It’s Memorial Day Weekend, and the unofficial start of summer. And, so, I want to begin with a fairly simple question: “How many of you have ever gone camping, be it backpacking, tent-camping, trailer-camping, or even RV-ing? So how many?” When (or if) you have gone, what has been one of the most enjoyable parts of the camping experience . . . especially in the early morning or late afternoon/evening? For me—and I started camping with my parents before I learned to read!—it was always the campfire: finding twigs, or cutting the kindling; stacking the wood correctly so that little twigs light bigger twigs . . . lighting sticks . . . lighting branches . . . lighting spit logs. Oh, and if you get the fire going without a match (think Boy Scouts) . . . or even one match, you are the ruler of the campsite!
A good campfire means so much! In the early morning, campers stand ‘round the roaring fire, warming their hands. And, when the fire burns down a little, the coffee pot goes on, and soon, in addition to the smoke (which always follows you wherever you sit), you smell bacon. In the evening, once the fire burn down a bit, the coals become just right for cooking dinner—whether steaks or trout on a grill, along with foil-wrapped baked-potatoes. And, then, after dinner . . . s’mores!
All of that—coffee, bacon, steaks, s’mores—of course, depend on the fire actually burning! Of course, if you bring wood from home, or go to the “campground host”, you can be fairly certain that the fuel was dry. And, then, it is mostly up to the skill of the fire-builder. But, if you are in the woods, collecting downed twigs and branches, you never know if you’ll find dry wood, or wood that isn’t green—either of which not only challenge the fire-builder, but also are more likely to produce smoke which, of course, follows you wherever you sit. AND, if the fuel isn’t of the highest quality, the fire-builder is often found crouched down, blowing on the coals, trying not to hyperventilate and/or not lose their eyebrows to the flames. The overall goal, of course, is to make a fire, to “encourage” the fuel to burn hot and even enough, that its mission is carried out—whether that to warm those gathered ‘round the fire or to cook food (or dessert) to nourish those gathered ‘round the fire.
Yes, it’s Memorial Day weekend, but for us, it is also Pentecost Sunday. And, given our “tongues-of-fire” reading from Acts this morning, you may have an idea where I’m going with this. And, yes, I could stop here (shortest homily ever!), and we could sing “It only takes a spark to get a fire burning. . . pass it on”, and move on to the Renewal of Baptismal Vows. I could stop here, but you know I won’t . . . So, hold on to the image of campfire-building as I move to something a bit more serious.
All of our readings for this Pentecost Sunday point to a “power” that was, at one point, vested in one individual (or even a small group of individuals) but then shared with others. It’s that sharing of power that I want to discuss. What happens when a powerful leader, or group, passes on? How is the energy—the charisma—and, yes, the power, or authority, preserved? Who will wear the mantle? That has been the problem associated with every major religious leader, from Moses to Elijah to Jesus to Peter and Paul—but also the Buddha and Mohammed: “What happens when they die?” What sociologists tell us is that, in most cases where charismatic leaders pass from the scene, their followers basically “hunker down” and establish a structure that will keep them together and functioning. It is so predictable, that sociologist Max Weber coined a phrase to describe it: the “routinization of charisma”! Or, in language more appropriate for today, the “domestication of the Spirit”. But what I see in our readings this morning challenges that “normal” process. God, through the Spirit, is doing something else—and we ought pay attention!
The selection from the book of Numbers places us in the midst of one the many times the Israelites were grumbling about their condition in the desert. Moses is at wits’ end, and asks God, "What do I do with these folks?” God, “[descending] in a cloud, spoke to [Moses], and took some of the spirit that was on him and placed it on the seventy elders” (Nm 11.25). The result of the sharing of Spirit that was in Moses? They prophesy—a demonstration of God’s authority . . . but only once! Someone wasn’t comfortable with charisma being shared. And that hesitance is shown even more with the protest about Eldad and Medad prophesying— they weren’t part of the official group. But Moses pushes back: “If only all the LORD’s people were prophets with the LORD placing his spirit on them!” (11.29). No routinization! Let the Spirit do its work!
Our reading from John’s Gospel tells another story of the “passing on of the Spirit”. On that first Easter night, Jesus appears to his fearful disciples, huddling behind locked doors. He wishes “peace” upon them—perhaps a peace that might calm fears. And then Jesus commissions them; he sends them out in mission: “As the Father sent me, so I am sending you” (20. 21). The evangelist links Jesus’ commission to “take away the sin of the world”, marked by the descent of the Spirit (Jn 1.29-34), with the disciples’ commission: “he breathed on them and said, ’Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone’s sins, they are forgiven; if you don’t forgive them, they aren’t forgiven’” (20.22-23). That Spirit, concentrated in Jesus, is passed on to his followers for mission. Jesus calls us to leave our locked-room-huddle and to get busy. Have we resisted the tendency to “domesticate the Spirit”? Unfortunately, no. But we are reminded, at least on a yearly basis, to let Jesus’ breath—Jesus’ spirit—fan our embers, to flow through us to empower us for mission.
And, then the great Pentecost story in Acts—representing a different tradition about the “passing on of the Spirit” from John’s. Luke tells us that Jesus had been with his disciples for forty days after his resurrection, “working in the power of the Holy Spirit”, instructing ”the apostles he had chosen” telling them that, in a few days, they will be baptized—immersed—with the Holy Spirit (1.2-5). And, a few days later, while gathered together, a fierce wind arose, and “they were all filled with the Holy Spirit” (2.2, 4). The result of that sharing of the Spirit was Peter’s great Pentecost sermon—the beginning of the mission to spread the gospel beyond Jerusalem and the Jews. Think, for example, of the conversion of the household of Cornelius: “[those] who had come with Peter were astonished that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles” (10.45). No Jewish-centric “routinization” in Acts. Again, have we resisted the tendency to “set up a structure”? Sadly, no. But we are called, again and again, to let the Pentecostal Spirit flow through us to engage in mission.
What we see this morning, with the sharing of Moses’ spirit with the elders and Jesus’ breath or the blowing “wind”, is God’s Spirit being sent out beyond the individual or small group. We see the answer to the question, “Why was the Holy Spirit given?” It is not concentrated in one individual, or even one group . . . testifying that the Spirit is given for mission, not for authority. Moses was imbued with God’s Spirit to lead God’s people from bondage to freedom. That spirit was shared with seventy elders to help Moses with that mission. According to John, the Spirit descended like a dove on Jesus at his baptism to empower him for his mission to “take away the sins of the world”. Or, as Luke reported Jesus’ quoting of Isaiah (61.1-2): “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me. He has sent me to preach good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, to liberate the oppressed, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (4.18-19). And it is that understanding of the role of the Spirit in mission that Luke brings to that great Pentecost moment in Acts. Not only do the apostles give evidence of the Spirit’s presence—speaking in tongues and tongues of fire are attention-getting—but Peter, quoting the prophet Joel, points to a future day when God will answer Moses’ hope, “Even upon my servants, men and women, I will pour out my Spirit in those days, and they will prophesy” (Ac 2.18//Joel 2.28-29).
A campfire does not exist for itself. We gather the fuel, we strike the match (or work with flint and steel) to birth the flame; we risk hyperventilation or singed eyebrows . . . for what? Just to let the fire burn un-noticed, and then to die down? No, we build that campfire because it has a mission to fulfill—and that mission is often to provide comfort for weary and cold travelers, to provide necessary food for the hungry, to be a beacon for the lost.
I’ll let you play with the metaphor; it shouldn’t be hard. But as you do, remember that a campfire does not exist for itself. Neither does a spirit-filled church live only for itself. On this day—on this Feast of Pentecost—we are reminded that the Holy Spirit is given for mission; it is not to be privatized or domesticated. God does not charge us to “hunker down and build a structure”—metaphorical or physical. Jesus breathes the Spirit into his disciples; he blows on our “moist, or green, wood” . . . to set us ablaze for the good of others. Where will you carry that fire?
Amen.