the Disapora gathered in Jerusalem – the holiest city – to celebrate Shavuot each year.  These were Jews who lived in far-away lands and always had. Most likely their ancestors had been forced to move away from Israel centuries earlier during one exile or another.

And as they are visiting Jerusalem this particular year, something quite unusual happens. As they’re going about their business – maybe eating breakfast with friends or gathering water for the day or brushing their teeth or whatever – they hear a commotion down the street. They hear a rush of violent wind and then they hear a group of 12 people speaking in all kinds of languages. And, one by one, they realize that they hear their own language. Someone in Jerusalem – someone they don’t know! – is speaking their language.

They run to the house where the commotion is happening and there they see the disciples, speaking in their own languages. Some of the actual residents of Jerusalem came running, too. And they say, “What the heck? Aren’t these men Galileans (translation: backwater folks)? Where did they learn to my language?” Some of them added, “They’re probably just drunk,” and all of them were amazed.

Now I want to pause in the action here and make note of a key point: when the Holy Spirit came, the Spirit causes the Galileans – who were the in-group, the majority here – to speak other languages. The Holy Spirit did not simply allow those from the Diaspora – who were the out-group, the minority – to understand the in-group’s words. Instead, the Spirit actively forced the in-group to speak the language of the out-group.

The Holy Spirit forced those in the majority to speak the language of the minority.

The medium is the message.

And then Peter – never one at a loss for words – addresses the haters and says, “They’re not drunk! Instead they are fulfilling a great prophecy!” And I have to assume that Peter is talking mostly to those who are the natives of Jerusalem – those in the in-group. I assume this because the text says nothing of Peter’s words being translated into another language.

He says, in essence, “This is really happening. God is really speaking to people from all over the world in their own languages. It’s really too bad if you’re feeling threatened, because this is really happening. And here’s why: It’s happening because the Reign of God is here in our midst. And in this New Age everyone has a role to play. Your sons and daughters have stories to tell – and we all need to listen. Children have things to see – and we need to look with them. Older adults have dreams yet to be lived – and we need to dream along with them. Even the slaves – the men and the women – have received God’s gift of his Spirit – and they have things to say.”

When faced with the great diversity of God’s creation – people of all ages, nationalities, genders, races, religious, sexual orientations, levels of education, economic standing, and more – when faced with this great diversity, those of us in the in-group have some choices to make.

When we learn that White babies are now a minority group in the U.S. some White folks will become fearful and long for the “good ol’ days” when White people were a majority in this nation. Others of us will celebrate a new era in this land of great diversity and move forward joyfully into a world where people of all races are more fully valued and appreciated.

Pentecost is – at its very heart – a story about God’s great love of diversity.

And in that way, it is not really “the birthday of the Church” as I was taught in my Sunday School classes as a child. Sure, it marks an important turning point in the lives of those who were following Christ shortly after his death. But it’s not a singular event.

Rather, Pentecost is just one event in a long, long line of renewal movements in the Jewish and Christians faiths. Just as the giving of the Ten Commandments at Sinai rejuvenated the people and led them into a renewed relationship with God, Pentecost rejuvenated those early followers of Christ.

And if there’s any group that really gets this renewal that can happen when we truly embrace God’s great love of diversity, it’s the Pentecostals themselves. Now you’ll have to check with Sam Troxal after worship to see if I’ve told you any lies about Pentecostalism, but I’m going to do my best to highlight a few things about this renewed and renewing group of Christians.

First of all, Pentecostalism is big. I mean huge. It’s incredibly difficult to count the number of Pentecostal Christians because they exist in hundreds of denominations and thousands of individual, unaffiliated churches. Plus, there are deep divisions within Pentecostalism just as there are within any religious group. Just ask Sam for a brief lecture on the difference between Oneness Pentecostals and the others. But, by any count, there are a lot of Pentecostals out there. And not just in Indiana.

It’s estimated that there are somewhere between 65 million and 217 million Pentecostals in the world. To give you some perspective, there are just over a billion Roman Catholics, about 16 million Southern Baptists, and a million and change each in the UCC and ABC.[2]

And, unlike the Roman Catholics who have roots going way way back, Pentecostals are fairly new on the religious stage. There was no one place or meeting where Pentecostalism officially began. Instead, it is a movement that popped up in various places throughout the late 19^th and early 20^th century.

Now I know that some of us self-righteous liberal Protestants might like to think of Pentecostals as closed-minded, but affirming God’s call in the lives of women and people of all races and ages is something Pentecostals have been doing longer and better than mainline Protestants. Women have broadly held leadership in Pentecostal churches since their inception. Black and Whites have worshiped hand in hand for over a century. Since the beginning, Pentecostals have celebrated and affirmed God’s good gift of diversity.

And how could they not celebrate God’s gift of diversity when they claim this very passage as the reason for their existence?

Pentecostalism is a challenge to those of us in mainline Protestant churches. Pentecostalism asks us to take seriously God’s call to not just tolerate diversity but to run after it full-speed. Pentecostalism asks us to actively seek out opportunities for engagement with people who are different than us. Pentecostalism shows us what can happen when we open ourselves to the possibility of renewal through the breath of the Holy Spirit.

Can we move with them? Can we straight-laced, buttoned-up, formerly-downtown-church, mainline Protestants allow ourselves to feel the breeze of the Holy Spirit moving in our midst? Because I promise you the Spirit moves today just as she did in the Early Church and just as she does in Pentecostal congregations around the world.

It is clear to me that God values diversity. And it is clear to me that we, as a congregation, value diversity. And we are light years ahead of others in our quest to openly welcome and affirm people of all ages, genders, races, and backgrounds as leaders in our congregation.

And yet, when I look around our sanctuary on Sunday mornings, I see a group of mostly-White people. Now, true – true – we live in a mostly-White town. According to the 2010 Census, Bloomington is 83% White.[3]

And yet – I have to wonder – are we pushing ourselves as much as we could to openly celebrate God’s good gift of racial diversity? What would it take to move our congregation to a place where only 83% of the people in the pews are White instead of 99.5%? And do we even care enough to make that a priority?

I can’t answer these questions by myself. That’s not my role. But I do want to invite you into the conversation because I think today’s text urges us to have it.

Those Galileans – those majority folks in the Early Church – they’re calling to us from the page.

And they’re not speaking my language.

They’re speaking the languages of all those minority groups out there who aren’t used to hearing their words spoken in public.

They’re not asking those folks in the out-groups to come on in, sit down, and start doing things their way. They’re opening themselves to the very real possibility that the Holy Spirit is calling them to do something more challenging, more terrifying, more real than that.

The Spirit blows and they are moved.

The medium is the message.

Can we hear it?

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[1] Ever wonder where that phrase comes from? Turns out it was coined by Marshall McLuhan in his book Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man, published in 1964.

[2] These stats are from Wikipedia – from various articles and all of them had sources listed.

[3] https://bloomington.in.gov/media/media/application/pdf/6636.pdf

"Into the Water"

Acts 8: 26-40

May 5, 2012

Easter 5

First United Church – Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

We’ve had a whole slew of infant baptisms happening around here lately and it’s been wonderful. As a congregation that comes out of both the American Baptist and United Church of Christ traditions, we’re happy to be a part of pretty much any kind of baptism you can think of. Baby sprinkling? Yup. Adult sprinkling? We do that. Adult dunking? We do that, too. I suppose we wouldn’t dunk a baby but that’s more of a practical thing – not a theological statement.

I remember well my own baptism. I was about five years old and my entire family was baptized together at Wallulua Christian Church in Lansing, Kansas. We were dunked, all four of us. Even at that young age, I had a sense that what was happening to me was important. My memories of that event are so strong that it actually took me many years to come around to the practice of infant baptism. I didn’t want to take away that memory from my children. Ultimately, we decided that infant baptism was the best choice for our family and I take it as my parental duty to tell my sons about it so often that they’ll grow up feeling like they remember it happening – even though they were barely a week old when they were baptized.

Baptism – no matter how or when it happens – is a special event. In the ancient Church it was an event that happened once a year, during Easter season, so it’s no surprise that we have a story of baptism in today’s text from Acts. As we continue to move through Eastertide, we grapple with the ideas of death and resurrection, closure and renewal, brokenness and wholeness. And, my friends, if you’re brave enough to grapple with those concepts, you can hardly find better companions than Philip and the nameless man from Ethiopia in Acts 8.

The story begins, “Then an angel of the Lord said to Philip, ‘Get up and go…” so right away you know you have to back up a bit and figure out where Philip is. Turns out he’s in Samaria – that area to the north of Jerusalem that most of us remember from stories like the Good Samaritan. Folks from Samaria were considered pretty unsavory by Jews in Jerusalem, so what was Philip doing up there in the hill country?

Back up a few chapters and we have the death of Stephen, one of the early Christian martyrs. Immediately after his death there was an uprising against the followers of Christ in Jerusalem and they fled the city to seek safely. Philip ended up in Samaria and, like a good little apostle-in-training, he decided to hold a revival.

And this revival is a doozy. Philip not only converted the people of Samaria but he bested a local magician, Simon, and converted him, too. This was Philip’s first time out and about, evangelizing. Before this, he had been hanging with the other apostles back in Jerusalem and had left the preaching up to some of the other leaders. In fact, he was one of the seven selected to serve at table – so he was specifically set aside to serve through action, not by preaching. And yet – here he is up in Samaria doing a bang-up job.

And suddenly an angel of the Lord appears to him and says….what? “Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful in small things, I will put you in charge of many things?” Nope. This angel says, “Hey, Philip, you know that dirt road on the way to Gaza? The one in the middle of nowhere? Go there. Now.”

So he goes. We don’t know why, but he goes. And I can only guess that he was feeling a little cranky while he went. No recognition for his hard work? No promotion? I’m not gonna lie, I’d pout a little, if it were me.

And then, lo and behold, in this middle of this tiny, dusty, typically-deserted road, there sits a chariot. A chariot, folks. And in this chariot is a man from an exotic land – Ethiopia. And not just any man – this man is rich and powerful, a servant to the Queen and in charge of her treasury. And he’s sitting there – in a chariot – reading aloud from the prophet Isaiah. And so you’d think maybe Philip would wise up that something important is about to happen to him because, I mean, this just screams burning bush, am I right? [1]

But, no, sadly, he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he’s got to get poked by the Holy Spirit. And note that, this time, it’s not just an angel, it’s the Spirit herself. The stakes have been raised.

And the Spirit says, “Go join that chariot.” Not, “Go talk to that guy.” Not, “Go preach to that guy.” Not, “Go convert that guy.” It’s a command to go and join the man in the chariot.

So, in a flash of brilliant pedagogical skill and insight, Philip says, “Do you understand what you’re reading?” So much for joining him where he’s at. I guess you could take this question many different ways, but when I hear Philip say it, he sort of says it with a sneer. Or at least a tone of superiority. After all, he’s the apostle. He’s the one who just converted the whole city of Samaria. And who is this guy? Just some Ethiopian, and a eunuch at that, sitting in his chariot in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe a better question would have been, “Who are you?”  Because, after all, what does it mean to be a eunuch from Ethiopia on this road between Jerusalem and Gaza?

Well, it means that you occupy an odd space in the culture. You’re from Ethiopia, so you’re an outsider – but Ethiopia is also considered to be quite glamorous, so I guess it’s a bit like being from Britain. You’ve got a cool accent that always earns you points, but you’ll never understand the appeal of American football, no matter how hard you try.

And you work in the court – so you are both a servant but also have a great deal of power and authority, so I guess it’s a bit like being Lady Gaga’s chef. No one cares much about you, but they do think you keep pretty fascinating company.

And, finally, you’re a eunuch, so that means you are the kind of guy who can be trusted around women – that’s how you got this gig in the court.

Now there were several types of eunuchs in the ancient world – some who had been physically castrated and some who simply showed no interest in women and some who were unable to father children. We don’t know which kind of eunuch this man was, but all of these eunuchs were socially suspect. In a culture that doles out respect based on your ability to procreate, there wasn’t anything very respectable about being a eunuch. Regardless of your sexual orientation, you were suspect. [2]

And maybe that’s why Philip isn’t the friendliest when he steps up to the chariot and sees the man inside. Maybe that’s why he isn’t so keen to actually join the man and, instead, asks him a question that demeans his worth.

But this nameless man follows in the tradition of so many other nameless ones in the Bible. He may not have a name, but he ensures we will not forget his face.

He says to Philip, “How can I understand what I’m reading if I do not have a teacher?”

Philip would have – or at least should have – felt this question like a punch in the gut. This man in the chariot is on his way home from Jerusalem. He traveled all the way there to worship and we can be fairly certain he did not receive a warm welcome there. Because of their oddness – their otherness – eunuchs were not welcome at the Temple. How many times had he made this journey before, only to be turned away at the gate?

“How can I understand what I’m reading if I do not have a teacher?”

And then, the man goes one step further – out here, in the middle of nowhere, even though he is the one who is lower in social stature, he invites Philip into his chariot. He extends hospitality.

And, in doing so, he does what the Holy Spirit was unable to do. He convinces Philip to take a chance and truly join him, not just preach at him from afar.

And when he does, things really get moving. The man reads to Philip from the scroll and Philip begins telling him about the gospel – the good news he’s found through the life of Jesus Christ. And before they even know what is happening, they’re rolling down the road together in that chariot. I can just see them, sitting close together, peering at the scroll, swapping stories and laughter – just two humans out there in the middle of nowhere realizing how incredibly lost and found they are all at the same time.

And that’s when it happens.

Water in the desert.

All the best stories have water in the desert, right? Why is that?

The man from Ethiopia sees it first. He says, “Look! There’s water here? What would prevent me from being baptized?” and he is so sure that Philip will say yes that he’s already stopped the chariot and jumped out before Philip has a chance to respond.

And here’s the best part of the story – they both go down into that water together.

Now I’ve been baptized by immersion and I can promise you that the man who baptized me did not go down into the water with me. He wore his waders and his fancy robe and he dunked me carefully and kept himself as dry as possible.

And I can tell you that I went to a Disciples of Christ seminary where we were trained on how to baptize people by immersion because that’s the only kind of baptizing they do – and, yes, there are secrets that we clergy share about how to do that without actually falling into the water yourself.

Because to fall into the water yourself, to descend, as that Greek verb is better translated – is to die a bit. To go down into the water for baptism is to lose yourself just a little. And Philip does that with this nameless man on this road in the middle of nowhere.  He goes into that water with him. He casts his lot with the other – a man despised by the powers-that-be.

And when he allows himself to descend with the other, he comes up out of the water born anew.

English translations say that they went down into the water and “Philip baptized him” but the Greek isn’t actually that clear. The Greek says they went down into the water and “he baptized him.”

Who baptized who here? I’m not sure.

Maybe that angel knew best when he said to Philip, “You think Samaria is awesome? Go into the middle of nowhere…you won’t believe what happens there!”

Or maybe the Holy Spirit knew best when she said, “See that man in the chariot? The one who turns your stomach because he’s unclean? Join him. And don’t just talk at him this time, kid, JOIN HIM.”

Join him. Go into the water together.

It makes me wonder – who are we supposed to join? What would it take for us to go into the water one more time?

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[1] I am indebted to Anna Carter Florenece and her 2004 sermon on this text, “Do you really understand what you’re reading?” for the observation that Philip would have been expecting a “promotion” after his revival in Samaria and her observation that the idea of a chariot in the desert surely would have appeared to be something God was up to.

[2] This information on eunuchs comes from the book The Children Are Free by Jeff Miner and Tyler Connolly. It’s the best book I’ve read on what the Bible says about GLBT people. You should read it.