Sunday's Sermon

By The Revd Dr Mark Powell
Pentecost
11 May 2008

Readings:
Acts 2.1-13
1 Corinthians 12.3-13
John 20.19-23

Sermon for Pentecost 2008

Today we celebrate the great Feast of Pentecost and we remember the gift of the Holy Spirit to the apostles, descending upon them like tongues of heavenly fire. Today we give thanks that the same Holy Spirit is also God's gift to us; the Spirit is God's presence within each one of us, the divine made flesh in us. We can't see the Holy Spirit, and so the Church has made use of much imagery and symbolism to help us understand the nature of the Spirit and to stir our imaginations. There is no one definition of the Spirit: the Spirit is many things and different people experience the presence and activity of the Spirit in different ways.

On Advent Sunday last year, some of us gathered in the Lady Chapel to watch a film about life in a Carthusian monastery. The film had hardly any soundtrack, reflecting the almost silent lifestyle adopted by the monks. They would say that the Holy Spirit had called them to this life of simplicity and quiet. Now think of a Pentecostal Church or of Holy Trinity, Brompton, in our own communion. They, too, would speak of the calling of the Holy Spirit, but this time to exuberant, ecstatic worship, filled with song. Outwardly, the two traditions have little in common, but both are experiencing the activity of the Spirit within them: different people, different personalities, different experiences, but the same Holy Spirit, moving in different ways, and moving people in different ways.

I want to talk about three things. I want to talk about wood, I want to talk about sugar, and I want to talk about organ pipes. Wood, sugar and organ pipes - three things.

History, as you know, isn't my subject, but I'm reliably informed that most houses in 17th century London were made of wood; timber structures were packed together in narrow streets. Inside these wooden houses, people kept warm by gathering around fires, lit with sticks and fuelled by logs. So wood kept them safe and comfortable by providing the material for their homes and fuel for their fireplaces. In cold countries, we need fire and warmth to keep us alive; without it we die. In the old adventure movies I watched in my youth, intrepid explorers in rather warmer countries lit fires at night to keep lions and tigers at bay, so avoiding becoming items on the jungle menu. It may only be an English eccentricity, but people used to talk about a nice roaring fire providing company on a winter's night. Warmth for life; safety; company - all provided by wood-burning fires.

We speak of the Holy Spirit offering comfort and security, and giving us a spiritual life alongside our mortal lives. The Spirit is God's presence with us - a warm glow within, divine companionship.

I'm also reliably informed that 17th century London also witnessed a major disaster when the great fire spread through all those tightly-packed wooden houses, destroying much of the city. Our modern-day newspapers recount stories of forest fires, rampaging along and destroying vast areas of natural wood. When we moved to Coventry, to my first incumbency, we spent a weekend pruning extravagantly overgrown fruit trees and clearing huge areas of brambles. All the waste was piled in a great heap and a mighty, mighty bonfire ensued. Two whole days of conflagration later, all that was left was a comparatively small pile of ash. Unfortunately, the vicarage was separated from the M6 motorway by only one field and our great plume of smoke threatened to cause chaos. A change in the wind direction averted disaster and possible prosecution! Goldsmiths and silversmiths purify their precious metals by fire. All the impurities either burn away or float to the surface of the molten treasure.

Fire is both positive and comforting, and negative and destructive. The Holy Spirit also exhibits this duality, helping to rid us of bad thoughts and desires, purging what is bad and leaving what is good.

So, wood to remind us of the fire of the Spirit: the comforting fire and the purifying fire.

Now, sugar: two things happen when you add sugar to water or to a cup of tea, fairly-traded, of course! Firstly, the tea is sweetened and made pleasant to drink. (Just humour me if, like me, you don't take sugar in your tea!) Kindly hosts may ask "one lump or two, vicar?" We choose how much we want; we sweeten to our individual taste. Father Joseph has a good, Sudanese sweet tooth and defies scientific explanation with the number of spoonfuls of sugar he can stir into a cup of coffee. I remember he once told me that you only drink unsweetened coffee in the Sudan as a sign of penitence. I guess I must have many sins for which to atone! Individual people, individual taste, one lump or six.

The Holy Spirit speaks to us as individuals, offering guidance and inspiration for our lives. This is why we all need our times of solitude and stillness: times to heed the voice of God within us.

The other thing that happens to our spoonfuls of sugar is that they dissolve. All those individual grains, all those tiny crystals disappear - they lose their identity, they blend into one. The Spirit doesn't only speak to us as individuals: sometimes the Spirit calls us to remember that we are important not only on our own but also as part of something greater - part of the whole body of Christ. The Spirit breaks down the barriers of prejudice and suspicion and fear that we have erected between us, and binds us into a new community in Christ. Like the sugar, we dissolve into unity in Christ. The individual and the corporate are both important parts of our Christian faith.

So, sugar to remind us of the Spirit of the individual and the Spirit of community.

Now the pipe organs: pipe organs are blown by wind, another great symbol of the Holy Spirit. Modern, computerised, electronic instruments may be fine imitations of pipe organ sound, but they are of no use at all to a preacher on the Feast of Pentecost.

One stop on the organ, one sort of pipe is called a Dulciana. Dolce in Italian, dulce in Spanish - sweet, soft, gentle. The dulciana is a quiet, gentle, soft, sweet-toned pipe - a background stop; it might accompany a gentle piece sung by a choir. In the days before Dale, when I used to play the organ for Evensong, I made extensive use of the dulciana, because my many mistakes were much less noticeable on a soft stop!

[Dale will play a phrase on the dulciana.]

The Holy Spirit is this gentle wind, this soft breath, this balmy breeze, this sigh. Remember the Old Testament story when God speaks to Elijah. There is a tempest and a fire and an earthquake, but the Lord is not in these. After all these mighty things comes a still, small voice, speaking to Elijah like the dulciana pipes of an organ. Sometimes we experience the Spirit in this way, in times of stillness and quiet.

The same blower and bellows on the organ, the same wind supply also powers the trumpet stop. This is harsh, brash, powerful - a fanfare, a bugle call to battle.

[Dale will play a fanfare of chords on the trumpet.]

The same Spirit of calm and quiet sometimes inspires us with force and power - a mighty raging wind - and calls us to fight against what is bad in the world or to speak out in debate. The Spirit isn't just about stillness and calm, but also about might and activity - the call to be "soldiers" of Christ. The story of Elijah not withstanding, God can sometimes choose to speak in a tempest as well as the still, small voice of calm.

So, wood for the fire of the Spirit - the fire of comfort and the fire of purification. Sugar for the Spirit of individuality and the Spirit of community. And pipe organs for the wind and breath of the Spirit - the gentle breeze of serenity and peace, and the mighty wind of power and activity in Christ's name.

©Mark Powell
11th May 2008

Top

Copies of the weekly sermon are now available by email.
Please contact the Administrator if you wish to receive these on a regular basis.

Links