From Adolescence to Adulthood
A sermon preached by the Revd Canon Dr Alison Joyce
on the Day of Pentecost
Sunday 30th May 2009
In the name of the living God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
I well remember the very first occasion on which we decided that our children had finally reached the age where they could be left at home for the evening by themselves, without the supervision of a babysitter – one of those hugely significant milestones in the wonderful world of parenting.
On that particular evening we had gone to the cinema to see a film, which proved to be considerably longer than expected. In fact it was very late indeed by the time that we finally left the cinema, and so, a little anxiously I phoned Daughter Number One from the car park to check that everything was OK, and to let her know that we were on our way back. “Oh, we’re absolutely fine,” she assured me. “We’ve had a really good evening watching very unsuitable television.” (Well - at least she was honest!)
Parenting is a strange business, not least because the relationship that one has with one’s offspring is one that is constantly evolving. Somehow one has to try to negotiate with them the myriad of small, but highly significant transitions that are essential to enable them to move from the total dependence of babyhood, to the independence of being an adult.
And every step of that journey is significant – whether it be a small child’s first venture into the back garden without adult supervision; or the first day at school; or the first unaccompanied bus ride into the town centre; the first time they are given their own set of keys to the front door; or the first holiday spent away with their own friends. And in and around each of these events, a responsible parent is faced with the challenging task of providing enough care and nurture for the child to know security and love; but not so much that it swamps the child, and ends up breeding either resentment or a disabling kind of dependency as a result. The parent has to know when to insist on being present in person, and when it is appropriate to withdraw, and leave children to do things by and for themselves. The relationship between parent and child is dynamic and constantly evolving. And, of course, it is not simply the child that is changing as it grows up; the parent, too, is undergoing his or her own transformation: from young adulthood, to middle age, to frailty and old age. And as these transitions take place, each can discover more about the other.
The fact that such relationships shift constantly, and have to be continuously negotiated means that, because of their essentially fluid nature, they are relationships that is impossible to get absolutely right all of the time. Indeed, it seems to me that very often the family relationships that go most badly awry are precisely those where the roles and expectations become too fixed too early on, and cannot adapt, or come to terms with, the inevitability of change.
And it seems to me that, in some very interesting respects, the fluidity inherent within this kind of relationship has a direct parallel in our relationship with God; a relationship that we are also invited, and encourage, to experience as parental: in Scripture we are charged to call God “our Father”; highlighting the fact that his relationship to us is essentially that of loving parent to child. St Paul, in his first letter to the Corinthians reminds his readers that, when he first knew them, they were, in his phrase, “infants in Christ” whom he “fed with milk rather than solid food” for which they were not yet ready. And, of course, it was later in the same letter to the Corinthians that Paul uses the analogy of our starting as children, and then growing up and putting away childish things, to describe our continuing need to grow and develop in faith and love and understanding: “Now we see only puzzling reflections in a mirror; but then we shall see face to face.” Our relationship with God is one that grows and develops and changes, just like any relationship between parent and child.
And this is certainly the picture we get of the different phases of the relationship that the first disciples had with Christ. During the time of his earthly ministry, Jesus was there alongside them; they knew him; they followed him; they listened to him; they saw the healing miracles for themselves. I used to assume, very naively, that, as a result of this direct personal contact, faith must have been so much easier for them than it is for us. However, my mind was changed completely the first time that I saw Pasolini’s astonishing 1964 film The Gospel According to St Matthew, a film whose dialogue is derived entirely from the text of that Gospel.
The most striking and powerful image that remains with me from that film is the sight of Jesus striding around from place to place, with the disciples stumbling along after him in a complete fog – with little idea at all of what was really going on around them. And this is true also in the other Gospels, particularly that of St Mark. Frequently we are shown the disciples portrayed as helpless; dependent, sometimes rebellious, often completely clueless, as they follow Jesus round. This phase of their relationship with him ends with his arrest, crucifixion and death. It ends in tragedy; he is taken from them; they are left desolate. But, as we are soon to discover, this is in fact only the start of a much more extraordinary story; and it is a very necessary start, because there has to be a death before you can have a resurrection.
Because there then comes a second phase: in which the Risen Christ returns to his disciples, appearing in their midst, recognisably the same, yet profoundly different; his presence enabling them to make sense of all that had gone before, above all his crucifixion and death, and to understand it in a completely new way. And yet, the disciples are still often fearful or uncertain or perplexed when they are alone. Hence we find them hiding behind locked doors for fear of the Jewish authorities. This phase of their relationship with Christ concludes with another kind of ending: his final withdrawal from them, at his Ascension into heaven. But this time the ending is accompanied also by a promise: the promise that the Risen Lord would send them the Holy Spirit after his departure.
And that is precisely what it is that we celebrate today, at the feast of Pentecost. If you like, Pentecost marks the point at which the followers of Jesus move from adolescence to adulthood; from fear and dependency to courage and proclamation.
The former Bishop of Winchester, John V. Taylor, warned against the danger of thinking about the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, as if it were the kind of gift that heroes get in folk tales – a fairy sword, or a magic mirror to equip them for future adventures. On the contrary, Pentecost is about something much more profound than that, because it draws the whole community of faith into the life of the Risen Lord.
He describes its primary effect as being:
to fuse the individuals of that company into a fellowship which in the same moment was caught up into the life of the risen Lord. In a new awareness of him and of one another they burst into praise, and the world came running for an explanation. In other words, the gift of the Holy Spirit in the fellowship of the Church first enables Christians to be, and only as a consequence of that sends them to do and to speak. The Holy Spirit is given to enable the two or three gathered together to embody Jesus Christ in the world.
The coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost is not about the acquisition of magic powers for the favoured few; rather, it is about the creation of a new and very different kind of community; it marks the coming of age of the disciples, who are now poised to live out the ministry that Christ has been preparing them for: to take the good news of the Kingdom to the corners of the earth.
To quote another Bishop, this time a former Bishop of Jerusalem, George Appleton:
[After Pentecost, the disciples] no longer felt afraid of opposition or death. The men who once cowered behind locked doors in fear and grief, now unbarred the door and hurried out into the city. Ancient promises were being fulfilled – the promise made to Abraham that through his faithful family a blessing should come to all families – the promise made through Joel that the spirit of God would be poured out on the whole of humanity, young and old, women and men, servants and masters, all mankind – poured out in generous, inexhaustible abundance.
Rather than thinking of the Spirit being given to the Church at Pentecost, John V. Taylor suggests that we might do better thinking in terms of the Church being given to the Spirit. And that, it seems to me, is the mark of a mature Christian community: not so much a place where favoured individuals wield magic powers; as a community empowered by the Spirit to embody the love and service which is Christ’s gift to us, and to live that out, confidently and courageously.
As the words of our Prayer after Communion express this:
May we who share Christ’s body live his risen life; we who drink his cup, bring life to others; we whom the spirit lights, give light to the world. Keep us firm in the hope you have set before us, so we and all your children shall be free, and the whole earth live to praise your name. Through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.