Jon Burnham preached this sermon from Acts 2:1-8 on May 11, 2008 (Pentecost & Mother's Day)
The state of Texas is large enough to hold every human being on the planet with 1000 feet per person. This is a diverse state and Houston is the most diverse city. For instance, Meyerland has a large Jewish population. None of us will live forever. All of us are offered new life in Christ. It is appropriate to celebrate Pentecost on Mother's Day. For on the day of Pentecost the Holy Spirit birthed the church. And if we don't pay attention the Holy Spirit may give us new life on this Pentecost Sunday.
There are many folks, particularly those from outside our state, who have the opinion that Texas is one flat prairie. Perhaps this story will convince them that we have some pretty steep hills also. The story appears in Bill Cannon's book, Treasury of Texas Humor.
It is said that one beautiful little Texas town, which is the county seat of a Hill Country county, sits at the foot of one of the state's longest hills on an interstate highway. The hill has such a steep grade that one staying in nearby motels can hear the big eighteen-wheelers grind their gears trying to come into town at a safe speed! At the top of this hill, and a few hundred feet off the interstate, in a small stand of trees is the Mt. Pisgah Missionary Baptists Church. One if its longtime members, Sister Ludi Mae Simpson, had died and her funeral was planned at the church with burial in the small town.
After the last three verses of "Rock of Ages" were sung, Sister Simpson's coffin was loaded in the back of a hearse to be driven to the cemetery. The hearse had to cross a small bar ditch between the churchyard and the highway. The sudden jolt caused by crossing the ditch resulted in the rear doors of the hearse coming unlocked.
After pulling out on the interstate, the vehicle lurched into motion. The movement sent the coffin bearing Mrs. Simpson out of the hearse where it landed flat on the pavement and squarely on the white line in the middle of the interstate, as if director there by the Almighty, Himself! The steep slope of the hill was such that the coffin started sliding down the interstate in the direction of the county seat about half a mile below. As the coffin continued downhill it began to pick up speed, slowly at first and then faster and faster until it reached a speed of 75 to 80 miles per hour.
At this speed it didn't take long for Mrs. Ludi Mae to reach the city limits! The pine coffin was smoking slightly by the time it ran through the town's only signal light, which hung from poles at the intersection by the town square. fortunately for the speeding corpse, the light was green when she flashed through at a speed quite a bit above the speed limit! the coffin whizzed by the Confederate statue on the courthouse lawn. Fortunately, by this time the coffin had lost most of its speed. It crossed the street around the square doing only about 30 mph, when it jumped the curb and hit the double doors or Rexal Drugs. It crashed through the doors, flew past the front register, past the candy display and flew past the cosmetic counter.
It came to an abrupt stop when it hit the prescription counter. The sudden stop caused the coffin lid to fly off and Ludi Mae, who was know to all, to sit straight up in the now immobile coffin. Wilburn Moody, who had been the druggist at the store for nearly twenty years, said the same thing he had said daily since he started working there, "May I help you?"
To this Mrs. Simpson gave a perfectly legitimate reply, "Can you please give me something to stop this coffin?"
The coffin symbolizes the reality of death. We cannot stop that coffin. That is the challenge of being human. Although we cannot stop the reality of our own death, perhaps we can use it to our advantage. Consider the conquering generals of ancient Rome. When they would return home victorious, gigantic parades were staged to honor them. Displaying the treasures that they had won, and the defeated people that they had turned into slaves, the conquerors paraded, riding in their war chariots. Riding with them was always a slave whose job was to whisper in their ear: "All fame and glory is but transitory. All fame and glory is but transitory. All fame and glory is but transitory." Some people who come to terms with their imminent death display an otherworldly peace in their countenance. They shine. They seem to shimmer with new life. Confronting the reality of our own death offers the possibility of living a fuller life on this earth.
Let's not forget today is Mother's Day.
Bill Cosby once asked a girl of six named Laurie: "What does your mother do?"
"She's in charge of everything." Laurie said.
"And what does your father do?"
"I can't remember."
"Isn't he in charge of anything?"
"I'll have to ask my mother."
"Why not ask him?"
"Oh, he wouldn't know." (Kids Say the Darndest Things, 70) Some fathers today are perhaps more involved in their children's lives than ever before in human history and get less credit for what they contribute than ever before in human history. Yet in eyes of some children, even such committed fathers pale in comparison to their mothers.
Rabbi Lawrence Kushner in Jewish Spirituality for Christians, challenges us to remember where we came from, saying:
In the family album, or in one of those little frames that stands upright on an end table in your mother's apartment, is a photograph of you when you were a child. You have come a long way since those days, in many beautiful ways and in a few disappointing ways. If you were given a time machine, is there anything you would like to tell the child in the photo who once was you? Just looking at who you were seems to awaken the possibility that you could go back to that time and, if not relive your life, at least begin again. Teshuva is the Jewish concept of "return" -- as in going back to who you meant to be, returning home, returning to your Source. Teshuva is the possibility that even the most degenerate sinner can be reunited with God. Indeed, according to tradition, someone who has strayed and made teshuva is more beloved by God than someone who has never sinned. Jewish spirituality teaches that the world endures because of this ever-present yearning and gesture of returning. (Kushner, 88-90)
We are all capable of experiencing and giving away new life. Even after we think we've blown our chance. When the chips were down, Peter denied he knew Jesus. Peter must have replayed that scene over and over in his mind a thousand times. On Pentecost, God's Spirit gave Peter new life, a second chance. He preached the gospel and 3000 people were converted. Peter was back with a passion. Peter reminds us that new life is possible for each one of us. Even after we commit what we may consider to be an unforgivable sin.
Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach visited a prison in upstate New York. He had been invited by the Jewish chaplain, who asked that he perform a Hanukkah concert for the Jewish inmates there. It was a schlep, three hours each way. "No problem!" said Shlomo cheerfully.
The concert was a huge success, and Shlomo made the event into a real Hanukkah celebration, but that was only the beginning. When the party over, Shlomo turned to the chaplain and said, "Please ... I would like to visit with the rest of the inmates here. Could you get permission?"
Shlomo went into every cell, where he hugged, kissed, and talked with each inmate. Then he went into the dining room, into the recreation room, into the kitchen, into every possible nook and cranny of the prison where he was permitted to go, not satisfied until he had ferreted out every prisoner, making certain that no one had been overlooked. Finally, he was ready to leave, and as he walking down the hall a big, burly inmate with a scarred, pitted face started running after him. "Rabbi, Rabbi," he shouted. "Please wait." We stopped immediately, and Shlomo turned to beam at him. "Yes, my holy friend?" he inquired sweetly. The man began to shift in embarrassment, almost as if he regretted his impulsive act, and then, finally gathering courage, blurted out,
"I just loved that hug you have me before! Would you mind giving me another one?" Shlomo gave him the most radiant smile in the world, and then tenderly enfolded him in his arms. Thy stood clasped together for a long time.
Finally, the inmate broke away and heaved the deepest sign in the world. "Oh Rabbi," he said. "No one, no one, ever hugged me like that before." And then tears began to stream down his face.
"You know, Rabbi," he sobbed in remorse, "if only someone would have hugged me like that ten years ago, I surely wouldn't be here in this prison today." (Yitta Halberstam Mandelbaum, in Jewish Soup for the Soul, 38-39)
Thank God that tough prisoner did not die having never experienced a loving embrace. Mother Teresa said: "We can do not great things; only small things with great love." Just this is teshuva, is returning to our Source. God's Spirit gives us new life for one purpose: To share it. Let' share the Pentecost spirit. Let's hug someone like Rabbi Shlomo. Let's love our neighbors like our mothers love us. Let's acknowledge we will take a ride in a coffin one day and let that vision propel us to live a new life. Let's preach the gospel like Saint Peter. Let's be the church that was born on the Day of Pentecost.
