Gloria Dei Lutheran Church

Happy Pentecost! This day has often been referred to as the “birthday” of the church, when we celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit to the followers of Jesus gathered in Jerusalem, who were then sent out to share the good news of the liberation offered through Jesus the Christ. The color of the day is red, symbolizing the fire of the Spirit’s presence; our red twirlers represent the Holy Spirit in our midst. Our liturgy, music, and readings all speak to the ways the Holy Spirit has been present with the world since Creation.

We may be most familiar with descriptions of the Holy Spirit arriving in a rush of wind, appearing as tongues of fire over the heads of those gathered, loosening their tongues to proclaim the Gospel in many languages so that all could hear this good news in their own language. A big, dramatic scene, much like the Royal Fireworks music we heard in the processional.

Our gospel story from John offers a quieter and more intimate giving of the Holy Spirit.

We return to Easter evening, back to the locked room with the followers of Jesus. We hear about ten of the original disciples, and perhaps other followers of Jesus who had gathered together after hearing the impossible news that their teacher, who had died just days before, was risen from the dead. They were afraid. Grieving. Unsure of what their future looked like, if they even had any.

Into this room full of fear and grief, the risen Christ appeared, offering words of peace and showing them the wounds on his hands and in his side. He again spoke words of peace, gave them a commission, then breathed the Holy Spirit into them, giving them the ministry of forgiveness and reconciliation.

Astute followers of the Revised Common Lectionary may notice that our gospel today is the first part of the reading traditionally heard on the Sunday after Easter, six weeks ago. Usually Thomas steals the show then, with his doubt transformed into a confession of Christ’s divinity.

So this story becomes a kind of bookend for our Easter season. We’ve journeyed through the resurrection appearances, spent time in the Upper Room with Jesus and his disciples, and now arrive back in the locked room, the room full of fear and grief.

Perhaps this isn’t where we expected to be. We live in a resurrected world, right? So why do we return to this part of the story—the fear, the uncertainty, the grief—the part that hits a little too close to home as we continue to grapple with the things that overwhelm us, that keep ourselves and so many others in metaphorical locked rooms? 

The losses. The unforgiven relationships with others and with parts of ourselves. The fear and anxiety caused by forces that seem outside our control, powers that feel like they hold life and death in their hands for ourselves, for others, and for the earth and all its inhabitants. 

We perhaps long for the version of the Holy Spirit who blows through rooms as a dramatic hurricane, sweeping away the unwanted clutter of our lives. Or for her to show up as a powerful fire that will burn down all of the broken and decaying systems that have an outsize impact on our lives and the world around us. Or at least burn more powerfully than a dumpster fire. Or the Spirit who gives us exactly the right words to speak convincingly to those who distort the faith we hold dear, those who peddle a shadow version of peace through war, reconciliation through division, belonging through nationalism, satisfaction through consumption.

Perhaps we want another dramatic, divine intervention that will set all things right. True confession, that’s what I often find myself praying for these days.

But in the gospel of John, all we get is breath.

I’m going to invite us all to pay attention to our breath for a few moments. Breathe in as you feel comfortable. Notice your chest expanding, and then contracting as you breathe out. Again, breathe in and breathe out. Fullness, then emptiness. Tension, then release. 

Somatic practitioners, spiritual directors, chaplains, meditators, and many others speak about the power of paying attention to our breath as a way to regulate our nervous systems, drawing us back to our core selves and creating spaciousness in times of stress or fear. The experience of tension and release can reorient our minds and bodies away from spiraling emotions and back toward steadiness and calm.

Beyond this, breath connects us to all creation. Author and therapist Resmaa Menakem writes in My Grandmother’s Hands about the power of breathing with others as a way of bringing us into sync with one another, helping our nervous systems relax and opening possibilities for healing, particularly across racial divides. Think about singing together and the impact that has on our bodies and spirits.

Theologians and ethicists Laurel Schneider and Thelathia Nikki Young speak of the physical reality of breathing, how it’s largely invisible but “laden with  molecules, moisture, and the breath of other creatures. Pumped by lungs, breathing is muscular and emotional.” It’s a physical action that connects us deeply with other creatures in the world.

In that locked room on the evening of the resurrection, in the midst of fear and grief, Jesus breathed the Holy Spirit into his disciples.

The quality of Jesus’ breath connects with the first creation story where God breathed into the nostrils of the first human being, bringing them to life. It echoes the breath that re-animated the dry bones of Ezekiel’s vision. It was perhaps the breath that filled Jesus’ lungs earlier on that Easter morning, bringing his body back to life. And now Jesus was breathing this breath into his disciples as they became a new creation through him. 

Several weeks ago, Pastor Bradley described an ancient baptismal practice of the church where the pastor would breathe on the baptized person to symbolize the way Jesus gave the Holy Spirit to his disciples. Receive the Holy Spirit. In Christ, you are a new creation.

Through our baptisms, we have received the gift of the Holy Spirit. She is with us, even and perhaps especially in our experiences of grief and fear, and has been with us all along. Our lungs are filled with this breath of God, connecting us with all of creation, settling our bodies, filling us with the very same peace that Christ shared with his disciples on the evening of the resurrection. 

We are released from the fear and grief that tighten our bodies and close us off from one another. We are opened to the new, life-giving possibilities the Holy Spirit is already cultivating in our lives and in the world around us. Filled with Christ’s peace through baptism and through the meal we share at the communion table, we are sent forth to speak peace to anxious hearts, to love our enemies, and to bring Christ’s healing to the nations, in the words of our prayer after communion.

This healing, peace-making commission is being lived out in our midst.

Among the orders of business at last week’s Synod Assembly was to consider a resolution that addressed the issue of gun violence. It was presented by an 11-year-old boy accompanied by his grandfather. He had been moved to learn more about gun violence after the shooting at Annunciation last August. With the support of his grandfather, our bishop, and many other adults, he wrote a resolution encouraging congregations of the Saint Paul Area Synod to study gun violence and then act as peacemakers by urging their friends, family, and networks to advocate for a ban on assault weapons and high-capacity magazine sales. 

As he presented, he spoke of the toll of gun violence on children and named ways that our current reality could change so that violence of this sort would no longer happen. It was a powerful witness and the resolution passed easily. We’ll have opportunities to engage this issue in the fall with other congregations across Minnesota and the Dakotas, thanks to the leadership of our Region 3 bishops as well as the 11-year-old.

Many of us were deeply moved by the boy’s witness. He spoke peace to hearts broken and troubled by the many acts of violence in our state this past year. On the same weekend when many hoped for a legislative miracle on this issue, this quieter, but no less authoritative movement of the Spirit was taking place in our midst. A breath of air, perhaps signaling the beginning of a new creation.

With each breath we take, we are reminded of the presence of the Holy Spirit in our world, bringing Christ and his peace deep within us, even closer than our breathing. And we go out speaking this peace to a broken, beautiful world, trusting that the Holy Spirit is already there, bringing a renewed creation into being.

Amen.