Pentecost 2014: The Spirit Comes in Dreams

“I have a dream.”

“I have a dream.” Don’t you think of Martin Luther King, Jr when you hear those words? A man who dreamed of a world of opportunity and hope, a world where his people would be free, a world that confronted the evils of racism and of materialism.

“I have a dream.”

Pentecost is a time for dreams. In our reading, as Peter stands before the crowds gathered in Jerusalem, he quotes from the prophet Joel;

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.

 

The Spirit is the bringer of dreams. The Hebrew word for Spirit is Ru’ah, a feminine word—the power that was present at creation hovering over the face of the water, the force that in Psalm 104 gives life to all things. This Spirit—she comes in fire, she comes bringing dreams, bringing life, bringing creative power.

This is Pentecost, of course, the day we celebrate the birthday of the church. The church was born in a dream. A dream of the disciples to spread Jesus’ message, to be his witnesses to the ends of the earth.

The disciples had found their dignity, found their hope in the message of Jesus. These Galilean fishermen and tax collectors and women, people who were never meant to amount to anything much—they heard the words of Jesus that said; “Come, follow me. You are my witnesses, my ambassadors. You are called of God to bring the word of God.”

And they dreamed. They dreamed of a gospel that was spoken in many languages, that communicated to all people and all nations that they were loved of God—to Arabs and Jews, to Galileans and Ethiopians, to that list of nations we read of in Acts 2. They dreamed of the story of Jesus told to all people, the story of God who met us in the person of Jesus, who lived among us and loved us, who preached good news to the poor, who died on behalf of his people, who rose again in power, victorious over empire.

They dreamed of people rising up in dignity to care for one another, to build the church—to build a movement of people coming together to meet each other’s needs, to forge a new world. A world where every person was acknowledged as a child of God.

So what do you dream?

There is so much that holds us back from dreaming, isn’t there? Some of it is fear of change. Transition and change is uncomfortable. But I think it goes deeper than that.

Sometimes what holds us back is fear of hope. It is dangerous, it is risky to imagine new things. It is safer to stay without hope than to risk hope, especially if that hope might be dashed. Haven’t you ever done that in your life? Decided you were not going to take the risk because you were too afraid of how much it might hurt if it failed? How hard it would be to open yourselves up to hope, only to find your dreams fall down around you?

It is safer to stay in the upper room. It is safer to stay in hiding. It is safer to say; “look, Jesus, I know you want to call us and you have this mission for us,” but I’m just going to keep fishing, thank you very much. It is hard to open ourselves up to hope.

There is another reason. We live in a world that can constantly eats away at your dignity, at your self-respect, a world that tells you over and over that you are not good enough. Sometimes we start to believe this ourselves; that we are not worth it. We don’t deserve to hope.

That is where the Spirit comes in. Bringing Life. Courage. Hope.

Again I ask you; what do you dream? What dreams is the Spirit stirring in your heart, my brothers and sisters? What kind of dreams do you have for your community?

Do you dream of a cure for cancer, or dream of honoring all those we have lost, as you just have done in Rely for Life?

You who just graduated or you who know someone who has just graduated, what do you dream? We need your dreams—this community, this world needs your dreams.

I remember, just before I went to seminary, I visited Oaxaca, one of the poorest states in Mexico and met with communities there. It was a struggling place—indigenous communities desperately trying to survive in the midst of globalization. Getting poorer and poorer, with more and more people forced to migrate. What struck me, however, was not how much they struggled. It was how much they hoped. It was the elders of the community who came up with ways to revitalize their water systems; young people who started farming collectives or community art programs; the women who created training centers. Everywhere I went, I saw people daring to hope. People who took that risk—who dared to choose life. Who dared to choose to live into the life that Jesus promises; “I have come that you might have life and you might have it more abundantly.”

What would that look like here, in our community? What would Pentecost look like here in Aberdeen, on the harbor?

What would the text read? We’re even a people of many languages just like that ancient Pentecost beginning. We are a community that comes from many places—people who speak or once spoke German, and Swedish, Norwegian, French and Finnish, Spanish and Trique, and the old languages of our First Peoples, that languages that some of my Native friends try to teach me.

What do we dream, my brothers and sisters, what do we dream?

I dream of a fire lighted in our community. That we come together as a community and care for each other. That we build a new future for ourselves. That we claim our dignity as children of God. That we treat everyone with dignity, following through on our baptismal vows to “respect the dignity of every human being.”  

Let us dare to dream here on the harbor. Dare to imagine a transformed community. Dare to love and trust our neighbors. Dare to embrace all of who we are.

Let us pray for the coming of the Holy Spirit in our midst!