Acts 2:1-21
Last Sunday marked four years of ministry together, for me and you, and for the partnership between our two parishes in an official capacity. It marked four years of ministry for Ben at St John’s, and it’s been a little over four years since we moved into our home in downtown Lynchburg with two dogs, a mattress, and some folding chairs. The anniversary itself was a normal Sunday in the middle of a decidedly abnormal time in our lives and in the life of this diocese. I’m very much appreciating those normal moments right now. But somehow, even without us pointing it out to anyone, the time has been marked by many opportunities to retell our call story. I have lost count of the number of conversations I’ve had in the last two weeks in which someone has asked “What brought you to Lynchburg?” or “How did you end up serving two parishes at once?” Ben and I have had many chances to recount the whole amazing story, starting in 2020 when you brave folks came together for worship online under the leadership of my predecessor, then the genesis of the partnership when it was time to start looking for new clergy, and how Ben and I were at the same time listening hard for God’s call as we looked at a map of Southwestern VA and a list of parishes looking for priests. I cannot help but see the Holy Spirit at work in every step, every door that closed in order that we might be ready when Bishop Mark pointed us to your open door. Everything down to the house we live in, the timing of our move, the neighbors who moved in just before and just after us, seemed perfectly arranged to help us put down roots after the necessary transience of our early 20s. Many of you know that I do not ascribe to the idea that everything happens for a reason, but I do believe that God is always active in everything that happens. God has led us to one another at this time and place, and for that I give thanks every day.
At the same time that I am reflecting on these Holy Spirit movements in my family’s life, our diocesan family is also coming together to discern the movement of the Spirit in our common life, and what kind of leader we need to help us respond to God’s call. Yesterday, myself and members of St Mark’s and Grace joined members of our convocation for a day of listening; listening to each other, listening to the stories of our collective past and listening to our dreams for the future. I attended the in-person session, and I felt the weight of God’s presence in that room as people shared stories of grief, frustration, joy, and hope. It was amazing to witness the overlap in our individual answers to the same questions. Of the many small groups, there were many shared concerns, shared dreams, and shared values. Our shared faith leads us so often by different paths in the same direction, and that reality was evident in the conversations in that room.
And of course we are doing our own work to listen and respond to the Holy Spirit right here in our parish family and in our partnership. Grace’s feeding ministries have grown to meet the needs of our neighborhood, making necessary changes to increase our efficiency and be good stewards of our resources, and we are working on becoming more accessible to our community through our online communications. St Mark’s currently has two groups meeting weekly to discuss two different books all about listening to the Spirit through prayer and community discernment. I spent an hour on the phone with Canon Jenni this week hearing about how those group conversations have been going, and I look forward to hearing more this week as the two groups come together for prayer and reflection.
I’ve been reading bits and pieces of the books as I’m able, and I am struck by how timely they are as we enter into this season of Pentecost. At Pentecost, we remember the coming of the Holy Spirit as tongues of fire, of visons and dreams and miraculous multilingual sermons. On that first day, the birth of what we know as the Church, the Holy Spirit came in with a bang. She was noisy, she took up all the air in the room, she filled the disciples with such energy that they were driven out into the public square and made a spectacle of themselves. As the Spirit’s fire burned over each of them, the disciples spoke and were heard in every language of the known world, the mother tongue of each calling all present into the kingdom and family of God. This event was too big to be contained, with crowds of witnesses, and yet some still sneered and accused the preachers of drunkenness. Even when the Holy Spirit shows up as visible tongues of flame, as audible wind, as miraculous speech, some people refuse to heed her presence.
So it is no wonder that we so often struggle to hear her or perceive her movement in our own lives. For the most part, the Holy Spirit spares us the loud and disruptive inbreaking of Pentecost. Most of the time, she’s subtle, almost too quiet to hear unless you’re really listening. Multiple young couples with shared values choosing the same block at the same time to make their homes and start their families. Two parishes with similar goals who come together in a crisis and find they both need a priest. A room full of people who are very different from each other who somehow manage to articulate the same hopes and dreams for their diocese. Two groups reading different books and having very similar conversations as a result.
The prophet Joel prophesied that the pouring out of God’s spirit would lead to visions and dreams, prophesies and portents. But often, those visions and dreams start out as a fuzzy picture, a vague idea that something is happening, a sense of energy building in a particular direction. I believe we are in the process of receiving one of those visions now, although the details are not yet clear. This is the hard part. This is the part where the cynic may sneer and call it new wine-fueled nonsense, where the productivity influencers and businessmen might try to plow ahead with a multipoint plan of action. That would be easier, more immediately satisfying. But it would not be Spirit-led. It would not be Pentecost-inspired. It would be our idea, not God’s dream. This is not a comfortable place to be, and it does not come naturally to us to slow down, to listen, to wait for something to be revealed. In no other part of our lives do we do this. In no other sphere are we expected to sit quietly and listen for answers. It requires practice. It requires patience. Most of all, it requires faith. Patience can be learned, and practice can be coached. But faith, we already have, and abundantly. It is what has led us to each other and to this place. It is what keeps us coming back, even when we can’t articulate the why. It is what fuels a small church to keep a soft heart and an open mind in a world that values big buildings and big budgets and prestigious preachers. Faith is what it took to enter a partnership with another parish and to call a young woman in her twenties to be your priest. I know you have faith, and I have faith in us. The Holy Spirit is leading us to see visions and dream dreams. Let us pray for the wisdom and the patience to receive them.
Mother A Writes 