June 8, 2014 – The Day of
Pentecost: Whitsunday
Acts 2:1-21; 1 Corinthians 12:3b-13; John 7:37-39
© 2014 Evan D. Garner
The first time I heard
someone speaking in tongues, I thought a classmate of mine was being murdered
in the seminary chapel. It was late at night, and I was walking along the quad
at Ridley Hall, on my way back to my room. As I passed by the chapel, I heard a
bloodcurdling scream bellow from within. It stopped me in my tracks. I paused
for a second, and I heard it again—an unintelligible wailing with trills and
ticks that soared from a high pitch, sliding all the way down to a deep bass
rumble. Over and over, the screams continued. I went over to the chapel—the
door was locked. But all of us had a key, so I opened the door and walked into
the narthex and looked through the windows down the aisle. There, kneeling at
the front of the chapel, was a friend of mine—hands held high in the air, eyes
clenched shut, a pained expression on his face. His voice rose again, and,
although I could not understand what he was saying, it was clear to me that he
was engaged in a form of prayer deeper than any I had ever witnessed before.
As the weeks went by, I
recognized that, for my friend, praying in tongues was a daily practice. It
seemed so strange. I was fascinated. Why did he pray in tongues? How did he get
started? How long had he been doing it? Did he know what he was saying? How did
he know he was saying anything at all? Would he let me pray with him? For
weeks, I joined him in prayer—not every day but regularly. We would meet in the
chapel early in the morning for an hour. During that time, he prayed, but I
just moved my mouth. I practiced the same sorts of trills and ticks and
bellowing sighs, but I always knew that there was no Spirit speaking through
me. I prayed for that gift. I prayed that if the Spirit wouldn’t give me the
gift of tongues that it would at least enable me to interpret the earnest
prayers of my partner with whom I shared those early mornings in the chapel.
But I got nothing. I did have a dream once in which I was praying in tongues.
It was a strange moment at a baseball game when I knelt down in the middle of
the aisle and started praying in a language I could not understand, but that
was as close as I got.
To one
is given through the Spirit the utterance of wisdom, and to another the
utterance of knowledge according to the same Spirit, to another faith by the
same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit, to another the
working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another the discernment of
spirits, to another various kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of
tongues.
The problem with people
who exhibit the gifts of the Spirit is that they’re usually pretty strange. At
the very least, by definition it isn’t normal, and it’s often downright weird. That’s
because the Holy Spirit usually works in ways that we don’t understand. Sure, there
are some Spirit-filled people whom we admire—like quirky authors and exuberant
preachers—but lots of them just scare us. Have you ever had a stranger come up
and offer to lay hands on you? You know those guys who walk down the street
talking out loud to Jesus? Does anyone really enjoy the bullhorn-prophet who
calls the world to repent? What are we supposed to make of people who claim to
have the Spirit working within them when it seems to be working in a way that
we don’t like?
One of the challenges
that the apostle Paul routinely confronted were false prophets—those who claimed
authority in the early church but really worked to lead people away from the
truth. While he travelled from one community to another, he had to keep in touch
through his letters. He wrote to communities like the church in Corinth,
reminding them to hold fast to the truth and only follow those who preached the
real gospel of Jesus Christ. But, in the passage we read today, it seems that
the problem wasn’t reminding his readers to stay away from quacks and
pretenders but encouraging them to give the diverse range of Spirit-filled Christians
a place in the community. He writes, “No one can say ‘Jesus is Lord’ except by
the Holy Spirit.” No one. “Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same
Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are
varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in
everyone.” In other words, as strange as they might seem, we’re all in this
together.
No one can say “Jesus is
Lord” except by the Holy Spirit. But how much effort does that take? That’s as
basic as it gets. The earliest Christian confession was to acclaim Jesus as
Lord. That’s not complicated. That’s not much of a litmus test. But that’s the
point. Anyone who says that Jesus is Lord has the Spirit working within him. He
might sound funny. He might do things that make us uncomfortable. And we might
even disagree with what he thinks the Christian faith is all about. But the
Spirit’s work is to take a wild diversity of people with a tremendous range of
gifts and ministries and unite us all under one Lord, who is Jesus Christ.
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