"Called By the Spirit"

Acts 2:1-21 or Num. 11:24-30;  Ps. 104: 24-34, 35b; 1 Cor. 12: 3b-13 or Acts 2:1-21; John 20:19-23 or John 7:37-39

Dr. George R. Sinclair
Pastor

May 11, 2008

              Late last week I went to see a member of our church.  He was in the hospital.  Some tests were being run, serious tests.  He didn’t know how they were going to turn out and wanted to talk.  So we talked.  We talked about his life, about how his mother brought him to this church in 1926.  We talked about fear, about uncertainty. 

He said, “I read your sermon a few weeks ago—the one about our mission statement and how no one knew it.  I think it is important to know our mission.  I read the new statement and really like it. I must have read it 70 times trying to get in my head.” 

He then hesitated, “Now, how does it go?”  And I thought, “Lord, don’t fail me now. . . We are called by the Spirit.” 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said.  And he began to recite it with me, “We are called by the Spirit to glorify God so that all may become joyful disciples of Jesus Christ.” 

“I really like that,” he said.

“I do too,” I said.

On the way home, I thought, “You know, it’s amazing.  Here’s a man who knows his days may be numbered, a man who’s thinking about ultimate things, how he has lived, how his life has turned out, and he’s holding on to our mission statement. We are called by the Spirit . . .”

The cynic might say, “What else do you expect? That’s what people do in dire straits.”  I say to the cynic, “No that’s what faithful people do. They hold on to a vision that transcends them, a vision whose arc lifts them from the mundane to the eternal.”

“We are called by the Spirit . . .”  

I don’t know how often this happens, but it’s fitting that Mother’s Day and Pentecost fall on the same Sunday.  Pentecost is the Birthday of the church.  The Spirit descended and birthed the church. 

It is not by accident that our mission statement begins the way it does. “We are called by the Spirit. . .”  We are, the church is, God’s creation.  We don’t invent ourselves.  We’re not self-organizing. We are called into being by the Spirit.  The church is God’s gift, a creation of God’s Spirit. 

Emily asked me this week which text I was preaching.  And I said most likely the one from the Book of Acts.  She said I ought to look at Numbers.  And I’m thinking, “What can there possibly be in Numbers about the birth of the church?  Numbers is about, well, it’s about numbers. I mean, after all, the book begins with a census . . . ‘These are people who came out of the land of Egypt.’”  So, I didn’t think I’d be preaching from Numbers.  And then I read Numbers and the strange story about Eldad and Medad and I’m thinking, “You know, I ought to preach from Numbers.  This is a pretty interesting story about the Spirit and not just the Spirit but the creation of the people of God formed by the Spirit.”  So, I find myself preaching from Numbers.

Here’s the story . . .

Six hundred thousand descendants of Abraham are trekking through the wilderness.  They’re complaining about not having enough to eat.  And God, being a listening God, says to them, “Here’s what I’m going to do. You want meat. I’m going to give you meat. I’m going to rain down so much meat from heaven you’ll be sick of meat. I’m going to give meat until it’s coming out your noses.” That’s what the text says—out the nose.  Reminds me of something my father once did. 

You had to know my father.  He could be, well, he was hotheaded and when he lost his temper, he did, as hotheaded people are apt, stupid things. 

Like most families in my day, suppertime was sacred.  It didn’t matter what else happened during the day, when nightfall came we had supper together. My sisters might have been at piano lessons, I might have been ball practice, my dad might have been on the road, my mother might have been out shopping; it didn’t matter. The day ended with supper.  Every day ended with supper and we looked forward to it. 

My father sat at the head of the table, my mother at the other end near the kitchen.  I sat on my father’s left, my sister, Stephanie, to his right.  My sister, Sandra, sat next to mama. And the baby, Sylvia, sat next to me. 

In those days, Southern meals were not complete until dessert was served.  Mama made pound cake every week.  Some nights we ate pound cake.  Sometimes she baked pies; sometimes she made bread pudding, sometimes spoon bread. On nights when she didn’t bake, we ate biscuits or cornbread for dessert. We didn’t eat it plain.  We added jelly or molasses. 

On the night in question, I cannot tell you whether we had biscuits or cornbread. All I remember is that my sister, Stephanie, buttered her bread and put a dollop of molasses on it and for some eight-year-old reason asked could she have some more.  You would think it a reasonable request.  And I’m sure it must be.  But that night it brought unexpected results.

Maybe it was a whine in my sister’s voice or an expressed need that she didn’t get as much as the rest of us. For whatever reason, Stephanie’s request from my father who controlled the molasses distribution brought unintended results. “You want molasses,” he said, “I’ll give you molasses.”  I swear Stephanie’s biscuit floated.  The biscuit disappeared beneath the black gue.  “There,” he said, “eat it.”  Of course Stephanie cried.  And we all tried not to laugh which had we done so would have brought a different wrath.

Something like that happens to Israel. In the wilderness, the people complain about not having enough eat. And God tells Moses he’ll fill them up.  The actual text reads: “The LORD will give you meat, and you shall eat. You shall eat not only one day, or two days, or five days, or ten days, or twenty days, but for a whole month—until it comes out of your nostrils and becomes loathsome to you . . .”

Moses, ever practical, thinks out loud (which is the only way to think when in God’s presence), “Where am I going to get all this food? Are there enough flocks and herds and fish in the sea?” 

And God answers Moses, “Is the LORD’s power limited?” 

I can hear Moses, “Not by me, but then I didn’t ask for molasses.” 

Actually Moses keeps his mouth shut and gathers seventy elders of Israel and puts them “around the tent.” 

Remember the children of Israel are marching through the wilderness. They’re camping out, moving in stages to the Promised Land.  They don’t have a permanent church.  They don’t have a permanent anything, except the wilderness and the daily-ness of bread.  The only thing permanent is their hunger. Nothing is stable except instability. 

The “tent” in question is the tent where God and Moses speak face to face.  “The Tent” is the “Tent of Meeting.”  Moses gathers the elders around that tent, the tent where God shows up, the tent where God speaks to Moses. Remember, the question is, “Is the LORD’s power limited?” which, given the circumstance, was a reasonable thing to ask.  You’re in the desert. It’s hot. You don’t have enough of anything, not water, not meat, not patience, not anything.  The desert is the desert precisely because it’s short on everything. In the desert, it’s just you and the Lord, which means the desert is a good place to ask, “Is the Lord’s power limited?”

So, they gather around the tent, which is a place apart from the camp.  Everybody else is back at the camp—all 600,000 less the Seventy who’ve gone to the Tent.  Sure enough God shows up.  God descends “in a cloud” and God not only speaks to Moses, God takes some of “the spirit” that was on Moses and puts it on the Seventy. And when they get the spirit they begin to prophesy.  They begin to preach like Moses.

Here’s where the story gets interesting, as if it wasn’t interesting already.  Back at the camp, back home, we meet Eldad and Medad.  (I love those names, Eldad and Medad.)   Eldad and Medad aren’t in on the tent meeting.  They’re back home and we’re told, they are “registered.” Just what “registered” means is not entirely clear.  I’m convinced it has nothing to do with voting. Either it means they were supposed to be with the Seventy or simply that they were numbered among the Israelites. The term “registration” is uncertain.  What is certain is that Eldad and Medad miss out on the Holy Ghost explosion.  They weren’t at the expo.  They didn’t get a share of the spirit at the Tent Meeting yet we’re told, “the spirit rested on them.”  Not only that, they start preaching.  Just like Moses they start preaching.

Two unauthorized, non-ordained preachers with names like Eldad and Medad can’t possibly go unnoticed.  Sure enough, a young man races from the camp, arrives at the Tent, and reports to Moses, “Eldad and Medad are preaching.”

Joshua, acolyte to Moses and his eventual successor, advises a crack down.  Joshua wants Eldad and Medad shut up. We don’t know why.  Maybe Joshua was a decently ordered Presbyterian.  Whatever his reasons, Joshua advises Moses to stop Eldad and Medad from preaching. 

Moses, wise to Joshua, says he’ll do no such thing. Moses refuses to squelch their unauthorized preaching.  On the contrary he says, “Would that all the LORD’s people were prophets, and that the LORD would put his spirit on them!”  And with that Moses and the Seventy returned to the camp.

Who has the Spirit?  Who is authorized to “prophesy?”  Who is authorized to speak in God’s name?  Are there limits to God’s power?

Emily here knows she is entering a highly regulated profession.  We’re careful about authorizing just anybody to preach.  There are regulations, tests, proofs of calling and so forth. And that’s as it should be.  Preaching is THAT important.  Preaching ought to be “regulated.” 

I have a hankering suspicion, though, that Emily likes this passage from Numbers because it subverts our expectations about God’s power. According to this story, God shows up in unlikely places, in unlikely people, in unlikely ways.  Eldad and Medad are but two examples.  We don’t control the Spirit.  God’s power is not limited, not by our regulations, not by party lines, not by labels like conservative or liberal. God’s power is not limited.  God is free.

There was a time, and I’m not sure it has altogether passed, when it was thought that some got the Spirit or got a bigger share than others.  Those with Spirit or those with a bigger dose were supposed to be our preachers, our leaders, our prophets, our wise men and women—spirit-people.  They were the ones who carried the freight, the charismatics, the gifted.  And there’s some truth in that.  The church does rely on gifted people, those set apart for particular works of ministry.  There’s nothing wrong with that. The Bible recognizes Calling. 

Here’s the thing, Pentecost announces that the Spirit, once thought restricted, has been poured out on “all flesh.”  Pentecost announces that Moses’ wish has come true.  God’s Spirit is not restricted. God gives his Spirit to “all flesh.”  The idea that there are “spiritual” Christians is nonsense.  The idea that there are charismatic Christians is a fabrication. “No one,” the Bible says, “can say Jesus is Lord, except by the Spirit.” 

If you believe in Jesus, you have the Spirit.  If you have the Spirit, you believe in Jesus. And when you have the Spirit, when Jesus has you, you tell others. The Spirit gives the ability to speak.  The Spirit gives us testimony.  That’s the message of Pentecost.  God’s power is not limited. It’s not contained, regulated, stipulated to reside only with a select few. 

On Pentecost, Moses’ got his wish. The Spirit has been poured out on all flesh. Glorify God so that all might become joyful disciples of Jesus Christ. You have the Spirit.  Give glory to God. Amen.