Collapsed towers and confused tongues;
fire and thunder and trembling mountains;
the sun turned to darkness,
and the moon to blood;
a valley filled with rattling bones
reassembling themselves
into spiritless bodies;
all creation groaning in labor pains
even until now.
Welcome to the feast of Pentecost.
fire and thunder and trembling mountains;
the sun turned to darkness,
and the moon to blood;
a valley filled with rattling bones
reassembling themselves
into spiritless bodies;
all creation groaning in labor pains
even until now.
Welcome to the feast of Pentecost.
The ancient Vigil of Pentecost
offers us what appears to be
catastrophic image
after catastrophic image
as it prepares us
for the descent of the Spirit.
It might feel more like
a dystopian disaster movie
than the arrival of the Paraclete.
It might feel more
like catastrophe than comfort.
This word “catastrophe,”
which we associate with
the sudden arrival of bad fortune,
comes from Greek
and means literally an overturning.
It is a catastrophe when peoples’ lives
are turned upside down
by wars or natural disasters,
by serious illness or personal tragedy,
by fickle fortune
or deliberate deception.
But the greatest of all catastrophes is sin,
which overturns the order
of our very existence,
as we try to place ourselves above God,
above the one who is
the source of our existence.
The 14th-century mystic Julian of Norwich
wrote, “Adam’s sin was the greatest harm
ever done or ever to be done
until the end of the world.”
In rejecting the true source of life,
we overturn the order of creation,
so that what we call life is nothing but
one long catastrophic decline into death.
which overturns the order
of our very existence,
as we try to place ourselves above God,
above the one who is
the source of our existence.
The 14th-century mystic Julian of Norwich
wrote, “Adam’s sin was the greatest harm
ever done or ever to be done
until the end of the world.”
In rejecting the true source of life,
we overturn the order of creation,
so that what we call life is nothing but
one long catastrophic decline into death.
The arrival of sin in the world
is a catastrophe, an overturning.
The arrival of the Spirit is likewise
a catastrophe, an overturning,
but of a radically different sort.
It is the comforting catastrophe,
because the Spirit takes the world
that we have turned upside down
and turns it over once again;
the Spirit comes
to overturn our overturning,
to blow into our lives like a whirlwind
that dispels our disobedience,
and sounds like thunder and rattling bones,
breathing itself into the living death
that we call life.
The Spirit arrives
with catastrophic comfort
that can seem to us quite uncomfortable
because what we take to be
the proper order and peace of the world
is actually the disorder and strife of sin.
We think it is only right
that the strong should oppress the weak.
We think it is only right
that we should amass all the wealth we can.
We think it is only right
that we should live for ourselves first,
and judge others on the basis
of how useful they are
to our life projects.
We grow comfortable with the world’s fallenness;
we make our peace with sin and call it order.
And when the Spirit blows into this fallenness
and blows apart this illusion of order,
it seems to us to be chaos and peril.
is a catastrophe, an overturning.
The arrival of the Spirit is likewise
a catastrophe, an overturning,
but of a radically different sort.
It is the comforting catastrophe,
because the Spirit takes the world
that we have turned upside down
and turns it over once again;
the Spirit comes
to overturn our overturning,
to blow into our lives like a whirlwind
that dispels our disobedience,
and sounds like thunder and rattling bones,
breathing itself into the living death
that we call life.
The Spirit arrives
with catastrophic comfort
that can seem to us quite uncomfortable
because what we take to be
the proper order and peace of the world
is actually the disorder and strife of sin.
We think it is only right
that the strong should oppress the weak.
We think it is only right
that we should amass all the wealth we can.
We think it is only right
that we should live for ourselves first,
and judge others on the basis
of how useful they are
to our life projects.
We grow comfortable with the world’s fallenness;
we make our peace with sin and call it order.
And when the Spirit blows into this fallenness
and blows apart this illusion of order,
it seems to us to be chaos and peril.
But the fire and the thunder
and the trembling of the mountain
are but the echo
of God’s call to his chosen people:
“if you hearken to my voice…
you shall be my special possession….
You shall be to me
a kingdom of priests, a holy nation.”
The sun turned to darkness,
and the moon to blood
are but signs of the day on which
the Spirit shall be poured out on all flesh,
so that everyone who calls
on the name of the Lord
will be saved.
The valley of rattling bones
is but the prelude to impending resurrection,
when the Spirit will come from the four winds
to breathe new life into our bodies.
The groaning of all creation
is but the sound of the Spirit
who prays within us
with sighs too deep for words
as we await the redemption of our bodies.
The catastrophic comfort of the Spirit
shakes apart the world of sin
and wakes us from the slumber
of its false promises of peace.
and the trembling of the mountain
are but the echo
of God’s call to his chosen people:
“if you hearken to my voice…
you shall be my special possession….
You shall be to me
a kingdom of priests, a holy nation.”
The sun turned to darkness,
and the moon to blood
are but signs of the day on which
the Spirit shall be poured out on all flesh,
so that everyone who calls
on the name of the Lord
will be saved.
The valley of rattling bones
is but the prelude to impending resurrection,
when the Spirit will come from the four winds
to breathe new life into our bodies.
The groaning of all creation
is but the sound of the Spirit
who prays within us
with sighs too deep for words
as we await the redemption of our bodies.
The catastrophic comfort of the Spirit
shakes apart the world of sin
and wakes us from the slumber
of its false promises of peace.
And once we are awakened by the Spirit
we can hear the voice of Christ:
“Let anyone who thirsts come to me and drink.”
Come to me and drink of my grace.
Come to me and receive the Spirit
of wisdom and understanding,
of right judgment and courage,
of knowledge and reverence,
of wonder and awe.
True life is found not in dreams
of power and wealth and self-seeking,
but in a gift freely given.
The Spirit awakens us
to hear the voice of Christ
calling us into his body,
so that the deep thirst of our souls
might be quenched,
and his love in us
might be kindled,
and our weary hearts
might know true peace—
his peace,
which surpasses all understanding.
May God, who is merciful,
have mercy on us all
and grant us peace.
we can hear the voice of Christ:
“Let anyone who thirsts come to me and drink.”
Come to me and drink of my grace.
Come to me and receive the Spirit
of wisdom and understanding,
of right judgment and courage,
of knowledge and reverence,
of wonder and awe.
True life is found not in dreams
of power and wealth and self-seeking,
but in a gift freely given.
The Spirit awakens us
to hear the voice of Christ
calling us into his body,
so that the deep thirst of our souls
might be quenched,
and his love in us
might be kindled,
and our weary hearts
might know true peace—
his peace,
which surpasses all understanding.
May God, who is merciful,
have mercy on us all
and grant us peace.
