Many of you know about our vacation plan in which we are systematically visiting all of the mainland national parks. As much as I love talking about these parks, I will not recite all 36 that we have collected to date, nor even tell you about the seven that we have left to see. But there are three defining, numinous moments that I will share with you this morning by way of introduction to my thoughts about Pentecost.

In 1990 in a tent in the Everglades National Park I awoke one morning with the sound of running water in my ear. I was puzzled by this sound, because I didn't remember a stream anywhere near where we had set up our tent the night before. I sat up, and could not hear it as well. I got out of the tent and looked all around for some sign of running water. Nothing. Nor was the sound there anymore. I walked over to, as one of my octogenarian patients refers to them, the necessary facilities, this puzzle replaced by other more demanding requirements. When I returned and got back into the tent and put my head down on the bundle of cloths that served as my pillow, the sound was back. I got up and went out again, then returned. The sound disappeared like before, dwindling as my head moved away from the ground. I did this again. And again. Finally it dawned on me. The trickling sound of running water was the sound of the Everglade's river of grass-- the constant water running through the porous limestone that underlay the totality of the thousands of acres of Everglades national park as well as the surrounding miles of the Florida peninsula. There was no stream. There was a river, silent and broad and discernable only by the most intimate contact and by the broad outlines of her grand and defining effect on the landscape. It was, for me, a numinous moment, a moment of defining meaning that marked my experience of creation and my relationship to God's providence within the large forces that serve as the background for the details my life.

Two other experiences were similarly defining for me. In Guadalupe Forest National Park, in the early morning of January first, 1993 I was awakened within our tent in the 25 degree temperatures and under the sleeping bag, extra blanket and multiple layers of clothing that we had pieced together to tolerate this unexpected cold. I was annoyed that the reason for my awakening forced me to leave the relative warmth of the tent and venture outside into the camp ground. But once I stuck my head out, I was completely distracted from my mission. The stars in this isolated campground far up in the hills of the Texas mountains and far away from any human artificial light, so filled the sky, were so dense, seemed so close as to defy imagination or description. I woke Susan and she hesitantly, resistantly dragged herself out of the tent to see what it was that kept me from promptly returning to our feeble protections from cold. This experience of awareness of our place in the universe marked this trip, the overall task of surveying the Parks, and it marked our lives. It was a numinous, powerful defining moment.

One more of these experiences occurred on this most recent vacation. In Death Valley National Park we stayed at the Ranch Motel -- we don't currently camp in tents, though I haven't completely given up hope that we might again. After a civilized dinner at the lodge where we watched dark descend over this barren desert, I suggested to Susan that if we drove a mile or so away from the oasis of Furnace Creek we might be able to see the stars the way we saw them in vacations past. So we drove. After only a mile the lights seemed to disappear and we pulled our rental car over on the side of the road and turned it off. We stood there, looking up into the sky, hoping for the stars to descend within reach as they did many years ago, but it was not to be. Los Angeles to the west and Las Vegas to the east and many other towns were too close, and, even with California's energy crunch, the rim of the earth glowed with manmade light. But as we stood there enjoying the stars that we could see -- and they were considerable -- I noticed something I didn't expect. There was no sound. None. It was the desert. There were no rustling leaves. There were no little animals burrowing about. There were no cars, no refrigerator sounds, no running water, no tromping of other vacationers through gravel paths, no machines in the background. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. After a few moments of adapting to this emptiness Susan and I, standing very close together, started to hear the rumblings of our digesting dinner - sounds usually reserved for the stethoscope. But if we stood apart, even these sounds dimmed and we returned to the experience of the gigantic, defining, numinous soundlessness of empty desert. Finally a few coyotes began to talk to each other in the distant mountains and the moment was interrupted. But like with the everglades water, and the stars of Guadalupe Forest, this memory will never leave me. These memories define and mark the endeavor of seeing the National Parks on our vacations and in the bigger picture, define our place in the universe and our relationship to God's creation.

It is in this way, on a much bigger scale, that Pentecost has marked the Christian Church. Pentecost is not the only mark of this sort, but it is a numinous mark. It is a point in history, a memory of a moment that defined, changed, shaped, impelled and created the experience of all the early Christians who were there and all Christians who were taught by them. I wish I could have been there.

Wanting to know the experience of the Early Church is an old theme in Christian history. The Anabaptist founders wanted to return to the purity of the early Church. This was actually the first thing that came to my mind when the announcement was made about the topic of sermons between Christmas and Lent. What story in the Bible inspires me to wonder what it would be like to be there? Well, my first thoughts were these early Anabaptists. But they aren't in the Bible. So initially I thought I would pass on preaching on this theme. But as my thoughts percolated, this time of Pentecost came to interest me. Anabaptism aspired, in its infancy, to replicate the fervor and the dedication of the early church. There is no story in the Bible that more completely reflects this early church experience than the story told in the second chapter of Acts.

When I was in High School I went to Christopher Dock and there many of my teachers regularly referred to the founders of Anabaptism. According to my teachers these folks practiced Real Christianity. The kind of Christianity that had been practiced by the followers of Jesus back before the institutional church had co-opted Jesus radical message. My teachers made occasional reference to the second chapter of Acts, in particular verse 45 "they sold their possessions and goods, and distributed them to all, according as anyone had need." Now they made a point not to overemphasize this verse, and often muted it in some way. Probably the parents of my classmates would object if they suddenly found their kids giving the keys to the family Buick to just anybody. But this radical act on the part of the early Christians was given as an example of the level of commitment held by the early Church. Later at Goshen I ran into people who were even more moved by this impulse. True radicals, they were so moved, in fact, that some actually did share their wealth and lived in community together.

At the same time, there was another group of Christians who were very influential for me. The early Seventies was a time of spiritual renewal. This particular version of spiritual renewal was called the Charismatic Movement -- inspired by Pentecostalism, but practiced by people in the mainstream churches. Up in Montgomery County and later in Goshen that group included Mennonites. This group was also marked by an attempt to return to a radical Real Christianity, the kind of Christianity that was practiced by the followers of Jesus back before, as Charismatics saw it, the institutional Church had squelched the power and emotion of Jesus message. These folks also made reference to the second chapter of Acts, in particular verse four: They were all filled with the Holy Spirit, and began to speak with other languages, as the Spirit gave them the ability to speak.

These two groups, each radical in their own way, didn't really identify much with the other group. The group that liked verse four didn't much like verse 45. The group that liked verse 45 didn't have much time for those who liked verse four. In the early years of college it was quite a conflict for me. These days I'm afraid I am not a very good radical in either direction. Having lived to the ancient age of 43, an age I never thought I'd see, given my apocalyptic expectations in my late teens and early twenties, I have a far higher tolerance for ambivalence, areas of grey and the value of good intentions. But this discrepancy still marks my experience. It forces a balance between the emotions and the actions that are a response to Jesus message. This second chapter of Acts stands as a numinous marker for this precarious balance. It describes a point in history that defined, shaped and impelled the experience of all Christians who were there and all Christians who were taught by them. I wish I could have been there.

Now, mind you, this is not the only story in the Bible that makes me wonder what it would be like to have been an observing fly on the wall. I would be very happy to have been at Jesus birth, or His Resurrection. I think it would be very enlightening to be present at the times of some of the miracles of the Bible: raising Lazarus from the dead for example, or the parting of the Red Sea. That is, if I could be there like Dr. Who of the science fiction television show - going back for a few hours in an old telephone booth like contraption and returning to safety by the end of the show. Being there would settle some of my doubtful curiosity about the roots of these ancient stories that have the flavor of myth and do not seem to be compatible with reality as I know it.

But in some way, this second chapter of Acts stands out as unique among all of these accounts. In so many of the other miracles, things are done mysteriously by magical means and the people around get to talk about it, but don't really involve themselves. In this experience the Spirit of God descends upon the people themselves. They are willingly possessed by this Spirit and speak in tongues that are not native to them. The consequence goes beyond just the experience of religious ecstacy, and carries over into the way they live their lives.

Let me to talk for a moment about what science knows about this phenomenon, speaking in tongues, also known as glossolalia. This is not something that was necessarily first visited upon the early Christians. It is something that has been observed in a number of different cultures, associated with an experience of religious ecstacy. When anthropologists record these events, they find that the words that come out of the mouths of those who speak in tongues are generally nonsense syllables made up of the sound fragments of the speakers native tongue. I would be interested in looking at the details of this analysis sometime. My guess is that this is the case only when the one engaging in the act of religious ecstacy has not been exposed to other languages. When I've attended services where people spoke in tongues, I've noticed that the words sounded strikingly similar to languages that have been heard, but are not completely understood. English speakers sound like they are speaking in Spanish, or Hebrew or some other familiar but not fully understood language.

I don't think it is necessary to believe that those who entered into an ecstatic trance at the time of Pentecost actually spoke full meaningful sentences in languages wholly unfamiliar to them to accept the impact of this experience of spiritual ecstacy. I expect that, if I would have been there, these Galileans would have been speaking the moderately familiar sounds of the language groups that they had frequently overheard in markets, on roads and in other public arenas. They may even have spoken full words in these strange languages, attracting the attention of the others in their town.

Checking the veracity of the Biblical report, however, is hardly why I would want to be there. I don't think there is any doubt that these folks were speaking in tongues. In fact, the occurrence of a response of religious ecstacy to God's revelation at that time is no surprise to me at all. In that context, speaking in tongues was no big deal. Jimmy Swaggart does it. Tammy Faye does it. Oral Roberts does it. I've even done it. What is so striking to me gets back to what people did after they had the experience of religious ecstacy. "They sold their possessions and goods, and distributed them to all, according as anyone had need." Now I know Jimmy, Tammy Faye and Oral have never done that. Neither, for that matter, have I.

What kind of inspiration would motivate such generosity? Unlike questions about tongues of fire and speaking foreign languages, this particular question has lingered with me far past the years of my adolescence. What would inspire such poor judgement on the part of the early Christians?

This dedication went far beyond just giving up possessions. These were, for the most part, not wealthy people, and, while I'm sure they valued what they had just as much as the next guy, pooling their resources probably looked far better to them then it would have to a group with greater economic diversity. Lewis Lord, in the Jan 8 edition of US News and World Report, writes strikingly about the horrible economic conditions of that time endured by all but the elite and powerful who made up less than one tenth of 1% of the population of the Roman Empire. In this society human life had little value. Humans were slaughtered and fed to animals for entertainment. Unwanted children were discarded into the trash heap, rescued only if another family wanted a slave, and only then if they thought there would be enough food to feed one. Of course the difference between the life of a slave and that of an ordinary citizen was not that big. It was a hand to mouth existence.

There are so many of the values and conventions of the culture of that time that were eviscerated by Christ's message, and there were so many cultures that were affected in different ways that is hard for me to organize my thoughts about this, let alone review them all in the time I have this morning. For the most part, the cultures of the time believed that one's worth was based upon the degree to which one was favored by the gods -- whichever god one was assigned by birthright or one chose from among the pantheon to be one's special benefactor. The degree of favor of the gods was judged by the power and wealth one possessed. Of course, there were very few who enjoyed the full favor of the gods, very few indeed. The Roman masses were a hopeless lot - no hope for wealth, and no hope for the future, many looking for a messianic break into this unjust, intransigent social and political order. The Jews were no better off than the masses of other Roman subjects and they were also looking for their Messiah.

How dramatic it is that in this climate God's Holy Spirit descended to everyone who believed in Jesus. Everyone. Not just the Jews, not just to those who were favored by the gods. God's Spirit also spoke in all languages. This confirmed the sayings of Jesus and the witness of the disciples that God values even the lowest, most unworthy person as a son or daughter when that person elects to join God's family.. The final step seems to me to be just as logical, just as predictable. With those with whom one shares in this marvelous baptism, one will share food, clothing, shelter, even life itself. For when you look at the history of the early Church as well as the history of the early Anabaptist movement, you will see that possessions were some of the least of the things that people had to give up in order to follow Christ.

Eusebious, an early Church historian, wrote of the trials of:

" Blandina, through whom Christ showed that things which appear mean and unsightly and despicable in the eyes of men are accounted worthy of great glory in the sight of God through love towards Him, a love which showed itself in power and did not boast itself in appearance. For when we were all afraid .... Blandina was filled with such power that those who by turns kept torturing her in every way from dawn till evening were worn out and exhausted, and themselves confessed defeat from lack of aught else to do to her; they marveled that the breath still remained in a body all mangled and covered with gaping wounds, and they testified that a single form of torture was sufficient to render life extinct, let alone such and so many. But the blessed woman, like a noble champion, in confession regained her strength; and for her, to say "I am a Christian, and with us no evil finds a place" was refreshment and rest and insensibility to her lot." Pg. 33. A New Eusebious, edited by J. Stevenson: 1957.

This is dedication indeed. And it is emotional fervor. The potency of the Spirit of God that descended to us in that numinous day of Pentecost is motivating and empowering. Christians throughout the centuries have paid dearly for their willing possession by the Spirit of God. These sacrifices are illustrated by this and many other examples that we have read in the Bible, in the Martyr's Mirror, and in the contemporary stories we hear from other nations and sometimes our own where bearing witness to God's love and justice has lead to persecution.

Indeed, the vision of the early Church was one of apocalyptic urgency. They expected the world to end momentarily. Christ would return and all would be made right. Indeed, the world as they knew it did end within four hundred years.

David Keys in a book called Catastrophe details the effect of a cataclysmic volcano around the year 430 that altered the course of the climate in the decades and centuries that followed, causing the famines and plagues of the Dark Ages that reduced the population of Europe, the Middle East, Asia and even the American continents by as much as 50%, more in some places. Keyes view as to the cause of all these calamities is bound to be controversial, but the facts that he reports are not in dispute. Within 450 years after Christ the Roman empire was decimated. Europe and the Middle East was depopulated. Wars and large scale immigrations rocked the area. A new civilization did not provide stable reorganization for centuries. Predictably, at the end of the book, Keyes points out the likely locations of other possible volcanic explosions of similar magnitude.

Yet we don't need Keyes apocalyptic prognostication. We already have our own apocalyptic catastrophes today. I'm not talking about the shortage of electricity in California. As I reviewed the papers in the days since our return from vacation, the impact of the many horrible things that can happen to us hit me hard. The earthquake in India is cause for great sadness and mourning. The ongoing AIDS pandemic in Central Africa and elsewhere is bringing a premature end to the worlds of thousands, perhaps millions. Millions in the human race at this very moment are suffering deprivations and oppression that rivals that of the Romans and Jews of the time of Christ.

We here, in this part of the US have had little experience of the kind of horrors that have been visited on the human race in its brief history. Those with memories of the great depression are old and their voices are not often heeded. Even the war in Vietnam is a dwindling memory. Yet as we hear each week during sharing time, we are not immune to the personal tragedies that bring us face to face with the large impersonal forces that govern the natural world and provide each of us with our own personal apocalypse. The group REM sang "It's the end of the world as we know it." They might have felt fine. People usually don't. Usually when someone's world is at the end they feel devastated. They feel worthless. They feel fear. It is during times like these that I believe the present embers of that distant flame will flair up into tongues of fire and the Spirit of God will make her impact known.

I do not now expect us to have the same fervor, the same dedication and the same willingness to share our possessions and sacrifice our lives as did those early Christians. We have too much. We are too safe. But we do have this numinous memory of Pentecost. It awaits us when we become aware that this security is precarious and illusory. When we face the fact that was so viscerally known by the early Christians that we are organisms floating randomly in the rivers of nature, that we are but specks of dust on a tiny planet amid a giant universe of stars, that our voices cry out empty into the awesome gigantic silences of creation, then we can understand the power and wonder of the notion that God loves us, that God listens to each of our voices. As Christians we remember that God's own Spirit descended on all those who loved Jesus regardless of language, class, wealth, social standing, physical health, sexual orientation, conference affiliation - regardless of any human cultural valuation. With this memory, we reinforce our understanding of ultimate value. It is not material things, it is not status and achievement, it is not education, jobs, ability to work, conformity to social conventions, even the ability to communicate in a language that is understood. It is not any of these things that make us valuable in this world. Our ultimate value is based on God's love, a love that is bestowed upon us through God's Spirit which each of us can have in full portion and without price.

But what would it have been like to have been there? What would it be like to see Christ's return coming any day and feel the burning fervor of that first taste of God's love? It would be truly a numinous, magnificent moment, and it is a wonderful memory. I wish I could have been there.