Pentecost: Feast of the Big Tent

 

MAY 27, 2007: Pentecost

Acts 2:1-11   I Cor 12:3b-7, 12-13   Jn 20:19-23

 

To the church in the diaspora[1]

& to the church of the unchurched[2]

 

First reading from Acts 2:1-11

When the time for Pentecost was fulfilled, all the believers were all in one place together. And suddenly there came from the sky a noise like a strong driving wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Then there appeared to them tongues as of fire, which parted and came to rest on each one of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in different tongues, as the Spirit enabled them to proclaim.

Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven
staying in
Jerusalem. At this sound, they gathered in a large crowd but were confused, because each one heard the believers speaking in his own language. They were astounded, and in amazement they asked, “Are not all these people who are speaking Galileans? How is it, then, that all of us hear then speaking in our own native language? We are Parthians, Medes, and Elamites, inhabitants of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the districts of Libya near Cyrene, as well as travelers from Rome, both Jews and converts to Judaism, Cretans and Arabs, yet we hear them speaking in our own tongues of the mighty acts of God.”

 

Introduction

Pentecost

Pentecost (a Greek word meaning five or fifty) happens fifty days after Easter. Originally Pentecost was a Jewish feast which took place fifty days after Passover when a devout Jew was expected to make a pilgrimage to the Temple in Jerusalem to give thanks for the harvest.  It’s referred to in the first reading today: “When the day of Pentecost had come, the believers were all gathered together in one place” (Acts 2:1). The power from on high, promised by Jesus as he ascended into heaven, was poured out upon the disciples on the occasion of that Jewish feast (Lk 24:49). That’s how a Jewish harvest feast became the great Pentecostal feast of Christians.

 

With Pentecost we reach the summit of the liturgical cycle which begins with the Son’s descent to earth in the Christmas season, continues with the Son’s ascent back to the Father and peaks now with the descent of the Holy Spirit of Pentecost.  Pentecost concludes the Easter season.  The Paschal candle, symbol of the risen Lord appearing in various places for fifty days, is now moved close to the baptismal font where it will witness the baptism of new members into Christ throughout the year. Tomorrow we return to Ordinary Time with its color green. We will coast along in Ordinary Time through the warm summer months until December 2, when we will start the liturgical cycle all over again with the first Sunday of Advent in preparation for Christmas 2007.

 

A spirit of fullness

A spirit of fullness breathes in the Mass formulary for Pentecost. It’s there in the first reading:  “We are Jews from every nation under the heavens. We are from Parthia, Media, and Elam, from Mesopotamia, Judea, and Cappadocia, from Pontus and Asia, from Phrygia and Pamphylia from Egypt, Libya, Rome, Crete and Arabia” (Acts 2:9-11). 

 

There’s a spirit of fullness in the second reading: “I would remind you,” Paul writes, “that there are all different sorts of spiritual gifts, but it’s the same Spirit who gives them; there are all different kinds of service, but it’s the same Spirit who is served; there are all different ways by which God works in our lives, but it’s the same Spirit who is working” (I Cor 12:4-6).

 

The same spirit of fullness breathes in the opening prayer for Pentecost: “Father of light…with the power of a mighty wind and by the flame of your wisdom open the horizons of our minds. Loosen our tongues to sing your praise….”

 

Pentecost today

The Holy Spirit of fullness who came down on that first Christian Pentecost still comes down today. A few years ago when people from the Milwaukee area came together to celebrate and give thanks in  St. Paul’s Episcopal Church for the ecumenical ministry of Archbishop Rembert Weakland, a veritable Pentecost happened. People gathered from the four corners of the earth--from Parthia, Media, and Elam, and from Mesopotamia, Judea, and Cappadocia.   They came to St. Paul’s from the African Methodist Church, the Episcopal Church of Milwaukee, the Evangelical Luther Church of America, the Bahai faith with its Milwaukee choir, and the Jewish Synagogue Congregation Shalom.  They all gathered in an Episcopal church and their tongues were loosened to celebrate and give thanks for the ecumenical spirit of a Roman Catholic Archbishop.

 

A friend who experienced that event said, “There was a Pentecostal atmosphere in the air that day. I found myself exclaiming, `Why, of course, this is the way it’s supposed to be! How come it takes so long to catch on!  How come some still don’t catch on!’”

 

Again Pentecost today

The Holy Spirit of fullness, who came down on that first Pentecost, still comes down today. When people gathered at St. Benedict the Moor Church to celebrate a funeral Mass for Sister Barbara Ann Kutchera who died of ovarian cancer at the early age of 66, a veritable Pentecost happened.  Again people gathered from the four corners of the earth--from Parthia, Media, and Elam, and from Mesopotamia, Judea, and Cappadocia. For blocks all parking places were taken. People gathered to give heartfelt testimony in their various tongues to that great lady, and their testimony turned a funeral into a great celebration.  Their various tongues reached a peak when a soul-filled African American soloist sang a favorite Negro spiritual (which no gung-ho liturgist would approve): Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, comin’ for to carry me home”

 

The fullness from on high that day was crowned by the homilist who came from a direction least suspected. The homilist wasn’t a he; the homilist was a she--the Rev. Linda Hansen. Born and raised a Catholic, she left the church and became an ordained Unitarian Universalist minister!  She was chosen to be homilist because of a long, warm friendship between this Roman Catholic nun and this ordained Unitarian minister.

 

In her homily, carefully crafted, Rev. Linda softly alluded to the many mysterious twists and turns of the human journey. She spoke also about the warm, human side of Sister Barbara and about the prime time they had spent with each other over the years. At the end  of her homily Rev. Linda made reference to Albert Camus’ novel, The Plague. She quoted a passage often recalled by Sr. Barbara and herself. Toward the end of the novel, two of the characters who have spent day and night fighting the plague decide to take an hour off—for friendship.  After sharing stories of their lives and a brief swim in the ocean, one of the characters says to the other, “Of course we must care for the victims, but if we don’t take time out for friendship we will forget what it is we are fighting the plague for.” Rev. Linda preached a stirring homily that day.

 

That first Christian Pentecost, when all were gathered in one place, and a driving wind blew over them, and tongues of fire came to rest upon them and all began to speak in different tongues, had nothing over that funeral Mass in honor of Sr. Barbara. Wind and fire had transformed it into a joyful celebration. The Holy Spirit poured out in days past was poured out that day, and my friend no doubt again exclaimed, “Why, of course, that’s the way it’s supposed to be! How come it takes so long to catch on!  How come some still don’t catch on!”

 

The Big Tent

Some, indeed, still don’t catch on. Recently a sizeable group of us were sent into the Diaspora from Old St. Mary’s. A number of reasons for our dismissal was offered.  The real reason (or reasons) has been obscured in a murky sea that lacks transparency. Perhaps it was the letter which an angry parishioner wrote to the pastor of the church where we had made our home for six long and good years. Carbon copies of the letter were sent to the Archbishop and to me. It complained about us as being nominal and a la carte Catholics who were way out of tune with the magisterium of the church. The writer of the letter threatened to depart from any Mass overshadowed by my presence. Perhaps it was his letter which generated the pastor’s eviction notice which sent us all into the Diaspora.  It will never be known for sure.  To the pastor who served the notice of dismissal one lady wrote,

 

I realize I must have misread you. You perhaps are really a conservative Catholic priest with an authoritarian bent but a big smile. Though your predecessor disagreed with me on most Church issues that are important to me, still he seemed to understand that the Church is a big tent that can include out-the-box as well as in-the-box Catholics.

 

That’s the point of Pentecost: it’s the feast of the Big Tent! Pentecost is the feast of a big tent which can house all kinds of people from Parthia, Media, and Elam, and from Mesopotamia, Judea, and Cappadocia. Pentecost is the feast of a big tent which can house the various ministries of apostles, prophets, teachers, miracle-workers, healers, counselors and speakers in tongues (I Cor 12:28).

 

The Shalom of Pentecost

Pentecost, whose opening prayer invites us to widen the horizons of our minds, is the feast of a big tent which can house all the urgent issues confronting the church. The most capital of all those issues is the very nature of the church herself: Is she first and foremost the hierarchy, or is she first and foremost the people of God? After that issue are all the other ancillary issues such as celibacy, birth control, homosexuality, ordination of women and open Communion. Pentecost is the feast of a big tent which can house all these issues. But fear often locks the doors against them.

 

The gospel for Pentecost Sunday recounts how the doors of the early church were locked out of fear. “On the evening of the first day of the week, the doors of the place where the disciples were gathered were locked out of fear of the Jewish authorities.” A week later the doors of the early church were still locked out of fear (Jn 20:19, 26). Two human emotions jump out at us in the gospel for Pentecost: one is fear and the other is Shalom—Peace. Jesus breaks through locked doors to a church trembling inside with fear, and he wishes the apostles “Shalom! Peace!” not once, not twice, but three times (Jn 20:19, 21, 26).

 

Conclusion

Pope John’s Shalom and big tent

When in late fall of 1958 Angelo Roncalli was elected as Pope John XXIII, he looked at his poor church trembling with fear behind locked doors,  and he wished it Shalom. Then in January of 1959, this man who was not the slave of fear announced his intention to summon the church to an ecumenical council. What’s more, he announced his intention to infuse his council with a Pentecostal fullness. He would invite not only three thousand Catholic bishops but also the Orthodox, Protestants, Jews, non-Christians and even non-believers to come to the bittersweet banquet of Vatican II. What an immense tent John would build!

 

After three years of preparation Vatican II opened on the 11th of October 1962. On the evening of that historic day, John appeared at the window of his papal apartment overlooking St. Peter’s Square. He was responding to the chanting and singing from a crowd below estimated at a half million people. From his window he lovingly spoke to a Pentecostal sea of humanity, saying, “Dear children, dear children, I hear your many voices.” Then in the simplest language he told them about his hopes and prayers for the council. He pointed upward towards the moon which was glowing brightly that late summer night in Rome.  He said the moon was looking down on them and was watching that great Pentecostal spectacle taking place.  “My voice is an isolated on,” he said, “but it echoes the voice of the whole world, for here the whole world tonight is gathered and represented.” Then he spoke simple, loving and human words,  “Now go home and give your children a kiss. Tell them it is from the pope.” Pope John glowed with a resplendent fullness, and the whole church and world  gloried in his very brief but Pentecostal pontificate.

 

John  prayed that his council would be a veritable Pentecost igniting fires of renewal everywhere. He prayed that his council would send Pentecostal winds through his church to blow open doors and windows closed for centuries. He prayed that his council would turn his church into a huge tent giving welcome to the human race.

 

Epilogue

A Pentecostal prayer

On Pentecost we pray that our church

 might become a huge tent and tabernacle.

 

On Pentecost we pray that the Holy Spirit

 might widen the horizons of our minds,

not only in the house of God but also in our homes

and among our loved ones.

 

On Pentecost we pray that a church,

fractured into in-the-box and out-of-the box congregants,

might be filled with Shalom,

for the heavenly Father’s house is a huge tent,

and there is much room in it for all of us.

 

On Pentecost we pray that a world,

fractured into Jews, Christians and Muslims,

might be filled with Shalom,

for the heavenly Father’s house is a huge tent,

and there is much room in it for all of us.

 



[1] Diaspora is a Greek word meaning dispersion. Originally it referred to the settling of scattered colonies of Jews outside Palestine after the Babylonian exile. It’s now come to mean the migration or scattering of a people away from an established or ancestral homeland or parish!

[2] By “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!