Smell My Finger

A writer once said that America and England are two nations divided by a common language.

Well, almost!

If Webster had had his way, the differences would be much more than they are. He wanted to completely alter American English, which would have probably encouraged even greater pronunciation differences than exists today among English-speaking people. Aside from a few changes (“Savior,” instead of “Saviour,” for example) Americans retained English’s archaic and cumbersome spelling system.

Our language has the habit of dragging along all the layers of our linguistic past as we continually modify it for current and future use. That habit affects our spelling – a lot – but it affects other things too, such as church culture.

Here is an example: think about how some Christians speak of the “Holy Spirit,” while others say “Holy Ghost.”

The reason for this difference is not theological. We use both terms because of our language offers both of them for our use.

English vocabulary comes from two major sources: the German and the French.

Our language was originally a form of German. Those Germanic roots gave us the word “Geist,” which over time became the English “ghost.”

When the French invaded England nearly a thousand years ago and made their language the official tongue of the realm, English also ended up digesting huge chunks of Romance. (The language refers to language, not love. The French tried to give love to Anglo-Saxons but so far they’ve refused the gift.) Romance – “the language of Rome” was in the process of becoming modern French. That’s where we got the word “esprit,” from the French and in time modified it to become a more English-sounding “spirit. “

Ghost and spirit mean similar things then, although we tend to use them differently.

English has thousands of duplicate words like this.

“Get” and “receive,” “father” and “parent,” “cow” and pig” are all examples of how our language draws upon both its Germanic and its Romance roots to create its vocabulary.

A rule of thumb about what words to use for which occasion seems to be this: the lower the class of the speaker, the more primitive his experience, or the closer to his heart, the more an English speaker will use German-derived words. The higher his class, the more refined his experience, or the more abstract the thoughts he wishes to express, the more an English speaker will use Romance- derived words.

Cuss words? All Germanic! For an explosive explicative, the soft sounding syllables of French will not do. People won’t even understand that we’re angry or frustrated.

SHEEFATAMAKENHABUKITZFOTSTS!

See what I mean?

However, when we want to eat, we ask for “a slice of mutton or beef;” not a “hunk of sheep or cow.”

Protocol requires us to choose between Germanic derived and French derived words several times a day.

But I’m off my subject.

Classical Pentecostals, who formed their denominations in the early 1900’s, have tended to use the term “Holy Ghost,” just as most English-speaking Christians did the past. However, since our language, like all languages, keeps changing; the tendency seems to be toward using the Latin based “Spirit” more than the Germanic word “Ghost” for spiritual conversations.

The fact is, both terms, although they may feel a bit different when we use them, mean exactly the same thing.

Whichever we use, “Spirit” or “Ghost,” we face a problem in defining the indefinable Holy Spirit!
Either term, “Holy Spirit” or “Holy Ghost” seems to encourage a mental impression of something like an intangible, ill-defined, floating fog. When we put “Holy” in front of a perception like that, what do we get? Well, a Holy ill-defined fog!

This is especially true if we are thinking about the Holy Spirit as an impersonal force rather than as a Divine Person.

I don’t mean to be irreverent. However, I do want to point out how difficult is it is to describe the Holy Spirit.

Could this be the reason why Western Christians have often avoided discussions about the Holy Spirit?

Even great thinkers like John Calvin, the spiritual father of Presbyterianism, a man who seemed to lack never words about any subject, seems rather tongue-tied when it comes to the Holy Spirit.

It seems that Western theologians have usually preferred to deal with subjects that are more predictable, contain less mystery and are more easily described.

Ever since Roman times, Western Christians have preferred concrete definitions and articulated doctrines. We leave it to the spooky Easterners to use words that point toward some concept that cannot be fully expressed in words.

Most of the time, our preference for concrete words over abstract ones -- and for practical results over mysterious experience -- serves us well. Sometimes this preference makes us – well, so Anglo-Saxon. It can get in the way of spiritual growth.

It’s like the man trying to communicate with his dog about how to find food.

The man points to the bowl over across the room and yells, “FIDO!! OVER THERE! LOOK!

The dog only hears “FIDO!! BLAH! BLAH! BLAH!”

So the dog walks over and smells the man’s finger.

As it turns out, communication problems exist everywhere; not just between the Americans and the English.

Of course, none of this would have been a problem if the French would have remained on their side of the Channel.

The Colorful Ghost

On this date in 1980, a group of thugs assassinated Oscar Romero as was blessing the wine and bread for Communion.

He had been an unlikely leader for a chaotic time. Many believe that El Salvador’s elite had agreed to his appointment as the nation’s archbishop because he was a scholarly type, a bit bookish and otherworldly; not the sort to cause a lot of trouble.

And he wouldn’t have caused any trouble, had it not been for a group of nuns who knew the Lord and who began encouraging his prayer life. Soon, he was attending to the needs of his flock and then began to really notice the suffering of the people that God and history had called him to serve.

The movie, Romero, tells the story of pastoral leadership and the effect of that leadership upon the nation. As Oscar Romeo prayed and went deeper in God, his life and sermons began to provoke powerful people – the very people among whom he had been raised and taught.

God had anointed him to speak a prophetic word of comfort to the suffering and a warning of God’s judgment to the powerful.

As is often the case, this pastor paid the ultimate price for trying to move beyond merely speaking the words of the gospel and into acting upon the words of the gospel.

Like many great men and women, Archbishop Romero was not naturally courageous. He trembled and shook as he walked into the dangerous work of exposing and rebuking evil.

Why did he do it?

How did he do it?

He clothed himself in the Holy Spirit. He went on the adventure with God. He stopped trying to control God, trying to use god words to buttress the status quo, and dared to follow God’s heart.
One moving scene in the movie is when Romero joins the nuns singing the popular Spanish folk song “De Colores.” He has been discouraged and afraid. So the Indian nuns form a ring around their leader and sing until he laughs and joins them:

De Colores
De Colores se visten los campos en la primavera
De Colores
De Colores son los pajarillos que vienen de afuera
De Colores
De Colores es el arco iris que vemos lucir
Y por eso los grandes amores
De muchos colores
Me Gustan a mi

All of us who have been on a Cursillo weekend, or one of the many spiritual retreats in Protestant circles modeled after Cursillo – know what is happening in that scene. The nuns are reminding their pastor that our work is “not by power nor by might, but by the Spirit of the Lord of Hosts.” Only the Spirit can turn the dark gray of winter into the “colores de la primavera” (the colors of spring time.)

In an age in which so many churches continue their death march into the cold professionalism, entertainment and business management in which the Holy Spirit gradually becomes a pious but meaningless term, how we need the Spirit that produces the “many bright colors that make my heart cry.”

When I was a young Pentecostal evangelist, I would often hold prayer services for those seeking to be filled with the Holy Spirit. I will never forget one of those services in my home state of West Virginia.

I had been going down the line of seekers, laying my hands on them as I went. When I came to one little boy, I laid my hand on him and said, as gently as a Pentecostal preacher can, “Receive the Holy Ghost!”

When I said those words, the little boy opened his eyes as far as they could open, bolted for the door and shouted back at me as he ran out of the building; “I don’t want nut’in to do with no ghost!”

That is unfortunately, the stance many adult Christians in all denominations have toward the dynamic and uncontrollable presence of God. They don’t want nut’in to do with no ghost.

When we call God, “Father” we have a place to begin with our attempts to imagine God. Even though we know that our heavenly Father must be considerably different than our earthly father, we understand what “father” means. The same is true as we speak of God as “The Son.” The term “Son of God,” although beyond our comprehension, is at least imaginable. Because of Jesus, we can even give God a human face in our imagination.

But how do we even begin to speak, write, think about or ever comprehend the Holy Spirit?

I find it difficult to write about the Holy Spirit.

He seems to elude all of our descriptions.

Perhaps the most important reason for this difficulty in describing the Holy Spirit is that one does not so much study the Holy Spirit as simply experience Him.

He is a Fire, mere words cannot contain Him.

He is a wind, mere ceremony cannot control Him.

He is, as the folk song puts it, the “brightest colors of springtime.”

He is dangerous, as Romero discovered. He does not guarantee our safety.

But He is good and He does guarantee our transformation.

In the movie, as Oscar Romero lifts the cup and says, “the blood of Christ, poured out for us, may it keep us unto eternal life,” a bullet rips through his chest. He does all he can to steady the cup and set it down gently on the Table. But he fails. The wine pours out across the Table until the blood and the wine become so mixed upon the altar that no one can tell them apart.

But outside the Cathedral, the pastor’s death takes the heart out of the war and it finally stops, from a sheer lack of interest.

The rainbow is vested across the blue sky and so must all love be of many bright colors that make our hearts cry.

De Colores!

Cities of Refuge

In today’s One Year Bible reading (Numbers 33) God instructs Moses to build cities of refuge. These cities were to be priestly communities – something like monasteries – in which the Levites went about their scholarly and pastoral work. However, in the event that someone accidentally killed another person or committed some other serious error, he could flee to one of these city of refuge. The reason for this was simple: the family of the person accidentally murdered might decide to avenge the murder of their kinsman before discovering the real cause. The city of refuge allowed the process of law to work toward justice as the momentary passions of the mob subsided.

This idea, of finding refuge in a holy place, came to be known as the law of sanctuary.

Throughout Christian history, church buildings became similar places of sanctuary where a person could not be arrested nor removed by force. The secular authorities would then reason with the one who had placed himself under the sanctity of God’s house until some verdict was reached.

As late as 1989, Americans witnessed a living example of the law of sanctuary.

The United States had invaded Panama to remove Manuel Noriega from office. As the armed forces got closer to his presidential palace, Noriega ran into the Cathedral, where he formally requested sanctuary. Americans – accustomed to a much more secular view of community and law – were appalled. This notorious criminal was granted sanctuary. The priests refused the army entrance into the building. Realizing that Latin American public opinion would simply not tolerate a removal by force, the Americans waited – something we are not gifted to do!

The soldiers played loud rock music over massive speakers, making it impossible for the church to conduct its religious services. Still the priests would not give in. Sanctuary is a sacred trust. It cannot be refused. The dictator remained in this place of refuge until the negotiators convinced Noriega to leave the church voluntarily.

The possibility of sanctuary –of refuge – implies that the church is a separate entity from the state or culture in which it works. Most of the time, church and state are in peaceful coexistence. However, sometimes their distinct roles in society force them into contrast and conflict.

There are situations in which the law of man violates the law of God. At such times, there must be a mechanism to slow down the process of law and force human government to think through its position in a more dispassionate and humble way.

The Church has the authority – even the responsibility – to do this.

The Church, after all, is not merely a name we give to an assembly of believers. God called the Church into being to guide, nourish and sustain believers as they walk through this world. It is not a democracy. It is not beholden to a particular nation. It is not subject to the whims of state and political trends. Although a church should nearly always obey the state, there are times when it cannot do so and must at such time, accept the penalty for its decisions.

As our nation continues its journey toward legalizing gay marriage, for example, churches will find themselves in the position faced by the priests at the Panamanian Cathedral. Do we obey the guys with the guns, or the One to whom we have pledged to follow in life and death? It’s a situation American Christians have never faced: denying the state’s legitimacy in an specific area of social influence. We believe that God has determined what constitutes Holy Matrimony and that cultures in all times and all places have generally agreed with that definition. The sudden decision of one culture to opt out of that definition and replace it with another seems to us to redefine the nature of law itself. It makes the state into its own god; the final arbitrator of what constitutes legitimate law.

The Church says “no.” It rejects the state’s legitimacy on this specific point.

When the Church acts in ways that are faithful to its own calling and identity, secularized people – even Christians – can become very confused. Secularism has no categories for entities that are neither compliant nor rebellious but are simply “other.” We are other than the political Left. We are other than the political Right. We are another kind of category altogether.

We are sanctuary and a refuge.

If a gay-bashing gang were in pursuit of a man simply because he was gay and if he was to solicit sanctuary from the church, the church would need to do all within its power to protect and defend him from harm.

If the same gay person was to ask the church to accept his lifestyle however, the church would be forced to deny his request.

A biblically faithful church sometimes frustrates everyone!

For centuries, American believers have been able to view their culture as an extension and an outgrowth of their faith. We have had little reason to think of the church as “other than” our society. However, we are apparently entering the same sort of cultural territory that believers have experienced throughout history, in which one’s life as a citizen of a state does not completely correspond to his or her life as a believer.

The Bible offers all sorts of metaphors – mental images -- to describe the Church’s spiritual identity and role in the world as a separate and “other” place.. One of those images is that of a kingdom. The king of this kingdom is Christ, who promised his followers that he would never leave nor forsake them. Christians believe that every good thing that this kingdom has done through the centuries has been Jesus at work through His people.

Another image of the church is “the body of Christ.”

The first person to use this phrase was St. Paul, who tells us in the first epistle to the Corinthians (chapter 11-14) that when we believe in Jesus we become a part of this body. Some of us are like ears; we hear the needs of the world. Some of us are like eyes; we see what must be done. Some of us are like feet; we mobilize the church to action. When this “body” works as it should, the members are in harmony, acting in obedience to the head of the body, which is Christ.

The metaphor of “body” can confuse some people because the New Testament also speaks of the bread we bless in Communion as “the body of Christ.” In fact, the very same passage where which Paul calls the Church the body of Christ, he calls the bread of communion the body of Christ.

There is a reason why Paul uses the same metaphor for both things. When Christians eat the bread, they all take into their bodies the very same substance.

We are what we eat.

We leave the worship service where we have eaten bread and drank wine in Christ’s name. We have been reminded of all that He taught us. We have prayed for forgiveness for the ways in which we have fallen short of being His body in the world. After doing all of that, we go out into the world to represent Him and His kingdom.

Jesus now waits in heaven until His Church completes the task of carrying His gospel to the world. Meanwhile, He rules His new Israel, His mystical Kingdom, His body - guiding it, leading it, and completing it, until the day He will be crowned King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

We are therefore, the embassy of a coming kingdom.

We are a city of refuge; an outpost of heaven.