Pentecost Grid Blog

Today, I'm joining bloggers throughout the globe in meditation on the coming of the Spirit at Pentecost.

Becaue I'm expecting a few visitors from far away places today, and because I want to talk about my own experiences with Acts 2, a brief word about my faith tradition's history is in order: I am a member of the Churches of Christ, which is a relatively small community of fellowships scattered throughout the world. We are a part of the American restoration movement, and most of our church population is centered in the "bible belt" of the Southern and Southwestern United States. We do not have a large scale system of organization; each of our churches are self-governed. And we have historically called all Christians to seek out unity with one another, rather than drawing denominational distinctions. [Those of you who are associated with the emergent movement may be interested to know that the effects of emergent culture are causing considerable turmoil within our fellowships right now, and while it is far from necessary, you can get a feel for some of those issues by reading my post from May 13th.]

From the beginning, Acts 2 has been close to the heart of our fellowship. We have always viewed Peter's sermon as an important moment in church history because it was the place where, for the first time, God invited people to claim Jesus as Lord in baptism. For that reason, this moment in scripture - where Peter proclaims the fulfilment of Joel's prophecy and invites everyone present to join in the promise of the pouring out of the spirit - has been a touchstone in my spiritual journey, ever since the earliest years of my childhood.

I can't say that I understood all of the implications of my own response to Peter's invitation when I was relatively young (I was about 12 when I was baptized, I think). I was probably too minimalistic and reductionistic in the way I viewed it at the time, thinking that its meaning was limited to God overlooking my sins. But over time I have come to see that what I was doing when I stepped into those waters was much more than merely seeking forgiveness. I was claiming an ancient promise, centiries old - older even than Pentecost. A promise that God would one day dwell within His people. That the world would be a new place, free of the curse and the fall. And that anyone can be a part of that promise.

Today, as I worship with my fellowship, we will pray these words together: "thy Kingdom come." When I speak these words later this morning, I will thinking about people like Andrew Jones and Johnny Baker; people that don't really know me or anything about the small church where I was raised, and about whom I know little else than what is contained in thier blogs. I'll be thinking about African Christians who live in abject poverty, but who are models for all of us when it comes to the way they lay their lives down for each other. I'll be thinking of my friends Randy and Jennifer, who are even today worshiping and ministering in Salvador, Brazil, and my friends Brad and Monica, who are bringing hope to the poor of Haiti. I'll be imagining all kinds of people. Asians and monks from the middle ages. My 14 year-old's youth group and first century Christians gathered togethter in hidden places, trying to escape persecution. I'll think of Saint Frances and the homeless that gather to worship at one of our local churches. I'll think of Mother Theresa and some of my friends who will join me in worship this morning. Children. Adults. Young. Old. Rich. Poor. Denominations. Non-denominations. Emergent. Modern. Catholic. Protestant.

And I'll be thinking about how God, in a wonderful, mysterious, sometimes perplexing way, is somehow at work, pouring out his spirit on all of us who have said "yes" to Peter's message. Each of us, in our own way, are embracing our own baptisms so that we can join in the mosaic of humanity and, ultimately, with God as he works to make everything new.

"Thy Kingdom come."

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.