1 When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2 And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3 Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.
5 Now there were devout Jews from every people under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6 And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7 Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9 Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10 Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11 Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” 12 All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” 13 But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”
14 But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Fellow Jews[a] and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. 15 Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. 16 No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:
17 ‘In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
and your young men shall see visions,
and your old men shall dream dreams.
18 Even upon my slaves, both men and women,
in those days I will pour out my Spirit,
and they shall prophesy.
19 And I will show portents in the heaven above
and signs on the earth below,
blood, and fire, and smoky mist.
20 The sun shall be turned to darkness
and the moon to blood,
before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day.
21 Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’
Acts 2:1-21 (NRSVue)
In these heavy moments of global economic uncertainty, authoritarianism, forced migration, deportation, political upheaval, and genocide, where do we even begin in our efforts to fix broken systems and heal the world from such pain? Though the 24-hour news cycle may imply an impossibility to addressing the grief of the world, the reality is that there are many remedies we have at our disposal. However, there is one particular balm for the world’s grief that the Christian liturgical calendar models for us in this season: Pentecost. Many of the world’s grievances stem from warped hierarchical realities. The world is quite familiar with hierarchy, and the brutal forms it can take throughout each sector of society. Yet, the image of Pentecost stands in direct contrast to these familiar structures.
I imagine when the people walked up on the scene of Pentecost, with flaming tongues and many languages, they first saw a chaotic conglomeration that was hard to make sense of. There was a lack of definition, and there was a strange means of organizing amongst the people. Some observers were stunned and amazed (Acts 2:8, 12), while others perceived them as drunk (Acts 2:13). However, Peter is quick to clarify that the prophet Joel had promised for an outpouring of the Spirit like this on all people without discrimination (Joel 2:28-29; Acts 2:17-21). Peter is quick to clarify that the power of the Spirit was meant for persons of any gender, age, and status.
The day of Pentecost also reminds good Torah students of another passage: Numbers 11:24-30. Here in Numbers, God descends in a cloud to speak to Moses, but in doing so, God takes some of the spirit resting on Moses and places it on the seventy elders, causing them to prophesy. The same power that emboldened Moses to prophetic speech and action was thus given to the rest of the leaders surrounding him. Similarly, at Pentecost, the Spirit was not reserved for one or two leaders, but instead fell indiscriminately on a group of diverse people, empowering them to prophesy and speak in a multitude of languages.
In light of this, Pentecost stands in direct contrast to hierarchy and its dangerous propensities, because Pentecost distributed power amongst the early community. Just as Moses’ power was reallocated, and just as the prophet Joel had promised, the flaming tongues fell upon the people without discrimination. Yet, the experience of tongues was not the end of the miracle, but instead its beginning, since another miraculous experience began to fill the crowd: community care.
As a result of the experience of Pentecost, the community is described as having “everything in common” (Acts 2:44). In this revitalized community, the first-century church “sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need” (Acts 2:45). They also “broke bread in their homes and ate together” (Acts 2:46). The community did these things with “glad and sincere hearts,” “enjoying the favor of all the people” (Acts 2:46-47). The earliest community of Christians were perceived as an unbecoming people, what some had described as drunk or even disorderly. But here was an intricately diverse community, brought together by a shared experience, and whose awe had led them to share resources, support one another, and nourish the environment in which they lived (Acts 2:43-44). Power was not hoarded among them, but instead shared, and each person had their needs met.
The story of Pentecost reminds me of an unexpected experience I had when I went to Berlin last summer. As a person that comes from both a German and Jewish family, there were many moments of pausing, grieving, and contemplating. Every block or so in the city contains what are called Stolperstein, or Stumbling Stones, which are little brass-plated cement cubes inlaid to the street bearing the names of victims of Nazi extermination who were stolen from their homes. Upon first seeing one I felt hollow inside. Firstly, because I could not fathom how I could be standing in the exact spot that my family could have been taken just 80 years ago. And, the memories that all of my grandparents shared of the multiple layers of trauma began to rush forth. But, then I was thrust back to my current American home where people are being stolen from their communities right now. The recognition I felt was dizzying. The grief was overwhelming, and so was the rage. And then a bee flew right into the side of my cheek.
In my intense emotional state, I could barely react (although if I’m being honest, my reflexes are always slow). My friend then saw the bee and we did our typical dance around what we were first perceiving as an angry bee. I cannot count the times I have been stung by any kind of insect with a stinger and venom, so the phobia of these insects runs deep in my psyche. Yet eventually, we realized that this bee was not angry. He was merely attempting to fly around us to get to the flowers that were growing in a nearby traffic island filled with small yellow and pink blossoms. My friend and I began to laugh at one another when we saw the bee’s true intentions.
Throughout my time in Northwest Germany, I noticed that these bees behaved differently than what I was used to in the States. They seemed to be much fatter, and they flew slower. In fact, as we walked through Berlin and the countryside, several bees bumped into me, and gently found their course again. I began to notice that none of the bees were angry, because flowers were everywhere. Florals in full bloom existed in just about every traffic island, roundabout, sidewalk greenspace, and Germany’s notable Kleingärten, small gardens carved out in the middle of apartment courtyards, alongside bike paths, and in between buildings. There wasn’t a need to organize these gardens either. The floral and produce gardens seemed to originate from seeds tossed onto the ground in such a way that told me there was a trust on the part of the sewer that the plants would sprout, and the bees would come. I’m not a biologist, but a part of me has to believe the well-fed pollinators were just happier in Germany since the environment was conducive for their flourishing.
When I imagine what Pentecost must have been like, I can picture a divine hand reaching into a pocket, pulling seeds of flaming tongues, and tossing them upon the people, just as I imagined the hands of the Berlin sewers planting their flowers. Interestingly, the citation from Joel that Peter draws upon follows an entire prophecy promising agricultural flourishing, even calling the soil to rejoice (Joel 2:21), and encouraging the people that they would not experience ruin (Joel 2:26). I do not believe Peter meant to imply that the orientation of Pentecost can only be experienced in times of flourishing, but instead that an encounter with this kind of structuring is one that moves the community towards flourishing.
Just like my experience in Berlin, where a small garden at the heart of the city made the bees happy, the early church’s encounter with a reordered model of power had an outward impact that nourished the ancient community. The scale of the impact the early church’s restructuring had cannot be measured. However, the text says that a “thousand” people were added to the community (Acts 2:41), and those community members were supporting one another to the degree that everyone had “everything in common” (Acts 2:44). The early Christian community’s resource sharing was in contrast to the imperial Roman production, exploitation, and mass consumption economy.* Rather than reproducing an economy of hierarchy and scarcity, the Pentecost-structured community healed any fear of scarcity as each person shared with one another, broke bread with one another, and supported each other in the ways they could.
So, at a time of overwhelming grief, modern communities have much to learn from Pentecost’s model of redistributing power, wealth, and resources. Every time a community gathers to share with each other, support one another, and look after one another, they begin a kleingarten in the heart of a broken world. And just like the gardens of Berlin, community care has far reaching effects. Anytime we strive to support one another in the face of devastating oppression, the broader community around us will always flourish. A world structured like Pentecost is one where no individual exists at the top of a hierarchical seat above the rest, but all are empowered to flourish through community support. The flaming tongues of Pentecost are a model to find and own our power, and to redistribute it. And in that shared power, the rest of the world begins to heal.
Standing above the Stumbling Stones in Berlin was a bleak reminder to me that the grief of the world continues, and is often replicated between generations. The resemblance I saw in the memorials of Berlin to the modern world can be overwhelming some days, because what power do I have as an individual to fix what hierarchy has broken? Yet, something as small as a fat, bumbling bee reminded me that the power to remedy the world’s grief rests in the model that Pentecost set forth: community care.
There is not a prescription to remedy all of the world’s problems. However, in every bleak situation throughout history, community care is a balm that continues to heal as the grief of the world mounts. In the 1940s in the heart of Berlin, Otto Weidt was a factory owner that housed, fed, and hid Jews, keeping many from deportation. During the Civil Rights era, Black Americans created co-ops that shared skills, loans, resources, education, food, and healthcare. Throughout the AIDS crisis, lesbian allies became nurses to provide healthcare to gay men when stigma and misinformation prevented them from care. The examples I could provide would make this short reflection into a book, but the point remains. No matter what havoc hierarchical models of power wreak upon our world, the strength, support, and love of community has a way of subverting oppression, and making space where flourishing is still possible even in the bleakest of situations.
Whether its planting a garden in the middle of a busy city, providing a meal for a friend struggling with their health, delivering groceries to a vulnerable immigrant family, or gathering in sanctuaries in an uncertain world, the power of taking care of one another is invaluable. The model that Pentecost sets forth is a vision for the world that will radically heal. And it begins at the tossing of seeds in the middle of a city, the falling of flaming tongues on the early church, and the persistent faith, hope, and love that community care provides.
*Walter Scheidel, Ian Morris, and Richard P. Saller, eds. “The Early Roman Empire,” In The Cambridge Economic History of the Greco-Roman World, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007) 541-645.
