A Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Rhonda Abbott Blevins

Senior Pastor, Chapel by the Sea, Clearwater Beach FL

Read the Lectionary Texts

Are you seeing red? Have you noticed the red paraments and the pastors’ flashy red stoles? Even the choir is donned in red! It’s Pentecost Sunday, traditionally the only Sunday of the year when churches get all decked out in red. It’s one of my favorite Sundays of the Christian year, because, well, I’m a “winter,” and I look good in red!

Today we celebrate the birthday of the worldwide church. Today we remember how the Holy Spirit blew in on those early followers of Christ, settling upon them like fire. Today we remember that in Christ’s church there is but one language. . .the language of love uniting all believers under the banner of Christ.

So if you’re seeing red, it’s because on this day, more than any other day in the Christian year, we celebrate how the Holy Spirit lit a fire in those early believers, a fire still burning strong over two millennia later! Except in some churches.

There’s a story about a new pastor to an aging congregation who told his people that he would be serving prune juice for Holy Communion. When asked why he would dare entertain such a thought, he told his people, “If the Holy Spirit won’t move you. . .the prune juice will!”

Have you ever been in a church like that? A church so dead that if someone were to have a heart attack, when the EMTs arrived, they wouldn’t be quite sure who to treat? I’ve certainly attended some churches like that. But I’ve also had some very memorable worship experiences.

The first one that comes to mind was an Episcopalian service in New York City. It was the “coolest” worship service I’ve ever attended. The building appeared to be a typical New York City flat; you’d never know there was a church inside except for the unassuming sign out front. When you walked in, you met a staircase which led you upstairs into a cozy sanctuary where you could grab a cup of gourmet coffee and find a seat for the service. The unique thing about the service was that all of the music was jazz. We sang the old hymns accompanied by jazz piano and saxophone, the musicianship as skilled as any jazz club anywhere. Jazz worship! Man, it was cool! What a memorable worship experience.

On the other end of the spectrum, I attended a worship service at a United Baptist Church of Christ in Southeast Kentucky. The preaching was “performed” by a young preacher boy, and he was one of those “gasping” preachers. Those preachers really earn their paychecks! Being an unknown face in the crowd, that preacher stood in the aisle and preached right over me. If I was lost, he was going to make sure I was found that day! I was a little scared in that worship service. I entirely expected they’d bring out the snakes any moment, and if so, I was going to save myself out the back door! Another memorable worship experience.

And then I had the opportunity to worship with illegal immigrants in North Africa. Mostly sub-Saharan African folks, they entered this particular country carrying little more than their Christian faith with them. However, in this Muslim nation, forming a Christian church is completely illegal.  My travel companions and I, like the other worshippers that day, slipped in two by two so as not to attract attention to ourselves. We made our way upstairs into a space smaller than our own narthex, probably 150 people crammed in to sing and pray and hear the word of God. A hot summer day with no air conditioning, the doors and windows were kept closed to prevent those on the outside from hearing their unlawful, yet highly emotive celebration. A couple of men stood guard outside to warn the rest of us in the event of trouble. After a couple of hours of singing and dancing and clapping, we left two by two, my companions and I completely ashamed of how we take our freedom and our faith for granted. Certainly a memorable worship experience.

I’ve worshiped in a black house church in coastal Carolina and in a grand cathedral in Western Europe. I’ve experienced communion at a charismatic Catholic service where, when the host (communion bread) was presented by the priest, it was received in rock star fashion with a high-tech light show and worshipers jumping to their feet screaming and raising their hands. I’ve also been with a small youth group on a mission trip that held communion with Twinkies and Mountain Dew instead of bread and wine.

And what I can tell you through all of those varied experiences, through jazz worship in a cosmopolitan city, through the gasping preacher in rural Kentucky, through illegal worship in a Muslim nation, with Charismatic Catholics and slightly irreverent teenagers. . .through every single experience, THE HOLY SPIRIT WAS THERE!

You see, ever since that day when the Holy Spirit came upon those 120 people crammed into a small upper room with no air conditioning . . . ever since then the fire has been burning! The fire that caused each person to hear in their own language is the same fire that unites all Christians throughout the world today, no matter how we choose to express our faith!

I loved that jazz service in New York City. I really did. I really hated that scary service in Southeast Kentucky. It’s tempting to think that the Holy Spirit was hanging out somewhere else when that gasping preacher’s spittle landed on my cheek. But whether or not I like the form, whether or not I like the style, one thing God’s word teaches me is that whenever or however  Christian people gather, God’s Spirit is there! The fire is still burning! Are you seeing red? It’s that Holy Spirit fire still burning strong!

Or maybe you’re “seeing red” in another way. The way most often intended through the common use of the idiom. When people say “I’m seeing red,” they often mean they’re angry. Or more precisely, they’re livid. I’ve met some people along the way that when it comes to church, they’re “seeing red.”

Like the young mother who sat in my office one day when I was a campus minister. She’d gotten mixed up in a group that claimed to be Christian, but they used extremely coercive and manipulative tactics. They functioned more like a cult than any church I’ve ever experienced. She had fallen subject to their brainwashing, and they told her that the facial burns her little girl suffered during a house fire were God’s punishment for her personal sin. When she sat in my office that day, finally coming out from under their stronghold, she was “seeing red.” Her anger palpable. Can you blame her?

Then there’s the young man who “sees red” every time he thinks about church. He grew up in a tradition that when the offering plate made its way around the sanctuary and landed back at the pastor, if the pastor determined they hadn’t given enough money, they’d send the plates back around again. Two times, often three times and even more, those offering plates would make their way around the sanctuary. Nobody could leave until the day’s budget was met. When the young man learned that this pastor was making a six-figure salary with a church of about 50 members, he understood why the offering plates needed to make so many rounds. He now has nothing to do with the church. Can you blame him?

As this young man and I recently discussed faith, I didn’t make excuses for the church. Maybe because I’ve been “burned” by the church just like him.

As a young girl, I felt loved and nurtured by the church. I felt accepted and cared for. I was drawn to the church from an early age, so much so that in college I began to think about serving the church vocationally. But that church, the church that loved and nurtured me, the church that accepted and cared for me, that same church rejected me simply because of my gender. They told me I couldn’t be a minister or pastor. It wasn’t my place. God wouldn’t call a woman into pastoral ministry. Hurt and wounded by the rejection, it took me a long time to forgive that church. For a long, long time, when I thought about that church, I was indeed “seeing red.”

In that conversation with the young man (the one turned off by the money-hungry pastor) I discovered that we’re not so different, this young man who basically hates the church, and myself, one dedicated to serving the church my entire adult life. We’re both people of faith. The real difference, I suggested to him, is that I still have HOPE in the church.

Has the church messed up? Absolutely! From the Crusades of long ago to wrongs inflicted upon Jews, and women, and minorities even today, we don’t have to look too hard to discover that the church is not perfect.

But I still have hope in the church. Why? Because of you. You give me hope in the church.

Because as I’m getting to know you, I’m seeing red. The red that comes from the fire I see burning inside you.

That Holy Spirit fire that makes you forget about yourself and perform daring acts of love to those around you, like going out of your way to welcome a new person into the church or community.

That Holy Spirit fire that compels you to serve the Good Samaritan Center or the Child Advocacy Center or other meaningful causes.

That Holy Spirit fire that spurs you to bake cookies for a grieving family or work in the kitchen for church dinners.

That Holy Spirit fire that draws you out to help build a Habitat House or to cut the lawn for someone in the hospital.

That Holy Spirit fire that prompts you to knit shawls for hurting people or fill bird feeders at a nursing home.

That Holy Spirit fire that moved you to get up out of bed and get yourself to church this morning, not for what you’d GET OUT of coming, but for what your presence would OFFER to your brothers and sisters gathered here today.

Yes, I’m seeing red today. Not because I’m angry at the church. I’m seeing red because I see the Holy Spirit fire burning brightly in every person here. And I’m hopeful, that together, WE can be the church that actually makes God proud. Amen.