Translation
Acts 2:1-21
Click here to view the full sermon video for June 5, 2022 entitled, "Translation."
On this 50th day after Easter we celebrate the unruly wind of the Holy Spirit breathing life into the Church. The birthday of the church does not mark the dedication of a building, or the signing of a document, or the formation of a committee, but the empowerment of a people sent out into the world.
Sharing its name with the Jewish Pentecost festival 50 days after Passover marking the spring harvest and the giving of Torah, this day has many layers of meaning - all reminding us of God’s faithfulness through the ages and in all the days to come.
Hear now, God’s words to the church from Acts 2:1-21 on this Pentecost Sunday:
Acts 2:1-21
2When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.
5Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” 12All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” 13But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”
14But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. 15Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. 16No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel: 17‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. 18Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy. 19And I will show portents in the heaven above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and smoky mist. 20The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day. 21Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’
In our Godly Play Children’s Curriculum, we always ask if there is any part of the story we could leave out and still have all the story we need.
I wondered about that this week while contemplating the Pentecost story.
I wondered about the ways our faith is shaped by Pentecost…and the ways we resist it.
I wondered about how open we really are to allowing Pentecost influence over our own lives, and why it sometimes seems to take a backseat to our other major festivals.
A pastor on a weekly lectionary podcast this week wondered this same thing – asking why Pentecost is not celebrated in the same major way as Christmas and Easter. Perhaps it’s because Pentecost doesn’t have its own Santa Claus or Easter Bunny. Nobody’s successfully commercialized the Holy Spirit…yet.
But more seriously, this pastor suggested that it’s easy to adore the infant Jesus, and mourn Jesus’ death, and celebrate his resurrection, all on our own terms and in our own ways. But when it comes to Pentecost, things get more risky. This is a public festival which plays out in the messiness of community. Pentecost doesn’t just ask for our contemplation or our praise, but Pentecost demands a response from each one of us – men and women, young and old, rich and poor, all people are included here and the stakes feel much higher.
Furthermore, the whole thing is orchestrated by the Holy Spirit who notoriously blows us out of our comfort zones. No wonder we approach this festival with caution and trepidation (and to be honest, we probably should if we understand it correctly!).
The original disciples on that first Pentecost weren’t seeking out the spectacle they found themselves in. No, the Holy Spirit found them gathered together safely, in a house.
Gathered together, only 50 days after Jesus’ death and resurrection.
Gathered together still scratching their heads, trying to figure out exactly what had happened and what they were supposed to do.
Gathered together feeling both overwhelmed by all they’d lost and restless for all they’d been promised,
Gathered together right in between hope and despair waiting to figure out what’s next and how to get there.
I think we’ve all been gathered in that room.
In moments like this - moments filled with transition, cultural disruption, and too many unknowns, it’s only natural for a community to turn inward, to grasp for the familiar and the comfortable. That’s just what humans do I think.
We sing the same songs, sit in the same pews, talk to the same people. The predictability is soothing. The world is chaotic enough, can’t the church just be a place where we’re comforted by decency, order, and familiarity?
I’m guessing those first disciples felt similarly, gathered together in that room. (I mean, they were human just like us)
But then a strange thing happens – the sound of a violent wind rushes in, interrupting their conversations and committee meetings, a wind not unlike the one that swept over the primordial waters of Genesis, and all of a sudden, without any narrative transition, the story transports us from the safety of four walls and drops us straight into the middle of the city square, right in the middle of the gathered group of international Jewish pilgrims celebrating the harvest festival in Jerusalem.
It’s almost as if, the Holy Spirit suggests, the way forward in a difficult time is for the church to turn outward instead of inward.
And so, here we are now, in the middle of the city square, different languages swirling around in a chaotic, exciting, and terrifying scene. Jews from East and West, North and South are astonished to be hearing in their own native languages.
Much is said of this miracle of hearing. They all heard about ‘God’s deeds of power’ in their own languages: Mesopotamians, Egyptians, Libyans, Romans, and Arabs. They could all hear and understand.
But the part of this miracle which caught my attention this time around, is the miracle of the speaking. The disciples were all made able to speak these languages.
As long as we’re talking about the Holy Spirit interrupting in a miraculous way with a violent wind and tongues of fire, how easy would it have been for the Holy Spirit to just make each person hear in their own language.
I’m reminded of the comedic science-fiction book Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, in which exists a universal translator in the form of a small yellow fish called a Babel Fish that you put in your ear, which then immediately translates everything you hear into your original language.
With today’s technology it doesn’t feel like we’re that far off from a Babel Fish, but I hope it’s more comfortable than putting a fish in your ear.
Going back to Pentecost and its strange tongues of fire, we see that instead of doing the translating work for us, the Holy Spirit empowers the disciples to speak these languages themselves. In this miracle of speaking we see that God’s message will be shared through humans; we see that community is central; we see that in order to hear God, we must listen to and speak with one another.
There is something essential here in this miracle of languages about the nature of the church and our relationship to one another.
Who here has ever learned a new language?
Who here has enjoyed the awkwardness of learning a new language?
Just recently we were housing Afghan refugees in our Westminster building, and I spent plenty of time fumbling around with my phone translating English to Pashto, often comically AND unsuccessfully. Simple communication was humbling for both parties and took a lot of teamwork.
My favorite moment was one morning when the front of our church was transformed into a temporary film set for the TV show Big Sky – and I looked out my office window just in time to see our very confused Afghan family exiting Westminster and walking straight into the middle of Big Sky Montana.
I ran outside as fast as I could and with a combination of google translate and charades, explained that they were filming a tv show. Although we couldn’t understand each other’s words, no matter how loudly and slowly we spoke them – we both fully understood the hilarity and shared humanity of the moment and I’ll treasure it for a long time.
I don’t think anything humbles you faster than trying to speak in a language you’re just learning! Speaking in another language forces you to learn more than just new words, but a whole new way of thinking and seeing the world.
Speaking a new language invites you to see the world from a different perspective.
It requires you to set aside your familiar proficiencies, to tread into waters you don’t know, to become a beginner when you’d rather be an expert, and you quickly also learn that you’ll never become fluent unless you truly listen to those who speak it.
I love that the Holy Spirit didn’t bypass this part of the story, but empowered disciples to speak new languages and to communicate the gospel in new words, in new ways, in new times and different places.
And, friends, on this Pentecost Sunday, we remember that we are called to the same, we are called to this work of translation. And without the help of miraculous tongues of fire, this requires us to do a whole lot of humble listening and learning.
Certainly, there are the obvious language barriers we’re all familiar with (just this week I had an inquiry if our worship service was available in Spanish and I wish I could have said yes.) But there are other language barriers that are perhaps not as obvious, but equally as obstructive.
The words we speak in worship. The songs we sing. The words our actions speak in the community. These are all a sort of language. There are religious language divides, generational language divides, cultural language divides, technological language divides, all full of opportunities for translation.
This year, I hear Pentecost asking the church how we might be in better conversation with those who are not gathered in the room.
How might we be called to translate for a changing world? What new languages might the Holy Spirit move us to speak? Who might we need to listen to and learn from?
Like I said earlier, Pentecost feels risky, doesn’t it?
Pentecost reminds us that we are called to speak with new words, to sing new songs, to include new people, to speak to new times and places. We are called to communicate the Gospel beyond the walls of the rooms we feel comfortable in. We are called to love the stranger, to listen to new voices, to make room for new stories and to let our stories, in turn, be shaped by them.
Yes, Pentecost is risky, but in the best ways. Time and again, the Holy Spirit pushes the church outward, beyond its walls, surprising the church with an ever-expanding circle of who is included.
Returning for a second to our Afghan refugee family. One time after I’d spent about 20 minutes trying to understand one simple question they had, they would not let me leave without offering me hospitality in the form of food. All they really had to give was an apple and a little bit of milk, and so I ate my apple and drank my milk, and thanked God for the gift of hospitality and the common language of food.
I gave thanks that at the heart of our faith is a table where all are welcome. A table where the breaking of bread communicates welcome in every language. A foretaste of the Kingdom of God.
Until that time, may the Holy Spirit move us, perhaps beyond where we’re comfortable, to learn new words, to sing new songs, and to break bread with new strangers.
In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.