"A Spirit of Belonging" -- Pentecost Sunday 2019

Sermon for Day of Pentecost

9 June 2019

Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem

The Rev. Carrie Ballenger

Acts 2:1-21; Romans 8:14-17

Jerusalem, Pentecost 2019. Where I belong (for now)

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

It’s graduation season, and this year I’m about to set a child free into the world. Thanks be to God, Amen!

I’ve done it once before, when my older son went off to college. But also, in a way, I’ve done it many times. It’s not my first rodeo, as some might say! There was the first day of preschool. And kindergarten. And first grade, and all the grades up to and including high school. There were also the church camps and the overnight sleepovers and the international school trips.

The graduating child is actually in Budapest right now with seven other 18 year olds…

But I’m fine, really.

As a parent, anytime you watch your kids move on or move up, you just hope, hope, hope, you’ve done enough.  I mean, I know I haven’t taught him everything he’ll need. Life will have to fill in the gaps where my imperfect parenting failed.

But I think he knows a few crucial things:

He knows I held him when he was sick. Rocked him when he was sad. Carried him around for years and years in a cloth sling—first nestled against my chest in a little bundle, and then balanced on my hip well beyond when my back said “nope.”

He knows I cared for bumps and bruises, broke up sibling wars, and made countless sandwiches and Friday pizzas.

He knows I was always there for a hug before school in the morning, even when he didn’t want or need one.

He knows (I hope) that I’m not perfect, but I tried my best.

Most of all, my son knows I hope) that he can trust me, and can trust my love for him. He knows where, and with whom, he can always find belonging.

Dear siblings in Christ, it’s Pentecost today, which means we’re celebrating the outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon the church. We heard from the Acts of the Apostles the account of how, when the Spirit fell on the disciples, they received the gift of tongues, giving them the ability to share the Good News of Christ’s resurrection with the world. This is how we normally think about Pentecost, and probably what most people think of when we talk of “receiving the Holy Spirit.” But our reading from the Book of Romans reminds us that the Spirit we receive is also a spirit of adoption.

Paul writes:

When we cry, “Abba! Father!” it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ.

In other words, possessing the Spirit, the spirit of adoption, means we have a spirit of belonging. We are not slaves, we are not visitors in the household of God. We are beloved children and heirs of the kingdom.

Because this Spirit of adoption is with us, and goes with us wherever we go, we know where we can always find belonging: In the shadow of the cross. In the light of Easter morning. In the arms of God, our loving Parent.

Possessing this Spirit of belonging is no small thing, especially when we’re not sure where or even if we belong:

when we go off to university and try to find our way, try to find our people

when we move to a different country or start a new job, and everything feels foreign and new

when we are between relationships, between life stages, between sickness and health, between faith and doubt

when we’ve been rejected, or felt rejected, by family, by friends, even by the church,

or when we are on the edge of something, about to leap into something new—a new project, a new way of thinking, a new way of relating to others—and wonder if there will be anything, or anyone, to catch us on the other side.

These are the moments when a spirit of fear creeps in, nudging us toward apathy, toward loneliness, toward self-protection and all that comes with it—often prejudice, walls, even war with others.

But the Apostle Paul says:

“You have not received a Spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a Spirit of adoption.” You belong somewhere! You belong to someone.

Thanks be to God for the Spirit, who shows us up to remind us of this, to remind us of all Jesus taught us, of that that Scripture has taught us:

That you have been loved since before you were knit together in your mother’s womb;

That on the cross Jesus suffered with you and for you;

That Jesus will be with you unto the end of the age,

And that through Jesus, crucified and risen, there is forgiveness, and more forgiveness, and more forgiveness, as much as you need.

The Holy Spirit is the one whispering in your ear that no matter what the world says, or how scary it is, you are a beloved child of God, and there is nothing you can do, nothing you can say, nothing you can be, nowhere you can go, that would make you un-beloved. The Spirit, by Her very presence, reminds you that you belong.

This Spirit, being the Spirit, often shows up in unexpected ways and through unexpected people.

This week, as I thought about sending my son off to college, I remembered an experience from my own college years. When I was twenty years old, I had the chance to study in Germany for a year.

I was there to study music and to learn German, but the first new language I learned to speak there wasn’t German. It was public transportation. Public transit is something that just didn’t exist in the small Oklahoma town where I went to high school. Your choice for getting around where I came from was essentially a choice of “vehicle”: car or truck.

But in one 24-hour period on my journey to Germany, I experienced my first overseas plane trip, my first train, first street car, and first taxi ride. Then, once my bags were unpacked at my hosts’ home, they asked if I’d like to accompany their daughter at her rowing lesson. Soon, there I was, in my first rowboat, rowing down the Rhine River.

Needless to say, by the end of the first day I was overwhelmed and disoriented. Almost immediately I looked for comfort and belonging in church. I had just recently joined the Roman Catholic Church back home (that story is a sermon for another day!) so I started attending daily mass at the huge cathedral in Mainz, where I was living.

It didn’t take long to realize this church was very different from my small, liberal, university campus parish in Oklahoma. I didn’t understand the language. I didn’t know any of the hymns. There was lots of standing up and sitting down that we didn’t do at home. And at age 20, I was a good 60 years younger than anyone else attending those early morning masses. It was beyond discouraging, but I kept going, praying hard to feel the presence of God and sense of belonging I so dearly missed.

Adding to my sense of being out of place was this one woman at the church who always seemed to be staring at me. She made me nervous, with her long black dress and her little head doily. Her nose-hairs alone were enough to put the fear of God in you! Every day when I arrived, she was already there praying, and let’s just say: her demeanor was less than welcoming.

One morning, as I arrived and quietly found a spot to kneel and pray, the nose-hair lady began to shuffle towards me. And I thought: OH NO! Did I sit in her pew?

I kept my eyes down, pretending to pray. But when she got to me and I looked up, I saw she was smiling at me! Without saying a word, she reached out and took my hand. She pressed into it something small and hard. Then, probably sensing our language barrier, she just held my hands in hers for a few moments and looked into my eyes before going back to her usual place to pray.

When I opened my hand, I saw she had given me a tiny silver medal, with an image of a baby dressed in royal clothing. I truly had no idea what it was or what I should do with it! Later, I learned it was an image of the Infant Jesus of Prague. Saints and medals were not part of my faith tradition or my understanding of Jesus at all, but at that moment it didn’t matter. That gift meant just one thing to me:

God was with me even in this foreign land. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, God was speaking to me through this woman, across the boundaries of language, culture, and generation. And God was saying:

Don’t be afraid!

I am here, too.

And you belong somewhere. You belong to someone! You belong to me.

For: “You have not received a Spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a Spirit of adoption.”

Today, as we are gathered as a community to welcome the Spirit of God again into the church and into our lives, you may have legitimate reasons to be afraid.

Because when we live lives directed by the Holy Spirit,

When we take risks,

When we speak the language of peace, of justice, of anti-oppression and anti-occupation,

When we speak the truth,

When we speak our truths,

We will often be criticized.

We will be judged.

We may even be persecuted.

But do not fear:

You know where you belong. You know to whom you belong.

You know this, not only because you have read the Scriptures,

Not only because you went Sunday school or to church camp,

Not only because you memorized Bible verses and listened to sermons,

You know this, because the Holy Spirit is with you.

You know this because no doubt you have your own stories of being loved

And held in God’s embrace,

Of knowing, suddenly, that you are a child of God.

So my prayer is that today, when you leave this place, you will welcome that same Spirit of belonging and let her move you:

To dance.

Sing.

Speak a new language.

Embrace a new idea.

Challenge the paradigms.

Smash the patriarchy.

Revive the church.

Also, rest when you need it.

Take a nap.

And remember that you belong—in the church. In the world. In the arms of God, your loving parent. Come, Holy Spirit.

And may the peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.