Acts 2:1-21

“And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each.”  Acts 2:6

As has become our tradition, today’s sermon on this Day of Pentecost is addressed to our confirmands.  But I hope everyone else will eavesdrop and heard a word for your life too.

Brian, Ellie, Tayla, Samantha, John, and Jared:

Every year I say that I can’t believe this day has come. Two years goes fast.  But this time it feels like the past two years have gone extra fast.  I’m not sure why, but here we are.

You have worked hard.  You’ve worked hard to study the commandments and creeds, to learn stories from the New Testament and the Old Testament.  You’ve drawn those stories and sculpted them and acted them out and discussed them together.  You’ve tried different ways of praying and different ways of reading the Bible and different ways of understanding God’s gifts to you.  You’ve learned more about what makes us Lutheran.

Among the many things that I appreciate about all of you, I love that you have amazing questions.  Questions like:

  • Will Jesus come back, or will someone else represent God in the way that Jesus did?
  • How does the Bible help us make sense of science – and vice versa?
  • Why does God allow so much suffering in this world?
  • How does God forgive even the worst people?

I’ve loved wrestling with these questions along with you. I think you know by now that the most important questions, like these, don’t have easy answers.  What’s most important is that God has given each of us a brain with which to grapple with questions – and to think of new questions – throughout our lives.  Confirmation class might be over, but I hope the learning and growing you do in faith will never be over.

You also have some important wisdom.  I love how clearly you have grasped some of the most profound truths of our faith.  In your own words:

  • God’s presence is everywhere. And even though God is sometimes not so very pleased with us, God still loves us.
  • God can help us make difficult decisions.
  • Even in dark times, God is there and is always gracious to us.

You understand – as well as any of us can understand – that God’s grace and love are bigger than the limits we try to place on it.

As one of you told me this week, “God has a space for everyone.  There’s always a door for everyone, even if they’ve done something bad.  God forgives that.”

It’s a weird and wonderful story, this story of Pentecost that we hear today.  Remember that when this story begins, Jesus’ disciples are waiting, just as he had told them to do before he ascended into heaven.  He’s given them a job to tell others about his love for all people, not just in their neighborhood but in the whole world.  I’m pretty sure that when this story begins, the disciples are sitting around freaking out about how they’re going to do that.

And then, before they can figure out what’s happening, the Holy Spirit comes rushing through with fire and with a crazy wind. The disciples begin to speak, probably unsure at first of what they were saying, but amazed to discover that they are speaking in languages that they have never known before.  All of those people gathered together from all of these places can understand what the disciples are saying.  Everybody hears in their own language.[i]

This is one of my favorite stories in the entire Bible, and this time I kept thinking about how the Holy Spirit didn’t expect everybody to be the same.  The people gathered together in Jerusalem from all of those different cities and countries do not have to give up what makes them unique in order to be part of this church that the Spirit is bringing together.  What gives them their identities – the places they call home, the languages they speak – those identities are honored in this special way.

If you hear nothing else today, I want you to hear this. And I want to be as clear as I can be. You are exactly who God has created you to be. God honors what makes you uniquely you.  There will be a lot of people who will try to convince you that you should try to be someone else, that you should be a little more this way or a little less that way.  Do not listen to them.  You are beautifully and wonderfully made, and while there will be plenty to learn along the way, you do not have to be anyone other than who you are.

Please remember that God’s love for you is entirely unrelated to what you are able to do.  You have so many talents, and I love watching and hearing about how you use them – in classrooms, on the soccer field, on the basketball court, on the piano bench, in the jazz band, on stage, on a track, here at church, in leadership roles, in Scouts, in service to others, in friendships, in your families.

But God does not wait for what you will accomplish or what you will achieve to decide whether or not you are worth loving.   You just are.  Already.  You have been from the moment you were born.  God loves you just as you are right now.  Your story, which some days can feel small and unimportant, is a part of God’s larger story, which means that your story always matters– even on those days when you’re not sure what you believe or what you should do.

In a few minutes you will step up here and make some promises about how you will try to live out what Jesus has taught us.  As we’ve discussed, several of those promises aren’t easy – serving all people, sharing the good news of Jesus is word anddeed, working for justice and peace.  As you seek to live out those promises, remember that all of the people in this room – and many more – surround you and support you and love you.  They are another gift that God has given you.

But most of all remember that God loves you, that God is with you always.  The same God you loved you and claimed you as God’s own on the day of your baptism loves you and claims you now.  That love will never leave you – no matter what.  Amen.


S.D.G. – The Rev. Dr. Christa M. Compton, Gloria Dei Lutheran Church, Chatham, NJ

[i]I use a plural pronoun “their” here to avoid the binary language of his/her.


Luke 24:44-53 and Acts 1:1-11

“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”  When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight.   Acts 1:8-9

We say it every week.  Every single week.  “He ascended into heaven; he is seated at the right hand of the Father.”  Each week I keep expecting one of you to stop the proceedings and say, “Hold up just a minute…What does this even mean??”

I think we get that Jesus was born.  At least that story we can do a Christmas program about. We understand that he died – though we don’t like to think too much about how he died.  And even though it’s difficult to grasp, we can stumble through the part about how he rose from the dead.  There are some good hymns about that story to help us out.

But this business about ascending into heaven? There aren’t as many catchy songs about that.

The author of Luke and Acts paints quite a vivid picture for us.  First, Jesus, right in the middle of blessing his disciples, “withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.”  The retelling in the first chapter of Acts is even better.  Jesus promises them the Holy Spirit, gives them a mission, and then “as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight.”  The disciples stand there gazing up into the sky where Jesus has floated away.

Heaven help me, but I almost always think about Mary Poppins when I read these Ascension stories.  She, too, arrives in mysterious fashion to fulfill her mission of taking care of the Banks children and helping their family reconnect.  And, mission accomplished, she floats off into the sky when the wind changes.

I’m not suggesting that Mary Poppins is Jesus – or vice versa – but if Mary Poppins were in this Ascension scene, you can bet she would say to the disciples as she once did to young Michael Banks: “Close your mouth please…we are not a codfish.”

The two men in white robes who appear to the disciples don’t quite say that, but they say something that I always hear as a little bit accusatory: “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” Maybe it’s my own discomfort, but I hear their question as something like this: “Don’t waste time lollygagging and staring at the sky. Jesus has told you what will happen next.  There’s no point in hanging around with your mouths open.  Get ready for the mission.”

You would think the disciples would have figured it out by now. You can’t pin Jesus down.

You want him to stay in the temple, but look. There he goes, wandering off outside the temple walls, and beyond the city gates into the wilderness, into the river, into all of those backwoods, out-of-the-way places that no one else wants to go.

It’s time for dinner. Has anyone seen Jesus?  What do you mean he’s at the house of Zacchaeus, the tax collector who has cheated nearly everyone he knows?

Oh, so you want him to give you exactly what you want exactly when you want it?  A healing, a blessing?  But look! There he goes by himself to have some quiet time and to pray.  And then he’s getting into a boat and heading to the other side of the sea.

When he dies, you think as you grieve: “Well, we know where he is now.  He’s in that tomb.”

Except when you go to the tomb, you find a stone rolled away and two men in dazzling clothes who ask, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

And now, just when you’ve gotten used to having him back from the dead, there he goes floating off into the sky.  For a moment all you can do is look up at the clouds through which he has disappeared.

What now?

We try to pin Jesus down too.  We want to domesticate him, reign him in, pull him down on the end of a kite string and keep him to ourselves.  We try to make him our private good luck charm, our savior-on-demand, ordering him up like the latest Netflix special when we want him and conveniently ignoring him when we do not.

But that’s not how it works. He’s given us our mission. We share that mission with the first disciples.  Do you remember what he tells them? “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

Jesus might say it a little differently for us: “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Chatham, in the Township, in the Borough, in all of New Jersey and the United States, and to the ends of the earth.”

The point is the same.  We cannot contain Jesus.  We can’t pin him down.  No amount of staring up at the sky will change what he has called us to do – to go out and bear witness.

We have a mission.  We are stirred up by the Holy Spirit to do those things he has shown us how to do – to go to the places where “holy” people have stopped going, to have dinner with the folks who aren’t getting all the best dinner invitations, to forgive the people who have hurt us, to take some time for stillness and prayer, to do whatever it takes to make the world safer for the most vulnerable among us (and that includes figuring out how to stop the gun violence that takes more lives every day).  We have a mission to keep telling God’s story…and our story…and how these stories come together in a way that only God can make possible.

I told you a few weeks ago about the death of one of my favorite writers, Rachel Held Evans.  Yesterday I was able to watch Rachel’s funeral via a livestream from the church in Tennessee that hosted the service.  It was one of the most beautiful funerals I have ever witnessed. All of it – the music, the prayers, the eulogies, the sermon – testified to the revolutionary power of being resurrection people.

Rachel’s sister Amanda spoke about her sister so powerfully.  She shared a poem that Rachel once wrote, admitting that Rachel did not consider herself a poet and would probably be furious at her for reading it at her funeral.

I want to share that poem with you because it seems fitting for a day when we ponder Ascension, when we struggle with the push-pull between looking up toward heaven and getting to work here on earth.

Rachel’s poem is titled “Deep and Blue”:

Deep and Blue[i]

Flying a kite,

like fishing upside down,

I gaze into the infinite dizzying blue

and wonder what’s swimming around up there,


catching invisible

currents of air

that tug and tighten up my string.


I’m glad we live in in-between

not at the top

or bottom of anything.


That’s where we live – in that in-between. Between heaven and earth.  Between what is and what will be.  Between what Jesus has promised our future will look like and what Jesus has given us to do in the meantime.  A time between what God gives us now and what God has in store for us – which is beyond anything we can imagine.

I don’t understand it all.  The good news is that we don’t have to understand it in order to look down and take the next steps.

People of Gloria Dei, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?  There’s so much more that awaits us.  Amen.


S.D.G. – The Rev. Dr. Christa M. Compton, Gloria Dei Lutheran Church, Chatham, NJ


[i]I am so thankful for the generosity of Rachel’s family in making the livestream of her funeral available.  It was one of the most moving services I’ve ever witnessed. I was especially touched by the eulogy and song offered by Rachel’s sister Amanda.  I have no idea how Rachel formatted her poem, so I hope that she will forgive me for sharing it and for taking my best guess at how it might have been shaped.  If you’d like to view Rachel’s service yourself, try this link:


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