Today, I see red
Pentecost Sermon on Acts 2:1-21
Today, I see red. A lot of red.
It’s the color of Pentecost. The color we wear when we celebrate the pure existence of our church. Our church, that only exists, because it’s filled with life and love. Our church, that was founded on a life lived lovingly and on a bloody, breathless, unjust death of a person of color. Jesus Christ. Our savior we love to imagine as a handsome white man with blonde hair and blue eyes. So, he looks basically just like us. Or like we would love to look like. I mean, how many pictures of a Jesus with dark skin have you ever seen in your life? And I am not talking about old icons that turn dark by age. I am talking about portraits of Jesus as the man of color he was.
Let me guess, you haven’t seen many. Because there aren’t many in our culture. God made men in his image. So, we look in the mirror and see white skin and conclude that that’s how God looks like in Christ. And if even the Son of God is white, to be white must be outstanding.
A friend of mine pastors a Spanish speaking ELCA church in San Francisco. It’s a beautiful sanctuary, colorfully painted with a scene of Mary and Martha kneeling before Jesus in adoration. The 2 women look like being from South America. Jesus looks like me. At least, that’s what Pr Monique said. Same skin tone, same hair color and length. It’s ridiculous. This Latino congregation watches 2 Latinas worship a white man who looks just like all the other white men of power. Pr Monique plans to get up there and recolor this Jesus. I told her a couple of months ago, I want to help. Yesterday, I sent her another reminder. Because I see red and I need to let off steam. Recoloring Jesus seems like a great way to do that.
Jesus, who lived for us and died for us, suffocated through crucifixion. And ever since, so many deaths have followed. So many martyrs have been killed for their faith and for the truth. Sometimes, for such a simple truth as “I cannot breathe, man.” So many have died painfully, many of them in vain. Because nothing changed afterwards. Because too few people changed.
At every single one of these millions of deaths there were spectators standing around. People who watched and liked what they saw or didn’t care enough to do anything about it. People who heard about it and just went on with their lives. People who chose not to see or hear and deal with other people’s problems. Ordinary people. People like you and me.
Today, I see red.
The color of life. The life we all got from God, no matter how we look like, which color our hair might have, or our skin, our eyes or our tattoos. Today, we celebrate life in all its beauty, its diversity, its fantasy, and abundance. Today, we mourn all the lives taken away. The lives breathlessly ended in cold blood. Their names were Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor and George Floyd. Three black Americans killed for being black. Killed for how God made them. And still so many don’t care. And even in 2020 it takes a national outrage to even bring the murderer to court. And even in 2020, an obvious murder is called “a tragic death” by the Fremont police department.
Today, I see red.
The color of the Holy Spirit. A whirlwind swirling through our world. Often leaving confusion, sounding like the rush of a violent wind. It’s the friend and comforter Jesus promised us upon his ascension. He forgot to mention that the Spirit would also stir us up, heat us up in love and sometimes in holy anger to fight for justice and equity.
Often, the Spirit dances around us, sends us warm hugs and friendly faces. And sometimes it needs to push us out of our comfy chairs and into the streets, walking and driving for the ones’ whose voice was taken from them. Sometimes, the Holy Spirit makes us pick up a book to learn about white privileges and what we can do to change our world. Sometimes, the Holy Spirit challenges us to learn new languages and to detect power structures in the words we use. Always, the Holy Spirit calls us out of our comfort zone. At times, it might be so radical, we don’t understand ourselves anymore. Like when Peter and the others back in Jerusalem spoke in tongues they had never learned. And yet, others understood what they were saying. These strange things about free love for all and forgiveness of sins. So that we may be alive and not merely be survivors.
Today, I see red.
The color of port wine and Shiraz and Merlot. The color of joyful festivity and sometimes too much fun. The color of friendship and romantic love over a shared bottle of wine. The color of loneliness when there is no one to share with and you just feel like drinking anyways.
Of course, many at first thought the obvious back in Jerusalem. These people are just drunk. Ok, it’s only 9 am in the morning, but hey, they had been quarantined for about 50 days. We all know, that staying home too long can make happy hour shift.
Peter insists, that they aren’t drunk. They are filled with the radically inclusive Spirit of God. That was as revolutionary back then as it is today. A God who loves every single person on earth sends a Spirit to make every single person on earth love everyone else. That’s a lot of love. And it sure needs a lot of Holy Spirit. Please, God, keep sending it in abundance, we need it.
Today, I see red.
The color of fire. The burning desire for change and the burning feeling of loss and powerlessness. People sheltering in their houses, afraid to speak about their God who left them. But thankfully not afraid to talk to their God in prayers. Jesus’ friends wondering what they should tell others so their lives would be changed, too. Impatiently waiting for God’s empowering Spirit to show up and get them to work.
That’s me right now. I so desperately want this world to change into a place, where we see people’s colors and celebrate our diversity. Where we know our past and acknowledge our own racial biases and start the change of the world in changing ourselves. Where we love God and stop hating people who look different from us.
Today, I see red.
The color of flesh and blood. No, there is no blue blood out there. There is no special blood, no royal blood, no poor or dirty blood. There is only red blood and flesh. Made by God.
In that sense all the people in the world are blood-brothers and sisters. Even more so all the Christians in this world. We say we drink the blood of Jesus every time we commune. So did George Floyd. Our blood-brother in Christ. A man, who worked for peace and tried to break the cycle of violence he saw among young people. A man who reached out to people in a housing project and told them about Jesus. Floyd, who wanted to see young men put guns down and have Jesus instead of a life on the streets. Our black brother Floyd got killed. We mustn’t only remember his death. If we really want to honor him, we have to remember his life, too.
There is only flesh and blood. Upon which God declared to pour out his Spirit. So, that we shall prophesy, and young people shall see visions and old men shall dream dreams. Because no one is too young to have a vision of a better world. And no one is too old to dream of change.
Today, I see red. The color of Pentecost.
Pentecost is the third wave of God’s protest on earth against any kind of supremacy and power structure. First, God showed up in an immigrant and homeless baby, ridiculing all the mighty ruler on earth. Second, God beat death, ridiculing all the people who think that an execution will kill love and grace forever. And finally, God sent his Holy Spirit to keep our spirits up forever. Ridiculing all the bullies in this world whose only power is to keep others small and frightened, so they won’t rise up. But we have got the Spirit of God. To keep doing the hard work of all-inclusive love, of never-ending compassion, of naming what’s wrong.
Pentecost is a deliverance story. Just like Moses received the Ten Commandments 50 days after leaving Egypt to lead his people to freedom. So did Jesus’ friends receive the Holy Spirit 50 days after Easter. And within weeks hundreds of people became the hands and feet and eyes and ears of God. To free people from fear and social boundaries and to become one body of Christ. The story is to be continued by all of us and lots of Holy Spirit. Because today, I see red. Amen.
