During the Woman’s Co-op board meetings, Teresa has been running the board through a brief course on Dr. Ruby Payne’s work on hidden rules in economic structure. I first became acquainted with Dr. Payne’s work on internship, and it was incredibly helpful to me in understanding the families I was working with. So it was great to come to Trinity and discover that Co-op also bases its work in Dr. Payne’s ideas.
If you’re unfamiliar with her work, Dr. Payne posits that the three major economic classes, poverty class, middle class, and the wealthy, each operate under their own hidden rules. Most of us, and most institutions, function under the rules of middle class, so we may not be aware of the barriers that the rules create. Teresa uses the example of food. For the poverty class, the question is quantity, is there enough food? For the middle class, the question is quality, am I getting what I’m paying for? For the wealthy class, the question is presentation, how is this food being served to me? For me, the experience that most drilled in the existence of these rules was working with the kids on my internship. One of the hidden rules is the relationship to noise. Middle class needs and expects quiet to process information, while the poverty class actually functions better when things are louder. Atonement was a very diverse congregation, and by a funny fluke of ages I had an entirely middle class confirmation group and an entirely poverty class senior high youth group. So on Sunday mornings in confirmation, if the kids were screwing around and making noise, I knew they weren’t listening. But on Sunday evenings in youth group, the opposite was true. If the kids were quiet and seemed to be paying attention, they probably weren’t listening. The groups weren’t better or worse, they just learned and processed information differently.
This may just be fun facts for church youth groups, but think of the implications on a broader spectrum. Like, think of what these rules mean for kids in the education system. Our schools are set up mostly on middle class rules, you sit in your seat, you raise your hand, you are quiet and don’t bother your neighbor. That’s great if you think best when things are quiet. But what if you are the kid from my internship youth group, who thought best when she was upside-down under the couch cushion with her headphones on? That kid was super smart. Seriously, she was a science wizard; I think she ended up with a full-ride scholarship to Syracuse University to study chemistry. But if the church hadn’t recognized she learned differently, stepped in and really advocated for her at her school, she more than likely would have been passed over as another screw-up kid who couldn’t stay in her seat.
That kind of boundary crossing and translation work are why I became a pastor and why I do the work I do. It was watching how the pastor at Luther Place Memorial Church in Washington, DC ministered to the women of N Street Village. And how the presence of that congregation changed not just the lives of those women, but literally changed the face of the whole neighborhood. It was worshiping at a different DC church, First Trinity Lutheran, which boasted a bell choir that included both a retired senior diplomat from the state department and a woman who wore a tin foil covered bicycle helmet to protect her from the Pope trying to read her thoughts. And I have to say, the woman with the tin foil hat had a way better sense of rhythm than the retired diplomat. It was the youth group at Atonement in Syracuse, and the guy from the AFC home who actually thought my name was Victor, and the weird little church in Chicago whose membership was a really diverse mix of gay men and old Swedish people, united in their love of organ music and high church liturgy. All these are the places where I’ve gotten to see the church at its best, this place where diverse people and ideas come together to hear the promise of God spoken to them in their own language, learn a bit of someone else’s language, and in the process create a community where no one is in need.
I see it here at Trinity too. In the prayground and the worship kits, and the way no one blinks an eye, and in fact people smile, when a kid ribbon dances their way through the sanctuary during a hymn. In the joyful chaos of the Under One Roof fellowship meal, and the way the Co-op clothing closet tends to spill out into the hallway, and my very favorite picture from the Christmas Pageant a few years ago, where Michelle looks like the grumpiest angel, there is a “come as you are” spirit to this place, where anything, literally anything, goes. [Pause]
“When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire… rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages as the Spirit gave them ability.”
In the Pentecost story, the apostles were given the ability to be understood in different languages. If you’re familiar with The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series, it’s like the little fish that they stick in their ear that translates for them. Devout Jews from various nations heard them speaking in the person’s own native tongue; Partians heard Parthian, Medes heard Mede, and so on. The Holy Spirit gave the apostles the ability to transcend the limitations of language, to cross barriers of understanding, so that the good news of God’s deeds of power could be proclaimed, just as Jesus had commanded. This is a pretty incredible miracle. And I’m not really good with foreign languages, so this is not one that I’m likely to accomplish anytime soon. But we know from Dr. Payne’s work that spoken language and dialect differences are not the only language barrier that needs to be crossed in order to effectively proclaim the good news of God. There is the language of culture, of experience, of age or gender or sexual identity. There is the language of mental or physical ability. And of course, Dr. Payne’s extensive work on the language of socio-economic backgrounds. If we believe this Pentecost story, if we believe that the Holy Spirit has been poured out on us, like Peter said it has been, then we have been given the ability to speak in these various tongues, to proclaim God’s forgiveness, love, and salvation, in all variety of languages. That’s not to say this will be easy. Speaking in these foreign tongues will be uncomfortable; it will take us out of our comfort zone. And it will mean people will look at us funny. Think about the Pentecost story again, the crowds heard the apostles speaking and said, “they are filled with new wine.” But the risk of a few side-eyed glances from people whom, let’s face it, may think a bit more highly of themselves than they ought, is nothing compared to the reward of getting to see what the Spirit might be about in this place.
And, fun fact—you know I can’t get through a sermon without a fun fact—the word translated “fire” is the Greek word pyr, like pyrotechnic. Theologian J. Levison says pyr was often used as a metaphor for prophetic inspiration. Prophetic, remember, does not mean to predict the future, it’s not fortune-telling. It means to speak truth in the present, to see a new way forward based on an honest assessment of now. Levison believes that Luke’s tongues of fire meant that the apostles were given both the power to speak the word of God effectively and to think and teach about God in new ways. It meant the apostles were no longer bound to old ways of being; they were free to interpret scripture, to teach, and to live in new ways. On Ascension they asked Jesus when he would restore the kingdom to Israel; on Pentecost they received the ability not to restore the past, but to create the future.
So what does this mean? I think of the reading from Ezekiel. Ezekiel looked upon a field of dry bones and was asked, “can these bones live?” A field of dry, brittle bones, any logical person, upon looking at this scene would say no. These bones glory was in their past, there is nothing new here for them now. But instead Ezekiel replied, “O Lord God, you know.” Then the Lord told Ezekiel, “Prophesy to these bones.” Speak truth to these bones. Tell these bones who they are, and who they could be. Tell them of the good news of God’s deeds of power, in their own native language, in words they can understand. So Ezekiel prophesied to the bones, and flesh came upon them, and “breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their own feet, a vast multitude.” Not the flesh they had before, not the breath they had before, but new flesh, new breath, new life, a new promise for this new moment in time. There are plenty who look around Post Addition and see nothing but a field of dry bones, a glorious past now laid waste in a dusty future. But we know the truth, we have a leg up on Ezekiel even, the bones of this place are great bones, strong and solid, filled with promise, just waiting for breath to come upon them again. And we are the ones called to prophesy, the ones on whom the tongues of fire have rested. The ones called to say, as God has commanded, “O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act.” Thanks be to God. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment