This sermon was preached for the Feast of Pentecost Sunday, May 23, 2021 for a joint online service for St. Andrew's, Wellesley and St. Michael's, Framingham. The texts for this sermon were: Ezekiel 37:1-14, Acts 2:1-21, John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15, and Psalm 104:25-35, 37.
In 2008, a small self-published novel by William Young, The Shack, hit the bestseller lists in
U.S. The book has caused quite a stir for its personification of the Holy
Trinity as three mysterious characters the protagonist converses with and
learns from throughout the novel. In particular, it was Young’s depiction of God
the Father as a motherly black woman called “Papa” that stuck with me - not
necessarily because of how she was illustrated but for this small
conversational habit of hers. Every time the protagonist mentions anyone to
Papa, God pauses, repeats their name with a smile and remarks in an off-handed
way, “I’m particularly fond of him” or “I’m particularly fond of her.” When I
say anyone referenced, I do mean anyone. It might be the protagonist’s family
member or the mailman or even the villain of the narrative. Papa delights in
mentioning, “I’m particularly fond of them.”
By the end of the book, it gets a bit annoying. If God is
particularly fond of everyone, does it actually mean much at all? It’s a bit
like the old joke: you’re special and
unique – just like everyone else.
But isn’t that how God’s love is? We are, all of us, named
and particularly loved, for our uniqueness, for precisely who we are. God’s
love is powerful enough, overwhelming enough, to be particularly fond of each
and every piece of creation.
If you sit down with today’s Pentecost story from Acts and
count all the times the words “all” “each” “every” “everyone” appear, you end
up with almost a dozen instances. The circle of inclusion encompasses every
disciple who each receive the power of speaking a new language, then each
person in the crowd who hear the Good News in their own language, then all the
residents of Jerusalem who are called to listen, and then, finally, the
entirety of humanity, now and those yet unborn, who will receive the gift of
God’s spirit. This passage is revolutionary in its inclusiveness, and yet it is
also astoundingly specific.
The expansion of God’s grace upon the world happens through
particularity. Each person present hears the call to God in his or her own
language – the message of love tailored to them specifically. Not only that,
each of the ethnicities and languages are named in the passage, an exhaustive
list of the all diverse places Jews lived at that time, the whole Jewish world.
It was not enough for the writer to note “all the languages.” The author of
Acts names them, one by one. These were there, these were spoken, these were
called.
Then Peter quotes from the Prophet Joel, when God declares,
“I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh.” But it is not enough to say “all
flesh.” God specifies the young and the old, the daughters and the sons. God
makes sure to say that the Holy Spirit will be poured out even on those whom
society has degraded, cast aside, treated less than human. Even upon slaves –
both men and women. All flesh.
A few years ago, nineteen adults in their early twenties
descended on an Episcopal Service Corps headquarters in Brookline one August
for an eight-day orientation into their year of service and communal living. As
one of the orientation leaders, the first thing we did with the diverse group
was to welcome them, each of them, all of them, wholly. We welcomed the fellows
from California, Kentucky, and Missouri, the Christian, Buddhist, atheist and
questioning fellows, the gay, straight, trans and bi fellows. We welcomed
fellows who identified as African-American, Asian-American, Euro-American, and
those who weren’t American at all. By the end of the whole long list, each part
of every fellow had been welcomed by name.
For many fellows this was the first time they had heard
their whole selves be welcomed into any community. A few told us later through
tears that it was the first Christian space into which their gay, bi or queer
identities were specifically loved by name. For the large number of fellows
carrying deep hurt they had experienced at the hands of the church through
racism, sexism, or homophobia, our welcome dared them to imagine what Christianity
could be.
We could have simply said, “All are welcome here” and left
it at that. But we knew that’s not how God would have done it.
God would have smiled and said each name. “I particularly
welcome you.”
All of our faith journeys begin this way. In our baptism, we
are named and enfolded into community, we are particularly loved. As we begin
to imagine gathering together again as parishes, how might God’s particular
welcome take shape at St. Michael’s or St. Andrew’s?
Here’s one small example. This fall, St. Andrew’s church
school will begin to bring the principles of Godly Play to our lower elementary
classes. We’ll be instituting a similar welcome practice each Sunday before
class begins. In a Godly Play classroom, every child is greeted by name before they
cross the threshold to the classroom. And at the end of the time together, each
child receives a blessing by name before they go to rejoin the service.
This morning, I invite you to take a moment now to close
your eyes. In the silence that follows, listen for God’s voice saying your
name. Hear God say, “I am particularly fond of you.”
***
Amen.
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