Pentecost and the upstream waters
The moment of Pentecost is God coming down—not humanity climbing up—to give us access here and now to further upstream waters.
Pentecost Sermon 2025
This is only the beginning of what they will do; and nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them.
In the name of the +Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
If for no other reason than to capture the attention of my nine year old son, and at the risk of losing the respect of the more dignified in our midst, I want to share some advice for those of you who plan to go backpacking or canoeing near a river any time in the years to come.
This is especially poignant advice if your aim is to remain friends with your camping companions.
When you pee in a river while camping—not if, but when—always do so downstream from your group.
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Rivers are incredible natural features.
They may grow shallow or dry up, but in their prime they are nothing short of incredible to behold. They have captured the minds and hearts of many throughout the ages, from philosophers and adventurers to mathematicians and naturalist.
They wind and they carve,
they babble and form rapids,
and they are filled with life.
You never step in the same river twice
Claimed the Greek philosopher Heraclitus. And he is right.
Rivers, by nature, flow. Most often from north to south—usually from higher elevation to lower—but they always flow without failfrom a source.
Melted snow. A natural spring.
And the source of every river can be found upstream.
There you will find the river in its purest form.
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Everything you see—and everything you can’t see—in the created order reveals something about God.
As St. Paul wrote to the Church in Rome:
God’s invisible nature—namely his eternal power and divine essence—has been clearly perceived in the things that have been made.
Christians have spoken throughout the ages of God’s two books to humanity:
The Book of His Word and the Book of His World.
Both exist—though in different ways—to reveal to us who God is and what he is doing in the world.
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There is a way of life—Jesus calls it the abundant life—that is marked by stability in the midst of change, joy regardless of circumstance, and perseverance in the midst of suffering.
You recognize this way of life when you see it in someone.
In ages past, we called these sort of people—the ones marked by this way of life—saints.
They all have a secret. A pathway to obtaining this life. Whether they were 15th century French soldiers or 3rd century desert hermits, they all had something in common.
Their lives were spent traveling upstream.
They lived in pursuit of the source of the river of life.
They recognized that the further downstream one gets from the fountainhead—from the source of the river—the murkier the water gets.
And saints are those who are simply not content with murky water.
They are willing to abandon the downstream life in order to pursue life further upstream.
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I find the story of the Tower of Babel to be the most intriguing ten sentences in the entire book of Genesis.
The opening eleven chapters of the book of Genesis seek to explain why the world is the way it is. And though these stories were first told thousands of years ago, they offer a surprisingly accurate vision of our world, even today.
The final story of this opening section of our Scriptures is none other than the Tower of Babel. A capstone story told in a single paragraph.
Genesis tells us that the whole earth had one language, and few words. Though they did not say much, communication was easy.
But what they did choose to say to one another speaks volumes. Only twice in this passage are the words of this ancient civilization recorded, and yet both times the same phrase is used by those building the Tower:
Let us make…
“Let us make” is not neutral language in the narrative of Scripture. It is God himself who first says “Let us make” in Genesis 1 when he creates the first humans in his image.
And in Genesis 11 we see humanity taking the creative reins—we see humans attempting to recreate themselves.
The Tower of Babel is an ancient story of a group of humans who realized that by harnessing God’s world for their own purposes, they could become like gods.
It warns of the all-too-familiar temptation to take God’s World by the horns, and turn it inward on ourselves.
To hone in on something downstream from the true source of life—the technology of bricks in this case—and to make it your one obsession. Your pathway to greatness. Your opportunity to become whatever you want to become.
This is the ever present temptation of technology, isn’t it? Taking a tool—something meant to make some part of your life easier—and elevating it to becoming the center of your world.
When we do that—when we grasp hold of something in the murky downstream waters and turn our entire attention on it—it does not go well for us, or for those whose lives are closely linked to ours.
In the Tower of Babel, we catch a glimpse of what happens to a human community, when the fountainhead of the river of life is abandoned for a downstream pursuit.
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Today we celebrate the Feast of Pentecost. And in doing so, we celebrate both the reversal and the redemption of the Tower of Babel. This is why our Genesis reading is always paired with the Story of Pentecost.
In the book of Acts, we read that the disciples were gathered together following the Ascension of Jesus.
They had been with Jesus after his resurrection, they heard his promise to never leave or forsake them, and then they saw him Ascend back into the realm of heaven.
With Jesus, they had tasted the upstream waters. They were no longer content with the downstream life. They had been changed.
And they knew that this abundant life was not the sort of thing that they could create on their own.
And so they were waiting. They were waiting for God to act. They are gathered together expecting him to fulfill his promise to be with them always.
And in the blink of an eye, a rush of wind, and the descending of a fire that did not consume, God appeared. The disciples were indwelled with the Holy Spirit—the fountainhead of the river of life, coming to live in their midst.
And the results were evident. People from all over the world who spoke countless languages were able to see and understand exactly what God has done, and what He has invited them into.
In Babel, human beings saw their own ingenuity as the source of their power. In Pentecost, humans are given eyes to see that it is God who sustains life.
In Babel, humanity built a tower to reach heaven. In Pentecost, God himself came down upon humanity, giving them true power.
In Babel, the result of a human power grab was the confusion of language and the division of human cultures. In Pentecost, the receiving of power as a gift from on high resulted in different cultures understanding the Good News of God in Christ without giving up what made them who they are. Unity, not conformity.
The moment of Pentecost is God coming down—not humanity climbing up—to give us access here and now to further upstream waters.
And this season of Pentecost is here—year after year—to remind us to turn our focus up the river.
And Pentecost comes with a decision. A series of decisions, in fact.
You can continue to chase things downstream. You can turn your back to the fountainhead and try to make the most sense of and derive the most pleasure from what you see in the murky waters.
Or you can turn, yet again, and continue the difficult but refreshing journey upstream.
This is only the beginning of what they will do; and nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them.
Amen.
Really enjoyed this sermon today!!