Jon Hauerwas – June 4, 2017 – Something New

Acts 2:1-21 and John 7:37-39

In scripture’s second creation account, we hear these words: “then the Lord formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being.” Now whether or not we adhere to a literal interpretation of this biblical claim, we can still take seriously the theological significance of God’s primacy in the act of creation.

This is because the Bible is not akin to a text book. Our sacred stories were never intended to challenge rationality or scientific understanding. Instead, these texts, which often rely upon metaphors and other literary devices, aim to breathe life into our seeminglymundane existence. And they do so by revealing our humanity; that is, what it means to be thinking, human creatures in relationship with the world, with one another, and with our God.

So to take seriously the claim that God is the primary author and agent of creation is not to say that the Genesis accounts either can or will one day be independently verified. No. It is to say that from the very beginning of time, God has insisted upon a personal relationship with everything that has come into being by God’s creative power.And yet, we may have heard this claim repeated so often that itlost its edge long ago.

With this in mind, I want to offer an illustration. In his book, Between Parent and Child, the psychologist Haim Ginott tells the story of a ten-year-old boy named Andy who asked his father, “What is the number of abandoned children in Harlem?” Andy’s father, an attorney, was pleased that his son was interested in social issues, and he gave his son a lecture on the topic and then looked up the number. But Andy had more questions. What is the number of abandoned children in New York City? In the United States? In Europe? In the world?”[1]

Ginott writes, “Finally it occurred to Andy’s father that his son was concerned not about a social problem, but about a personal one. Andy’s questions stemmed not so much from sympathy for abandoned children as from fear of being abandoned. He was looking not for a figure representing the number of deserted children, but for reassurance that he would not be deserted.”[2]

To this, Tom Long adds, “When my son was a child, there were times when he was feeling frightened or perhaps ashamed of something, and he would ask, ‘Do you love me, Daddy?’ It would have been cold comfort, indeed, if I had replied, ‘Of course, son, I love all children.’”[3]

Long continues, “at our depths, we do not desire to be treated with impartial indifference; we wish to be known, understood, treasured, treated as we are in our very particular humanity.” A loving mother does not show her love to her children “blindly and equally, dividing things right down the middle, but very particularly.
If one of them has the flu, she does not desert her beside after 45 minutes in order to give precisely equal time to the other.”[4]

“If one of them comes home from school crying because the ‘popular’ girls fenced her out, she is the daughter who gets that day an extra helping of motherly affection. In the law courts and other public spaces, we may desire that justice wear a blindfold, impartially dispensing benefits in equal portions. But we want parents – and we want God as our parent – not to wear blindfolds, but instead to see us in all our needs and particularities with the eyes of tenderness and love.” [5]

The point here is that generalities, such as God loves all people, do not often inspire or motivate us. Instead, our hearts and minds are stirred from complacency when the general is encountered and experienced personally. So while we can believe in the overarching concept that God created the universe and all that is in it, this belief alone does not lead us to view the world and everything in it with a sense of reverence, awe, and wonder. It is, then, only when God’s glory is evident in all that we see, when feel that we are blessed to be a part of this amazing symphony of life, when we canaffirm that our every breath is a gift, yes, when God’s presence and goodness begin to seep into the very fibersof our being that the power and promise of Pentecost has begun to take hold in us.To know that God loves all people is not enough. In the end, sweeping generalities must become specific and personal if matters of faith are to become rivers of living water.

Do you recall Jesus’ baptism? When he was arising from the Jordan River, “he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’” Rivers of living water were there. And when Jesus healed a man by the pool of Bethesda, saying “Take up your mat and walk,” rivers of living water were there, too. And when Jesus met the woman at the well and said “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” Yes. Rivers of living water were also there.

And at Pentecost, this mysterious breath of life has come to us, as well. Having already fashioned the very substance of creation, the same Spirit is now at work creating and building the community we call church. For something new is emerging with all of the power and the creative energy of the Spirit of God. Breath of life, Spirit of wonder, river of goodness, fall afresh on us and wash us clean from every imperfection. May it be so and all thanks be to God both now and forever. Amen.

[1] Thomas G. Long, “The Love of God,” Journal for Preachers, XL/4 (Pentecost 2017), 21-22.

[2]Ibid., 22.

[3]Ibid., 22.

[4]Ibid., 21.

[5]Ibid., 21.