Exodus 17:1-6; Acts 2:1-11; I Peter 2:4-5
Tongues of fire leap from person to person! A gale-force wind whips through the city! A dove shocks the crowd as she lands on a man emerging out of the river. Today is Pentecost–a holiday filled with drama and danger, surprise, disruption and possibility.
The opening part of our service reflects that energy. A giant dove makes its way down the aisle, and we wonder if it will knock down the chandelier or bump a tall worshipper. Children wave fiery streamers with such enthusiasm we don’t know where the flames might spread. We baptize a beautiful baby–curious how she will respond to the water on her forehead, opening ourselves to the mystery of how her holy life will unfold. We revel in the creative chaos of fire and wind, water and a wild dove.
And then, with our anthem, the energy shifts. Suddenly we are singing about rock. Compared to fire and wind and doves and a baby, rock seems so…..hard. Solid, unmoving, seeming unchanging. Instead of chaos we have stability. Instead of motion we have inertia. Rock conjures up all sorts of associations, some positive, some not. We call a faithful friend “our rock.” We also say that someone who seems uncaring has “a heart of stone.” When we are stuck, we say we are “caught between a rock and a hard place.”
What are we doing singing about rock on this day when we revel in holy chaos? Pentecost is called the birthday of the church. The disciples struggled during Jesus’ life to understand what he was saying. When he was arrested, one betrayed him, one denied him, and most of them ran away. When he was crucified, they fell into despair. When he appeared after his resurrection, they alternated between confusion, elation and disbelief. It wasn’t at all clear whether his message would continue, or whether his disciples would simply hide away until he was forgotten.
When the Spirit descends at Pentecost, something changes. The disciples are inspired to speak words of hope–even in languages they don’t know. They finally understand: they are not alone. The Spirit will guide them. Jesus’ ministry will continue. They are no longer a collection of individuals. They are the church.
On Pentecost, Peter steps up as a leader, speaking to the crowds that gather in wonder. Finally, he lives into the name Jesus gives him years before. “And I tell you,” Jesus says, “you are Peter [Petra, the Greek word for rock] and on this rock I will build my church.” Given what the gospels tell us about Peter, it is a surprising name to choose. Peter, or Simon as he is originally called, is alternately brilliant, stubborn, impetuous, confused, courageous and cowardly. He is the first disciple to recognize who Jesus is, and the first to deny he knows Jesus. He argues vehemently against Jesus’ prediction of his death, and he leaps into the water when he sees the risen Jesus on the shore. This all-too-human disciple is the one Jesus calls the rock on whom the church will be built.
In some Christian traditions, Jesus’ renaming of Simon as Peter forms the basis for how church leaders are selected. Because Peter was the first head of the church, priests and bishops and popes trace their appointment back to him, a millenia-long line of selection called apostolic succession. It’s not part of our tradition in the United Church of Christ. Over years of studying the gospels with members of Edwards Church, I have come to understand this re-naming of Peter in a new way.
The gospels tell the story of Jesus’ life. They also tell the stories of his disciples–their courage, their doubts, their human gifts and failings. They were written for early communities of followers of Jesus, to give them guidance and encouragement to live this new Way. The more I read the gospels, the more convinced I become that the authors want the readers–us–to identify with the disciples. We recognize ourselves easily in their questions, their worries, their frailties. The gospel writers challenge us to see ourselves, as well, in their courage, their dedication, their ah-hah moments, their willingness to keep trying to follow Jesus.
If we are meant to put ourselves in the disciples’ shoes, then perhaps Jesus’ renaming of Simon is a renaming of each one of us. You, Jesus says to us, you are the rock on which I build my church.
What in the world is Jesus doing, daring to build the church, the community that will live and proclaim his message, on the foundation of fragile human beings? What does Jesus know about us that we don’t know?
I wonder whether Jesus, when he speaks those words, is thinking about today’s reading from Exodus. Moses and the people, on their long journey toward freedom, are thirsty, desperate for water to sustain their lives. They look around and all they see is rock–cold, hard, lifeless, dry rock. God, though, sees something more. God commands Moses to strike a rock, and when he does, water gushes out. The rock is not cold and lifeless; it is a vessel for life-giving water.
Decades ago, when I was preparing to preach on this passage, I called our church’s resident geologist-theologian, David Roy. I asked him about the rocks in the Sinai desert. He explained that some of the mountains in that desert were formed from volcanic activity; it’s possible this rock was lava, with tiny holes and spaces to absorb water.
More likely, he said, the rock was limestone, sedimentary rock formed back when there was sea covering that land. The motion of the water moved the sediment, which settled on the bottom and over time was compacted by the weight of the water. The resulting rock was be porous, absorbing and releasing water. In the desert, through the steady blowing of sand by the wind, a hard crust formed on the outside of the rock, so it holds the water, until struck by something that causes it to gush out.
What if Jesus was thinking about this kind of rock as the foundation of the church? Not cold, unmoving and unmovable granite, not hardened traditions and rigid dogmas. Instead, living stone, formed from the fire and water and wind of the Spirit, porous enough to receive the living waters, shaped by the breath of God to hold that water in order to offer it to a thirsty traveler.
We live in distressing times. Even as statistics show that children are safer now than when I was growing up, we feel their vulnerability so acutely. We are overwhelmed by the violence and suffering we see on the news. We are rightly horrified, infuriated and frightened by the news of yet another school shooting on Friday morning, this time in the small town of Santa Fe, Texas. We feel the anguish of parents who lost a child. We feel the outrage of students all over the nation who have been speaking out and crashing into brick walls of political paralysis. We feel the fear of every child and every parent who wonder if it could happen in their school.
In these distressing times, it is tempting to try to build our church on granite instead of limestone. It is tempting to fashion a fortress for ourselves and our children–impenetrable stone that we pretend can keep danger out. It is tempting to hearken back to some imagined, non-existent past–when there was solid ground instead of shifting sand. It is tempting to look for small, hard stones to throw at whomever we decide is to blame–a bad kid, an adult we think missed a sign of distress, politicians who aren’t acting fast enough.
Granite has a certain appeal, but now more than ever the world needs a church built on limestone. We need to be a place that absorbs and holds living water for our desperately parched world. We need to allow ourselves to be broken open by our grief and by our compassion.
As a church built on limestone, we can offer living water to give each one of us strength for how we are called to stand up and speak out: holding signs, writing letters, joining groups advocating for sensible gun laws and increased access to mental health services. We can strengthen our multi-generational community, so every child and teenager associated with this church knows an adult they can turn to when they feel alone or frightened or disillusioned. We can keep working, through Open Spirit’s Nourishing Teachers-Strengthening Classrooms project, to help children learn skills to calm and focus themselves, so they can live into their potential. Most of all, we can proclaim the good news of God’s everlasting, unconditional love, the good news that every single one of us is beloved and treasured for who we are.
Friends, you are the rock on which this church is built. Thank God you are not solid granite; you are living stone, shaped by the flowing river of God’s spirit, filled with the living water of God’s love, able to offer that water as a gift for our world. Let us build ourselves into a community of courage, hospitality, faith and transformation. Thanks be to God. Amen.