Pentecostal Presbyterians?

When I was a college student I was for three years a participant in a Pentecostal prayer group. I say it was "Pentecostal" because everyone in the group -- except me -- spoke in tongues. Several were members of an Assembly of God congregation that went in for that kind of thing. All of them thought I was a tad strange because I could pray in only one language. I think they felt sorry for me.

But that prayer group was "Pentecostal" in another, more basic sense. It was clear that the Holy Spirit was very much present and active among us. We’d gather in my philosophy professor’s living room on Friday night. We’d chat for a while, sing a hymn or two, and then begin our prayers. There was no printed liturgy. No song sheets. No one keeping time. A woman would share a story about her family or job. A man would read a bit of scripture, a young person would give her "testimony." And then we would pray with and for one another. Occasionally someone would ask for the laying on of hands. We’d gather round, put our hands on the person’s head and shoulders, and commend that sister or brother to the Lord.

I was advised when I applied to become a candidate for ordained ministry not to mention that period in my life. "Sounds like you might be some kind of charismatic," an older minister told me. "You’d better keep that under your hat." My advisor seemed to think that anything so overtly associated with the work of the Holy Spirit wouldn’t smell right to Presbyterians. We like things done "decently and in order" (I Cor. 14:14).

The Day of Pentecost is often called the "birthday" of the church. It was, after all, the event that transformed that literally "dispirited" group of disciples into a dynamic corps of witnesses to the mighty acts of God in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Those of us in the Reformed tradition like to think that the church was actually born with the call of Abraham and Sara, but there’s no point in quibbling. The same Spirit who brooded over the waters in creation, inspired the prophets, and settled upon Jesus at his baptism, was certainly present in a powerful way on the Day of Pentecost.

It’s clear from the text that these strange languages which sound to some like the babbling of drunkards are in fact the very languages needed at this moment to share the Good News. Fishermen from Galilee hold forth in fluent Pamphylian. Elated Elamites hear tax collectors from Jerusalem speaking their native dialect. Whatever it is that is happening in this story is not the result of a strategic planning exercise the disciples have been conducting in the upper room.

No, this is something new, something completely unexpected. This is from God through the Holy Spirit. "This is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes" (Ps. 118: 23). In this moment the church is born – or at least reborn. It is commissioned and equipped to do God’s bidding.

Theologian Ellen Charry, who teaches at Princeton Seminary, laments that many of the students she encounters seem to have no concept of the church as a Pentecostal entity, as the people of God called and equipped for service in the world. She writes, "I am increasingly realizing that a number of our ministerial students have no ecclesiology to speak of. For them the church is a voluntary not-for-profit organization run like a local franchise." ¹

I run into that a lot. At a recent committee meeting of the United Way, I introduced myself to a person at the luncheon table as the pastor of First Presbyterian Church.

"Oh," the person responded, "You’re the CEO of a faith-based non-profit."

"No," I said, "I’m the pastor of a local church."

That kind of thing happens when the church forgets its Pentecostal foundation and behaves like any other institution of the culture. Christians in the United States have come to think of the church as a purveyor of spiritual goods and services, an entertainment experience in search of high audience ratings, or a religious club for people who share the same worldview or political party allegiance. ²

For many the church is simply a place where individuals come to have their own private spiritual experiences. We reinforce that kind of thinking when we build our places of worship to look like the local cinema multiplex and dumb down worship to make it sound like the kind of thing you hear being piped into elevators. The Gospel, which in every age is both strange and wonderful, becomes a set of feel-good nostrums and strategies for achieving wealth and success.

Those first disciples at Pentecost did not invite people to drop by the coffee house for cup of java and chat about family dysfunction. They called them to repent and believe the Good News: the Jesus who was crucified is in fact the risen Son of God, the Messiah. God loves the world in Jesus Christ and calls people to follow him, working to align the world to God’s dawning realm of justice, peace, and love.

In a way, the story of Pentecost is the story of the Tower of Babel in reverse. Long ago, humanity got too big for its britches, and God knocked us down a few notches by giving us different languages to speak. As it turned out, that didn’t make us more humble. It just made us more ornery. God could have taught us all to speak Esperanto. Instead God created the church. God chose a people of no particular distinction to be Christ’s body on earth, to speak, is it were, in God’s body language, putting flesh on the Word, who is Jesus Christ.

The very word "church" should give us a clue to our Pentecostal identity. It comes from the Greek "ekklesia" which means "the people called," or the "visible assembly" gathered round God’s word and sent into the world by that same word.

Nobody at Pentecost chose to become the church. That was God’s decision. It’s the same with us. God has chosen us to be, as First Peter puts it, "a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people" not because we are anything to write home about, but "in order to declare the marvelous deeds of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light" (I Peter 2:9).

Since that’s who we are, then the we have no business telling people that we’re here to meet their needs as consumers of spiritual goods and services. People might go to church to hear a good sermon, to improve their minds, or to take part in a small group for personal growth. Nothing wrong with that. But the church is not called to provide these niceties to consumers. The church is called to be a window to God’s kingdom, the Body of Christ, the people of God, the agents of the Holy Spirit.

We are not called to meet people’s perceived needs. We are called to share with them a Gospel that will draw them out of themselves and into presence of the Triune God. Folks might come here to have their needs met, but the Holy Spirit has other plans. The Spirit wants to transform them into new people. Folks might come to church as consumers, but if the church is true to its calling, they won’t remain consumers. They will become instead disciples – the followers of Jesus Christ.

Suppose the word got out that the Presbyterians on the corner of Park Avenue and Adams Street had all become Pentecostals. What would happen, do you suppose? Would the TV crews show up to film us pouring out the doors, speaking Phrygian and Pamphylian? Would the headlines read "Miracle on Park Avenue: Presbyterian Get Excited About Something"? Would the fire alarm go off, as it did a few years ago in the middle of the sermon?

It’s hard to say. With the Holy Spirit blowing about at will, anything can happen. But wait! Hear what this text is saying: We are already Pentecostals because we are the church of Jesus Christ. We didn’t make ourselves the church. The culture didn’t make us the church. The culture works overtime to make us into something else.

We’re the church because God has made us the church. God did it by water, word, and Holy Spirit. God still does it by calling us to be God’s holy people.

Pentecostal Presbyterians? I know it sounds a bit bizarre. But beloved in Christ, there simply isn’t any other kind.