Billy dared him. What else could he do? I mean, any of us with an ounce of competitive spirit in us can sympathize. Besides that, the call, the mystery of the fire was stronger than his Mom saying no. Who among us can’t sit for hours in front of a fireplace or a burning candle, and be truly captivated? And so it was, at age 6, the mystery and wonder of a book of matches, the beauty and danger of fire, and especially because Billy dared him…was how my Dad set his backyard on fire.

Dad and Billy had found a book of matches on the way home from school. It was quite a treasure—I mean a match is a magical thing to a 6 year old. Dad and Billy eagerly rushed home and shared their new treasure with my grandmother, who promptly took the treasure away. She uttered the good parent phrase that “matches are not toys,” she hid them away and gave the boys trucks to play with.   Now if you’re a 6 year old, which seems more fun, a truck or the magic of fire? So you see where the story goes. 

Billy dared him, Dad crept into his parents bedroom, found the matches, and the two boys sneaked joyfully outside with their magic treasure. With delight oozing from their smiles, Dad and Billy lit matches one by one, letting them burn and then drop on the very dry Georgia grass. The dry grass was thirsty for any spark still alive and it only took one spark to ignite the entire backyard in flames. Neighbors rushed to the scene with a hose, my grandmother rushed to the scene with a look of horror, and a fire truck made complete the trinity of commotion. Fortunately no one was hurt, no house burned down, but Dad sure was in a heap of trouble and learned a hard lesson that day about playing with fire. 

While I’m not advocating that playing with fire is a good idea, because it’s not, I want us all to hold the image of fire in our minds. We know it’s dangerous, scary, even—we’ve seen fire devastate homes and communities—it is a powerful force that ignites and consumes. The ironic flip side of fire—it’s beautiful. Mesmerizing. Captivating. I’ve sat and watched wild and unruly campfire flames dance for hours as they feed upon their tepee-esque circle of wood. And as any good griller or camp fire builder will tell you, a fire needs oxygen…it needs a breath of fresh air to keep burning.   Fire mysteriously comforts and at the same time, fearfully consumes. As a person who will pick the natural beauty of wild flowers over the uniform beauty of a dozen red roses any day, I can’t deny that the biblical Pentecost images of the fiery Holy Spirit are among my favorites. 

It’s Pentecost! Did you notice? A lot of red, a bit of drama, mystery, unknown. We’re celebrating the gift of the Holy Spirit, the wild, comforting, consuming Spirit of God, the vital energy of the divine nature imaged in fire and wind throughout the Bible. The breath of God that blew upon the watery deep before creation, the Spirit that breathed order into chaos, breathed human beings into existence, and even the Spirit that breathed with Jesus his last breath on the cross. That same Spirit rests upon our shoulders, lives within our hearts, works within our lives. For you see, Spirit literally means wind, the Hebrew word ruah means wind, spirit. And as John says in his gospel, “the wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

And do you remember from last week? The disciples, the apostles, were chosen. Chosen by God and Jesus tells them, “you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you, you will be my witnesses, you will be baptized by the Holy Spirit”—they would be born of the Spirit. It was a promise. A promise the apostles had to wait for and wonder when and if and how it would ever happen. Then low and behold, something downright unbelievable happens. The apostles are sitting in the upper room, the room where they had the last supper with Jesus, a room where they are comfortable, where they gather frequently to meet and fellowship. Suddenly their nice meeting is interrupted—the wild and unruly wind of the Spirit, rushes in with consuming power, takes their breath away, and rests upon their shoulders. A promise is fulfilled. 

I won’t pretend to know or to understand or be able to explain the mysterious magical image of a tongue of fire resting on shoulders—they didn’t teach us that in seminary. So yes, it’s downright unbelievable, but it’s beautiful, it’s wild, it’s captivating. I mean after all, the Holy Spirit took hold of the Apostles and it was chaos! All these languages, all this noise…So much so that a crowd gathers outside and figures, “they must be drunk!” And yet, as confused as everyone is by this wildness: the languages, the noise, the wonder…they’re even more confused that they hear and understand in ways they never did before.

Besides being a great story in Acts that you think is the greatest thing since sliced cheese, why does this matter, Amy? It matters, my friends, because it means Jesus’ promise was true. It matters because that same mysterious and grace-filled Spirit that rushed in and rested with the apostles blows through your heart and knows it, comforts it, stirs it. It matters because that same movement of the spirit that began the church is still alive and at work today in our church. It matters because it means that the Holy Spirit was taken out of the hands of the few and given to the masses. It means that you too can hear God in a language you understand.   It means that Methodists, Pentecostals, Baptists of all varieties, Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Catholics, Lutherans, Disciples of Christ, and any one who call themselves Christian all over Dallas, all over Texas, all over America, in Russia, in China, in Latin America, in Europe, in Iraq, in Africa, in the whole world wherever Christ is proclaimed, Christians are worshipping the same triune God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It may look different, it may sound different, but we are all one in Christ Jesus by the grace and mercy of the Holy Spirit. It matters because it means you too are called and empowered and enabled to work with God. It means that you don’t need a robe or a bishop’s hat or a seminary degree or an ordination or even a Sunday morning worship service to pray to God, to read scripture, to feel the Holy Spirit working in your life no matter where you are or what language you speak. Why? Because the Apostles took that fiery gift of God’s Holy Spirit and they shared it. One spark lit the entire backyard on fire. 

They shared it, they preached God’s story, people believed and were baptized—the church began. Acting against the prevailing Roman culture and gods, Christians broke bread together, fellowshipped together, worshipped together, prayed together—they shared a common life together and they found the courage to invite others to join them. This all may sound easy and familiar to us now, but what is now known to us was unknown territory charted by others for centuries before you and me. Charting unknown territory, being led away from the comfortable by the wild and mysterious Holy Spirit always takes a little bit of guts and grace.

I have one regret of the summer after 3^rd grade. I didn’t jump off the high dive. I was about 3 foot nothing or so it felt as I looked up at the mammoth diving board. But all the big kids were doing it and never being one to be deterred by a little bit of a challenge, I got in line with all the teenage boys who were waiting to cannon ball off the high dive. My heart began racing with every step closer. Was I sure about this? More stubborn than sure, I progressed. 

I reached the ladder. The big kid in front of me had just lept off the board with much glee. I climbed step by step and got to the top. And let me tell you, man was I high off the ground and scared out of my mind. Again, more stubborn than sure, I walked to the end of the diving board and I peered down. The long way down into the deep blue water was, well, a long way down. I stared long enough for folks behind me to start yelling at me to jump. And I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t have the guts. I was too scared, too intimidated, and so I inched my way back to the ladder, and did the long humiliated climb back down to the ground. While my fear had been relieved, and the comfort of the ground was well, comforting, I was disappointed in myself. I still hadn’t experienced the thrill of letting go, of experiencing something beyond anything I had ever known before. The pool closed for the summer a few days later and I promised myself that next time, I’d have the guts. After all, nothing hurts more than looking back and wishing you’d done something different. A year later, the pool opened and I headed straight for the high dive.

And so today, I guess I find myself wondering, what in our lives has us too scared of letting go? What is it preventing the wild and unruly ways of the Holy Spirit working at full capacity in your life? Are we afraid of failure, rejection, being laughed at? Are we afraid of being uncomfortable? Are we afraid of being consumed by something bigger than ourselves? The Holy Spirit of the living God is resting on our shoulders…are we breathing deep or are there things sucking away the oxygen and killing the flame? Are we standing so far from the fire that we can no longer feel it’s warmth?

It’s Pentecost, friends. We don’t have to wait and wonder if and how God is still alive and with us…we know the promise is true. But do we let ourselves feel it, trust it, even revel in the mystery and wonder of it all? Today is a day, not to let chaos reign supreme in our lives, but to celebrate the possibility that maybe there is uncharted territory to explore. Wilshire, just as every church does, has the call of the Holy Spirit guiding its life. But Wilshire, we also are a gift that has been enabled by the Holy Spirit. We have a gift that is unlike anything I’ve see in a lot of churches. You have a gift that transcends my time here and spans across generations. You have guts and grace or I wouldn’t be standing in this pulpit. You are a gift of God, Wilshire. But it is a gift to be shared. Who in those cars driving by right now needs to know and see and hear that Wilshire is special? Who shared Wilshire with you? What or who brought you here? How do we share? How do we keep God’s fire burning? What sparks will set our thirsty backyard on fire? Dream big, Wilshire. I dare you.