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Pentecost

Acts 2
When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. 2 Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. 3 They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues[a] as the Spirit enabled them. 5 Now there were staying in Jerusalem God-fearing Jews from every nation under heaven. 6 When they heard this sound, a crowd came together in bewilderment, because each one heard their own language being spoken. 7 Utterly amazed, they asked: “Aren’t all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 Then how is it that each of us hears them in our native language?

Now that I’m attending Yale (on the internet), my entire worldview may need to change. And while I’m only listening to one class (on the internet), I take seriously the traditions of such a storied school.

First of all, I have to say “Go Bulldogs,” although I have no idea what that means. Then I casually mention that five presidents when to Yale, including such notables as George W. and George H.W. Next, I express my new dislike for hated rivals Harvard and Princeton, then suggest that I may join the Scull and Bones, a secret society for Yale people like me, also busy running the CIA. Finally, I’ll give Meryl Streep (class of ’75) a shout, because I think we now share a unique bond.

While attending History 210 (on the internet), Dr. Freedman shared a concept that describes both the goal of the Roman gentleman and those of us lucky enough to attend Yale: Leisure with dignity. Coined by Cicero, otium cum dignitate for you Latin speakers in the crowd, leisure with dignity began as a retirement strategy and eventually became a lifestyle in and of itself.

The Romans, it seems, did not like work. Manual labour, unless it involved fighting, was beneath them. And so for them, leisure with dignity meant a life of contemplation, perhaps some writing, and conversation over wine to discuss various Roman virtues and maybe the lives of dead Greeks. Only fools and slaves got their hands dirty.

Now that I have you imagining this life of leisure with dignity, maybe reclining in your toga in the late morning sun, I want to show you a different scene in antiquity, this one in Jerusalem, under the same morning sun:

Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. 3 They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues[a] as the Spirit enabled them.

There was no dignity at Pentecost. 3,000 gathered without a toga in sight. There was no contemplation, Horace was not quoted, no one reclined, and it certainly wasn’t quiet. The violent wind and varied tongues ensured that all the dignity in the occasion was burned up, consumed in dipping flame and excited utterance.

And there was no dignity in the crowd. These were not men of education or leisure. Jesus didn’t travel to Athens or Rome to call the disciples, he went to a fishing village on the edge of nowhere. These men had calloused hands, a bent backs, and very likely smelled of yesterday’s catch.

The Pentecost crowd would be those fools and slaves that got their hands dirty, along with tax collectors and prostitutes and every other kind of redeemed sinner who managed to befriend Jesus. They were decidedly foreign, and therefore suspect, unless you could quote Horace, which of course they could not.

And there was no dignity in the day either. Even the idea of a crowd would make the Roman gentleman uneasy, much less a crowd seized by the Holy Spirit and shouting in their native tongue and fighting gusts of many knots.

When we think of baptism we think of (sometimes) placid infants, in slippery sateen, with beaming parents and grandparents. Think again. While baptism at Central has a certain dignity, you won’t find any dignity when you baptize 3,000 people. Baptism on that day was messy, and chaotic, with shouts of thanksgiving and the tears of people reborn. When you die to self and emerge from the mud reborn in Christ, there is no dignity, and no leisure, only new life.

And what came next would certainly make Cicero spin in his grave:

44 All the believers were together and had everything in common. 45 They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. 46 Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, 47 praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people.

As if to prove to themselves and the world that they were not Roman gentlemen, or part of the leisured class, or even interested in themselves, they did the impossible in the world’s eyes: they shared what they had.

And while we can be certain that no one sold a villa or this year’s chariot, they did the messy and undignified act of self-sacrifice and mutual support that Jesus suggested, selling all that they had in able to truly follow. Maybe it was a second tunic, or a staff, or a store of dried fish: every little bit helped, according to Acts 2, something that would be lost on most.

And this lack of dignity--a lack of dignity in the world’s eyes--continues. Some dirty their hands in a neighbour’s garden, or sweeping up downstairs, or in the grease produced from 20 lb. of ground beef, or holding the sticky hands of a child. We have made a habit of doing the things that have no value in worldly terms, and for this we stand in a long tradition. Begun in chaos, and an apparent lack of dignity, may it always be so, thanks be to God, Amen.

posted by michael jacob kooiman @ 12:24 PM