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This is an excerpt from Larry Shallenberger's new book Divine Intention: How God's Work in the Early Church Empowers Us Today. Click here to read part two.
Signs of Life
When the Feast of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. Without warning there was a sound like a strong wind, gale force—no one could tell where it came from. It filled the whole building. Then, like a wildfire, the Holy Spirit spread through their ranks, and they started speaking in a number of different languages as the Spirit prompted them.
There were many Jews staying in Jerusalem just then, devout pilgrims from all over the world. When they heard the sound, they came on the run. Then when they heard, one after another, their own mother tongues being spoken, they were thunderstruck. They couldn’t for the life of them figure out what was going on, and kept saying, “Aren’t these all Galileans? How come we’re hearing them talk in our various mother tongues?
Parthians, Medes, and Elamites;
Visitors from Mesopotamia, Judea, and Cappadocia,
Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia,
Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene;
Immigrants from Rome, both Jews and proselytes;
Even Cretans and Arabs!
“They’re speaking our languages, describing God’s mighty works!”
Their heads were spinning; they couldn’t make head or tail of any of it. They talked back and forth, confused: “What’s going on here?”
Others joked, “They’re drunk on cheap wine.”
Acts 2:1–13 MSG
I guided my late-model minivan into the crowded pizzeria parking lot and found a spot between two German sports cars. I checked my watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. I inspected my hair in the rearview mirror, stepped out of the van, and gave my middle-aged waistline a disapproving look.
This wasn’t a good idea. It has been twenty years since Alice, Ron, and I last spent any time together. In Bible college, we were inseparable: the three musketeers. We spent late evenings at the all-night coffee shop with biology, Greek, theology, journalism, education theory, and free refills. I was studying to become a pastor. Alice had dreams of a Pulitzer in journalism, and Ron wanted to become a teacher. Bleary-eyed, we each pored over our study notes and chili fries, breaking whenever a wave of giddiness caused by sleep deprivation overcame one of us.
On Friday nights we rode the “L-train” to downtown Chicago in search of Rush Street’s finest deep-dish pizza.
We daydreamed about the future of the church with wide-eyed idealism; we were going to change everything. Ron, Alice, and I were the student leaders at our campus ministry. We struggled to pull our classmates away from their books and stereos long enough to attend our small meeting and listen to our “Acts 2” dreams. We euphorically dreamed of a community of Christ-followers who were “completely sold out for Jesus” and who lived in constant community—praying, eating, and worshipping together. Ron, Alice, and I were either brave or foolish enough to believe that together we could rekindle the embers of this first-century church community and spark a Spirit-filled revival in our own days.
That was twenty years ago. I wonder, all that spiritual power we thought was running through us, was it nothing more than postadolescent hubris? What if we were merely intoxicated on youthful exuberance?
I gave the college-aged hostess my vitals. “Jonah Adams. Party of three.”
I waited for Alice and Ron parked in a corner booth with one eye on the door. How am I going to start this conversation? I’m the pastor in the room. I had found Alice and Ron as a result of idly Googling them on my laptop. The three of us started catching up electronically. Alice had married an artist who built a studio into the house so he could paint and watch their two children while Alice worked in the district attorney’s office. Ron reported that he was divorced but dating again. His only consolation from the first marriage was that he and his ex-wife were unable to have children. None of us had strayed too far from our alma mater; however, the demands of each of our lives had caused us to drift apart. I suggested we meet at our old haunt to catch up.
Ron and Alice entered together. I studied their faces and saw signs of age. Ron sported white-walled temples. Alice’s hair, once shoulder length, was now cropped in a practical bob.
Am I really going to go through with this? I have to tell someone that I feel trapped by church life, but it’s not safe to tell my congregation. My people drive dozens of miles every Sunday to hear my carefully crafted sermons about how to live the Jesus-shaped life under the power of the Spirit. If only my people knew what I was experiencing … I feel like Bilbo Baggins in The Fellowship of the Ring when he tells Gandalf of the effects the magic ring is having on him: “I feel like butter scraped over too much bread.” I am stewarding the Word for God’s people, and the task is turning me into vapor.
I wasn’t honest with Ron and Alice about why I wanted to get together. They didn’t know I was about to unload my neediness on them. I promised a night of laughter and old times, but now I’m about to deliver a confession. And Ron and Alice are going to confess too. I need to know that there’s really something to this “abundant life.” My days are filled with the pressure of cranky church members, sermon deadlines, unscheduled counseling sessions, and contentious church meetings. I can’t remember the last time I felt alive. Ron and Alice are going to confess, and I need to hear that one of them is living out our Acts 2 dream of life in the Spirit.
I rose to embrace them with a smile as they found the table. We placed our order—one extra-large, deep-dish pizza—everything on it.
I looked down and searched the face of my watch for an excuse not to say anything. There was really no good way to start this conversation, so … “Ron. Alice. I need to get something off my chest …”
You’re reading this book with the hope of discovering what it means to be alive to God as an individual and as part of a community. Before Jesus accomplished his mission on earth, he gathered his inner core of followers and began to coach them on what life would be like relating to God after he left them. Jesus would no longer be at their disposal to answer their questions. There would be no more parables or sermons from their rabbi. Jesus’ band of twelve, and every Christ-follower who would ever be added, would need to discover how to maintain a close friendship with God through the person of the Holy Spirit.
Jesus described the quality of life that we could expect as his followers as “abundant.” “Abundant life” is an awkward phrase—it’s as if Jesus was pressing against the limits of language to describe a manner of living that his disciples had never experienced. They had no point of reference to comprehend the intensity of being that comes from a vital relationship with God. Within the confines of the Aramaic language, Jesus spoke in terms of volume to communicate what was coming. In essence he was saying to them: “You’re going to get life, lots of life, life overflowing in buckets. Life force rising over the banks of your personhood.”
Before we dive into Acts 2, I need to borrow a play from our fictional Jonah and blurt out a confession of my own. Experiencing this “abundant life” has been an elusive experience for me. I was raised in a faith tradition that emphasized the importance of Scripture. I was taught to turn to Scripture for guidance and wise principles. However, I’m not as instinctive when it comes to relating to the God of Scripture. Jesus once chided the religious leaders of his day for being fluent in the Scriptures without realizing that the Scriptures were pointing to a person—Jesus himself. I’m afraid that too often describes the quality of my connection with God. I’ve slowly learned, and am still learning, that “abundant life” is a relational term. It’s when I unintentionally substitute my Bible knowledge for a relationship with the Holy Spirit that I get cynical and assume that terms like “abundant“ and “Spirit-filled” are bad punch lines. The truth is that when I feel most spiritually disjointed, it’s usually because I’m attempting a personal relationship with the message and not its author. My wife, Amy, puts it this way: An all-knowing, all-powerful, omnipresent Being is hard to love. I’ve tended to overcome this difficulty by settling for his literature.
Since you and I are attempting to understand the dynamics of a relationship, let’s agree not to read Acts 2 in search of some behavioral modification program to improve our lives. The relationship between Amy and me can’t be reduced to a collection of formulas, how-tos, or to-do lists. It’s too dynamic for that. But we can describe our relationship through a collection of metaphors: We are dance partners, coservants, one flesh, or even two strings of a tied knot. Amy and I can discuss the health of our marriage in terms of how well these metaphors seem to resonate with our relationship. I know some who describe their marriages in terms of disfunction—they talk about the “ball and chain,” “the split,” or the “breakup.” We can’t quantify our relationships, but when we describe them with metaphors, we know exactly what we are dealing with, don’t we? For example, if a friend tells us that her marriage is “on the rocks,” we don’t need her to give us any specifics to know immediately that she and her husband are not getting along together.
Acts 2 is the account of how God gave his people the gift of a relationship with the Holy Spirit. God’s divine intention is that we have abundant life by experiencing the closeness of the Holy Spirit in our cells, synapses, thoughts, dreams, attitudes, and emotions—in our entire being. Just as in our relationships with our marriage partners, God gave us markers on how to relate to the Holy Spirit; however, it wasn’t in the form of a to-do list. God implanted three unforgettable metaphors that guide us as we attempt a relationship with the Holy Spirit.
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I hesitate to comment on this article because I don't want to appear as one savaging what is so imporant a topic and concept for us today. The point I struggled with the most, and indeed made reading the rest of the article difficult, was in the fifth paragraph where the writer describes those in the upper room that day as 'highly Scripture-literate'. Everyone knows that is not true. These were country people, unsophisticated, uneducated and simple to say the least. There knowledge of Scripture would only come with the Holy Spirit's arrival and Him revealing to them the last three years teaching by example and parable to them as truth.
This article also needed to be half as long. The whole purpose of metaphor is to engage the readers imagination and here the author gave tedious explanation after tedious explanation. He needs to have more faith in his readers. Parts of this article were pure excellence though. There were times the author himself was in-sync with the Holy Spirit and his pen and ideas were flowing forcefully and smoothly. (Gosh I hate adverbes.) These need to be rescued and emphasized more. If you read the article you know the parts I am talking about, the reader does not have to struggle and slash their way through words and words. The Holy Spirit cuts a path for the reader and reveals truth and grace with each stroke of the writers pen.
This article begged an editor. The ideas the writer was trying to cnnvey are so important and so vital to what the church needs to hear that I pray he continues seeking the Holy Spirit and continues to build bridges between what happened then and what is needed in the church today.
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(3)
I hesitate to comment on this article because I don't want to appear as one savaging what is so imporant a topic and concept for us today. The point I struggled with the most, and indeed made reading the rest of the article difficult, was in the fifth paragraph where the writer describes those in the upper room that day as 'highly Scripture-literate'. Everyone knows that is not true. These were country people, unsophisticated, uneducated and simple to say the least. There knowledge of Scripture would only come with the Holy Spirit's arrival and Him revealing to them the last three years teaching by example and parable to them as truth.
This article also needed to be half as long. The whole purpose of metaphor is to engage the readers imagination and here the author gave tedious explanation after tedious explanation. He needs to have more faith in his readers. Parts of this article were pure excellence though. There were times the author himself was in-sync with the Holy Spirit and his pen and ideas were flowing forcefully and smoothly. (Gosh I hate adverbes.) These need to be rescued and emphasized more. If you read the article you know the parts I am talking about, the reader does not have to struggle and slash their way through words and words. The Holy Spirit cuts a path for the reader and reveals truth and grace with each stroke of the writers pen.
This article begged an editor. The ideas the writer was trying to cnnvey are so important and so vital to what the church needs to hear that I pray he continues seeking the Holy Spirit and continues to build bridges between what happened then and what is needed in the church today.
Posted by Brad Ryden | Posted at 06/22/2007 12:47 AM