Come Holy Dove and bring the peace
    of Christ to reign in every heart,
that all distraction now may cease
    and from Love’s dwelling now depart.
O come refreshing Spirit-wind
    renew your Church, without, within.
Come holy, healing, gentle breeze,
    restore our hope, your grace impart.

A pastor decided to take his confirmation class on a tour of the sanctuary one morning. He took them around the worship space and talked about the things they saw there – the baptismal font, the communion table, the pulpit and lectern and all the symbols that were on them. Like the Jerusalem cross – the one that looks like a plus sign with four smaller plus signs all around it. It’s a symbol, he said, of the gospel being taken from the cross (from Jesus) to the four corners of the earth.

And he told them about the dove, and the seashell, the trefoil and the fish, and the letters IHS on the pulpit and the altar… (which are the first three letters of the name “Jesus” in the Greek: Iota, Eta, Sigma – a kind of monogram or abbreviation for his name.) And there were lots of other symbols there. Little reminders of Jesus and the Spirit, the Lamb of God and the Holy Dove. And he told them about the scenes in all the stained-glass windows: Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Moses with the Ten Commandments. And Jesus the Good Shepherd with a lamb in his arms.

All around the church they went, looking at the signs, all the beautiful symbols that tell the story of God’s love and grace.
On the way out, one of the boys – a sixth grader — noticed some large wooden plaques on the wall in the narthex. There were nameplates on them. Dozens of little brass plates, each with a name engraved on it and some dates.

And the boy stood there looking at all those names. It looked like some sort of honor roll. In fact, at the top of the plaque it said, “Our Honored Dead.” Which kind of gave him the creeps. Because there were so many of them… The boy looked at the pastor and said, Reverend Tim, who are all those people?” And the pastor said, “Oh… those are the names of all the people from our church who have died in the service.”
The kid turned pale… He looked up at the names and then at the pastor. And he swallowed. Hard. And said, “Was it the eight-thirty service or the one at eleven?”

Some folks say the Church’s name is there. Among the honored dead. Not this church, mind you. Just the Church. The whole thing. The whole Church… Do you think that? I hope not… Though I have to admit that our vital signs are a little disturbing at times. You’d think maybe somebody should take our pulse just to make sure (sometimes)…

It happened out in the Midwest a few years ago. Sunday morning… people came to church, greeted one another, sang a hymn, heard the scripture reading… And as the preacher was giving his sermon, a fellow in the back passed away. Crossed over Jordan, as folks say back home. And the ushers saw it, of course. But they didn’t want to startle people and risk someone else having heart failure because of it. So they went out to the narthex and called 911. And the paramedics came quickly to do what had to be done.

That evening, the local news channel did a story about it – “Perishing in the Pews.” The report included an interview with one of the paramedics. Asked him about the call and how long it took them to respond… That sort of thing. And then this reporter looked at the paramedic and said, “Now, when you got to the church, what happened then?” And he said, “Well, Ma’am, that was the hardest part of it.”
“What do you mean?”

“Well… we went into that church and carried out four people before we found the one that was dead.”

I love that story… I really hate it. But I love it, too. And yet, it happens. Something like that really happens sometimes and life ebbs away. 
After fifteen years as husband and wife, and almost as many without really listening to each other, something begins to wither away. And the marriage ends in separation and divorce.

A father doesn’t take time to be with his son. Like the song Harry Chapin used to sing, “The Cat’s in the Cradle”. The boy hears the father say, “I can’t right now. There’s no time to pass football, no time for vacation, no time to talk now… But we’ll get together then.” And on and on it goes, and the boy turns out just like him. Never takes time for what really matters. Family and friends. And something dies. The relationship withers. There’s no life there. It’s gone.

Or something inside a young woman’s heart longs for more… in her faith, her prayers, her life with God, and her family and friends. But there’s so much to do. All day at work. Kids to be shuttled from one place to another. Errands to run, chores to be done. This meeting and that meeting… She wants so much to spend time in prayer and be part of a group, a bible study or a covenant group at church. But there just isn’t time. And the longing fades. And something inside begins to wither and fade. And life ebbs away. 

Something a lot like that happens in a church. People distracted by all the busy-ness of life, and the busy-ness of church… Busy with meetings and programs and this thing and that. But time in prayer and worship – time spent together seeking God’s grace and God’s presence gets put on a back burner, as if Churchwork is somehow more important than the work of the Church. And something happens. The soul of the church begins to wither and wilt. And life in that place begins ever so slowly to ebb and die.

It happens. It does. And when it does… It’s a terrible thing. Everything begins to look dark and dreary and hopeless. Whether it happens in a marriage, between a parent and child, in someone’s heart and faith, or in a church. For where there is life there is hope … isn’t that what we say? But when that life withers and fades, and the spirit runs dry, all is lost. It’s hopeless. Impossible… A lot of people are saying that now. That that’s where the Church is. The mainline church is dying, they say. And it’s simply a matter of time…

Do you believe that? Do you think that will happen?

Oh, I hope not. I really hope not.  I know all the statistics, and all the studies and patterns and trends say it’s so. That the Church in this country is just barely hanging on and things don’t look good. But they’re missing something. Something big. Something important. And it isn’t the first time, mind you. We’ve been here before…

Remember Ezekiel? People were saying that about God’s people back then. “They’re doomed… They’re dying. Just barely hanging on… It’s just a matter of time now till the people of God are a thing of the past.” If they’d had the Gallop poll and the other polls and surveys and “studiers” of statistics and such back then, they would have said, “They’re right. The people of God are on their way out. There are no signs of life. No signs of hope. It’s over. And there isn’t anything anybody can do to fix it.” And they were right about that. There wasn’t anything the people could do.

Because… somehow, somewhere they began to think it was all about them. That it was all about what they could get out of life. And they turned in on themselves and away from the poor and the least and the lowest. They turned toward their own understanding as it says in the Psalms, their own way of reasoning, and away from the Lord’s. They just wanted what was popular. What was new and progressive – “all the rage” at the time. Not what was old and outdated. And they came to rely on themselves more and more. And less on God. After all, they were smarter now. They knew so much more than their ancestors. They were stronger and wiser, more acquainted with the way things are in the world.
At least, that’s what they thought. But it wasn’t true. It was just the opposite. They were weaker now and more vulnerable. And other people took advantage of that. And in the end, the people of God lost nearly everything. They’re land, they’re freedom, they’re homes and their families. And as far as they could tell, they even lost God. Because the Temple, the dwelling place of the Almighty had been destroyed. And many of them were taken away, forced to live as servants and captives in some strange land.

So people said, “This is it. It’s all over. God’s people (his chosen) are doomed. There’s no hope. They’re dying and soon they’ll be gone.”
But Ezekiel the prophet had a dream. It wasn’t a dream, really. It was more like a vision. “God lifted me up in the Spirit,” he said. “And set me down in a valley of bones, nothing but bones from one end to the other.” And from the looks of those bones they’d been there awhile. All bleached out and brittle. Those bones hadn’t seen life in who knows how long. But in that “strange land” — that dead, dried up valley where there was no life — God spoke to Ezekiel. He said, “Tell me, mortal… Can these bones live?” Ezekiel looked out over that “graveyard” and said, “Are you kidding me, Lord? You know that…. Can these bones live! Just look at them, Lord. You tell me!”

But God said, Mortal, speak to these bones. Preach to them, brother. Preach the word to these bones and say, ‘O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.’”

“Say what?” said Ezekiel? Why waste my breath on a bunch of old bones? Why not go somewhere else and preach to a more lively crowd? To people who’ll hear what you have to say and do what you tell them, and be who you call them to be?”

Well… he did have a point. You can just hear all the church growth experts saying, “Amen! We’re with you, Brother Zeke! Don’t waste your time on those old dried up bones. They’re set in their ways. They’ll never change!”

But God said, “Don’t listen to them. Listen to me. Preach, son of man. Preach to these bones and say, ‘This is what God says. I’m going to put breath in you again. Give you a second wind, I am. And I’m going to make you come alive. And then you will know that I AM, the Lord.”

Ezekiel stood above the valley. And he preached the Word of the Lord to those bones. And all of a sudden he heard something rattle and shake. And the bones came together, each one in its place. But they weren’t just bones anymore. They were covered with flesh and hair — muscle and skin. They looked like somebody, almost. But they weren’t… They were still dead. Still gone. No life. No breath…. They still weren’t the people God wanted them to be.

So the Lord spoke again, “Mortal, he said, “Now preach to the wind. And you say to the wind, ‘Come from the four winds, O Breath, and breathe on these who are dead, that they might be alive!” And Ezekiel stood there in that valley of death. And he lifted his voice to the wind — to the Spirit of God. And it blew down into that valley of bones. And the Breath came into those dried up bodies. And they were made alive. They stood on their feet, the people of God! And there were so many of them it looked like a great army.

Oh, it was a vision, a sign, a message from God. And it was loud and clear: If God can turn a heap of old dead bones into a living, breathing, army of saints, then he can breathe life into his people and help them be who he wants them to be.

And on the day of Pentecost, fifty days after Jesus had risen from the dead, it happened again. Only this time something new came to life. God breathed his Breath, his Holy Spirit, into a small group of believers, followers of Jesus… People who were timid and frightened and hiding from the rest of the world.

They were in that same Upper Room in Jerusalem. And on Sunday morning, when they were all praying together, they heard the wind. A mighty rush of wind. And they saw the flames [the age-old sign of God’s presence and power] not off in the distance, but resting on each of them… As if to say [that] they were now the dwelling place of the Almighty. That they were the “place” where God was present….

And [so] the Church was born. Not an organization – people create organizations. Not a business – what they offered was free. Not a club, or a social network, or collection of like-mind people. (Did you hear who was there? Some of these people had nothing in common. Didn’t even speak the same language.) Oh… this was no charter meeting, no ground-breaking ceremony. No.. this was a birth. A creation of God. And what was born was the Church — the living, breathing body of Christ on earth. This is how he chooses to be present now. This is how he makes himself known.

Oh, don’t take Church lightly. Remember who you are, church. You are born of the Spirit. Made alive by nothing less than the Spirit of God. And by turning to God, by seeking God’s presence, by turning to him and seeking him first in our life together, we will find new life and new power to be who he calls us to be… to do what he calls us to do… to remember that we are here not be served, but to serve. To love. To give. And to share the life-giving love of Jesus to the people out there. 

One more story… There is a beautiful old church up north. A lovely old church with a bell tower and spire that reaches up toward heaven. And the windows are all stained glass set in gothic arches. And inside the church is pipe organ and a stately pulpit and lectern. It has everything you would want in a church. A beautiful place.

But something happened there years ago. A split of some kind. A scandal. A parting of the ways. And the wounds were painful and deep… The church began to wither. It just dried up, in a way. All that was left now was a shell – a hard, cold shell. With no life in it. For the church became cliquish, little groups of folk here and there who were polite to one another, but that’s it. Over time the church grew cold and stiff and very formal – not because they liked being formal. But because there was no love there.

The pastor was a young man, not long out of seminary. He’d been there a few years, now. And nothing had changed…
All of this weighed on his heart. Sunday mornings, he stood up to preach and it was almost like preaching in a graveyard.  Well… the church’s 200th anniversary was coming up. And he wanted to celebrate that. But he also wanted to show them that the church is a living thing. A family. A body that has life and breath. (Here and now and not just in the past). And this is what he decided to do. He would ask the children (there weren’t all that many) to come and join him on the chancel steps. And they would talk about family and hopefully the rest of the church would see and overhear.

And when the day finally arrived, the pastor was nervous about the children’s sermon. They’d never had that sort of thing in the church. Everything was always very orderly and professional. And if something wasn’t in the bulletin – well, whatever it was it wasn’t of God! Couldn’t have been. If it were, he surely would have let the secretary know before noon on Thursday when she printed the bulletins.
But that Sunday he called the children to join him. And he told them that the church was God’s family. And God loves everyone in it. Families need to stick together, he said. And play together. And break bread together. And grow together in love.

And then he looked at the kids and said, “So here’s what I want you to do. I you to find somebody here in the church this morning that you think God would like to have in his family.” And they all went out among the pews. And they came back with their “family” members. One brought her mom. And there was somebody’s dad. And a baby sitter. And a best friend. And a grandma, and grandpa, and a Sunday School teacher.

And he thought, “This is good.” It was exactly what he was hoping for. And it was his plan to point out that they were all different, and yet all part of the same family. But when he started to say what he had planned to say, the children turned and ran (this time) back to the pews to bring more. More people to be in God’s family. And that was it. He lost them. Had no control over this thing. They just kept going from the chancel steps to the pews, bringing more people. And they didn’t stop until they had the whole church up there. Every person there was standing along the chancel rail.

And the pastor was trembling. Nervous as could be. The bishop will hear about this, he thought… But when he looked up, people had made something like a big circle. And they were holding hands. And some of those faces had smiles on them. And others… were streaming with tears.
And… he wasn’t really sure what to do next. He looked around the circle. And he said, “Before we pray, would anyone like to say anything about what the children have done here this morning?” A woman with white hair, oldest living member of the church said, “I want to say something… I’ve been a member of this church longer than most of you have been on this earth. And for years we have talked about what our church should do for the children. But this morning the children have done something for us. They have brought us together. They have brought us to God — the God who calls us his beloved children.” And she spoke through the tears and said, “I want you to know that I’ve never felt more a part of this church than I do right now. And I’ve never felt closer to God.” And they all agreed…

No one saw it happen of course. But something strange and wonderful happened that day. God breathed his Spirit into that church. He breathed life into their hearts and into their faith and into their life together as the people of God. And things slowly began to change, and grow within them. And the church came to life. It became a church that reached out in love to accept and forgive and embrace and include. And it became a church where people came to seek and to find God’s presence and peace. 

Let me ask you… Have you noticed all the children here these past few weeks? They’re here. They’re here. I think it’s a sign. Something is happening.

Listen. Do you hear it. It sounds like the wind. Like a mighty rushing wind.

It’s Pentecost, church. It is Pentecost.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Soli Deo Gloria
Benen, OblSB