Sermon for Pentecost, Year C (6-8-25)

One chilly October week about a decade ago I spent a few nights on retreat out at the country property used and tended to by the monks I was living with at the time. Several small hermitages lined the Artichoke river and provided a sense of comfortable, natural solitude that I’d never before experienced. It was me, a rocking chair, a wood stove, lots of hot tea, and my thoughts and prayers.

I took a walk to get intentionally lost in the woods one afternoon. It was overcast, and drizzling, and mildly windy. The farm property set against a state park with towering pine trees and winding hiking paths. Several abandoned wells and cabins sprouted up as I meandered around aimlessly. Half an hour went by, then an hour, and so I decided to attempt find my way back. I soon realized that I was very, very lost - which was my goal - but, regardless, I was hungry and wet and wanted to be back in my cozy hermitage.

It was just then that I found myself at the crest of a bluff overlooking the peaceful river - completely still other than an occasional fan of ripples from the wind. No buzz of city life. No music. No talking. And yet, I instantly found myself straining to listen to something I couldn’t quite single out. Suddenly, a giant rush of wind drummed up all around me and I realized that I was physically - and spiritually - leaning in to listen as if there was an audible voice. It was encompassing all of me at that moment - blowing right through me. Screaming, large and powerful and comforting altogether. 

The wind was speaking, and I was listening. 

All of the angst and doubt and confusion that I’d been clinging to for the few weeks prior - especially about my vocation, and future, and goals -  all of that was being breathed on. Like that once still river, my soul was rippling and being moved by something much larger. I was lost - not only in the woods - but in my ideal of life’s journey and direction. I was lost, and wind found me. And she had a clear message: 

You won’t always see the path in front of you. Keep walking anyway and don’t ignore the scenery as you go. You will feel alone at times. Keep loving anyway and never turn your ear from the wind. You will find seasons of peace...until the wind blows. It will take you where you need to be...if you let it.

That’s what I heard. I stood there exposed, surrendered, feeling like this tiny but invaluable stroke of a much bigger painting. The Spirit found me in the wind, and in that moment I found perfect tranquility in her invisible voice. I was on holy ground. I met God on that hill.

I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, Joel prophesies
and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy

and your young men shall see visions,
and your old men shall dream dreams.

I've heard this text differently ever since my realer-than-real encounter with God's Holy Spirit that day. A spirit who is - as God - always one of love. But who doesn't necessarily always whisper either. Sometimes she's happy to raise her voice a bit. And she blows where she will. Of that I'm very sure.

How about you? Have you had any run-ins with this wily, most Holy Spirit? Jesus tells us that it has been gifted to each and every one of us who seek to follow him. Where God in the flesh - Jesus - grabs our attention and entices us onto a path of real unending life, God's Holy Spirit sustains us on that path and takes the form and shape that we need (even when we don't know what we need).

If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees her nor knows her. You know her, because she abides with you, and she will be in you.

Seeing this invisible Spirit is as much looking for evidence of her wake, echoes of her work in the world about us. A moment of firm realization, a searing experience of conviction,  a deep knowing of the connectedness of all of God's creation. You'll often find her in these moments - or rather - you'll more readily notice her. Because she's always here. Always brooding over us like a hen over her chicks. 

"But the Advocate," Jesus says "the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid."

That is how we know of her constant companionship: peace. In the midst of pain, and strife, and heartbreak, and disappointment, and anger, and stress, and you name it - bubbling under all of that is divine peace. The indwelling of God's Holy Spirit in your very being allowing you a life you simply cannot create for yourself. Peace amid all things. Strength to face all things. Wisdom to weigh all things. And a God-sized heart to love all things. All gifts from a God who adores you and seeks to dwell within your very soul.

Like the murmur of the dove's song, like the challenge of her flight,

like the vigor of the wind's rush, like the new flame's eager might,

Come, Holy Spirit, come.

Amen