Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, a motley group of people found themselves together in one place in the face of an unspeakable tragedy. To their surprise, it was the tragedy itself that united and inspired them. In their grief, when their own words failed them, they were given a new language.
On that day, a long, long time ago, through an indescribable power, this ragtag group suddenly discovered that they could speak in new ways. They could say startling things and others could understand, no matter their race or language. Diversity was no longer a divider. It was a unifier. A mysterious power moving among these persons gave them a purpose. Through that same power, they understood what they needed to do. They began to move. And the journey began.
A little way into this long journey and the problems began. Spectacular things were happening, but there was also trouble, trouble and troublemakers. Some of this group, fired up by the initial power that propelled them forward, were persecuted. Many died. But still, most of them were undeterred. They ventured forth. They followed their call. They advanced. They scattered and spread to the ends of the known earth, for that was what they were meant to do.
Some died brutal and bloody deaths in foreign lands. It was even said that their blood was the seed that would bear much fruit. And as this rough crew of quirky humans spread from east to west, they encountered mountains and hills, rough terrain, and dangerous passages. Nothing about the journey was easy.
Until one day, many years after the story began, they came upon a level plain. After such a rough and tumultuous pilgrimage, this plain was a welcome sight. They soon forgot the initial charge of their ancestors and the fire that had been enkindled at the beginning of this family story. Indeed, they forgot the story itself.
Looking at the level plain, free of vexing passages and steep hills, they said to one another in their common language, “Let’s settle here. Let’s build a grand city like none other on earth. Let’s build up and make a name for ourselves.” And they did. For a while, the city thrived. In fact, more cities were built. Soon, many of these cities were structured around grand buildings where they worshipped the Source of the power that had moved them on. They knew this Source as the living God. If you were journeying out on the open land, you could locate a city by a building dedicated to this God. People flocked to these buildings. And although the people continued to build up and up, with grander projects, and even though this family of people seemed to become more and more powerful, something was amiss.
This people, convinced that they were doing the right thing, made one major mistake: they forgot their story, and they failed to tell it. Over the centuries, they had lost the memory of that initial catalyzing event when diverse peoples were gathered around an incredible fire of passion and witness, around suffering and death. And although this amnesia persisted for many centuries, one day everything came crashing down.
Some said it was God’s punishment. Their enemies used their misfortune to mock them. What had the people done wrong? What egregious sins had they committed? What had provoked God’s wrath? The people were confounded. The earlier united purpose was now fractured. The people were fractious, arguing and fighting. No longer were their sacred buildings the centers of cities; cities were built around much taller buildings dedicated to wealth and other types of power. No longer were the sacred buildings even full of people. Something was wrong. And all the people could imagine was that they were being punished. The lingering question was whether they would even survive.
You’ve probably guessed it already. We are that people. This story is our story, the Church’s story. Yes, in some sense, it’s the story of Babel, too. And today, on Pentecost, we celebrate that auspicious beginning so many years ago in Jerusalem. This is the day to remember our story, which perhaps we have forgotten. Some have called Pentecost the birthday of the Church. So, let’s stand around our birthday cake, if you will. In the middle of it stands a tall candle. But don’t blow it out. Gaze upon this candle and offer a prayer instead of a wish. Offer a prayer that we will remember and reclaim our story.
If you survey the scene of our family, scattered across the earth, we appear to be more divided than united. We are more violent than peaceful. We have been ravaged by deadly diseases. We talk to screens more than to human faces. Some who look at us are increasingly less inspired by our unity, because we seem to have lost a common purpose. Our sacred buildings are not very full. What has happened to that mysterious power that started our grand story? In the long story of advancement, we seem to have paused and are standing still.
In some sense, existential questions such as these were the questions of that confident group of people, our ancient ancestors in the Book of Genesis, who journeyed westward and settled in the land of Shinar. United by one language, there was nothing the people couldn’t do together. But they chose to stop their movement, to stop advancing, and build up rather than across. They chose the vertical over the horizontal. And so, God confounded them.
We, too, may wonder what we have done to be so divided. Why are we standing still without a perceived destiny? The easy answer is to pin all the blame on God. But what if being confounded is a gift, a moment of grace.
We have spent so many years building up, out of complacency, arrogance, and even laziness, that we have forgotten the impulse of the beginning of our family’s story. We have to go far back, even before the incident at Babel, to the moment right after God renewed creation following the flood. God gave a charge to his people. “Be fertile and increase and fill the earth.”
God wanted his people to scatter to the ends of the earth, to fill it with his good news, to bear fruit in all times and places. At Babel, when God scattered his people, it was not a gesture of cruel punishment but a moment of grace. The people needed to be confounded in order to remember their story and their mission. Building up would stop the advancement of God’s mission. Only a moment of profound humility would remind God’s people of their call.
Today we are invited to reclaim our story as we gather around this tall Paschal candle. We will soon journey to the font by its light to welcome new members into our motley crowd, to charge them with God’s mission, to unite them under the name of Jesus. We will renew our own baptismal covenant and be reminded that God wants to scatter us. Like Eucharistic bread that must be broken to be shared, we must be broken and shared with the world. Our purpose is not to stay still and build up but instead to be scattered and continue advancing the cause of the Gospel.
Sometimes what we build must be rebuilt by God. When human hubris values sameness over a unity in diversity, then it’s a precious moment of grace when God confounds our pride. Perhaps we would do well to invert the words of the great Te Deum hymn. Lord, let us be confounded, especially when we have forgotten our story and lost our way.
There are two ways to look at this present moment. We can remain still and create a story of blame, where we blame God, others, disease, or whatever else we choose for our inability to keep advancing. Or we can be humbled and confounded and let God scatter us to the ends of the earth. We can let God shatter our idols and our grand projects that we’ve long outgrown.
We can bravely choose the rugged mountains and deep valleys over the easy, lazy plains. We can venture out with the Holy Spirit at our backs, knowing that we can never rest until the peace of Christ reaches not upwards but horizontally across the face of the earth.
This is our family’s story. Today is the day to remember that story. Caedmon and Meredith, this is about to become your story. This day, more than ever, is the day to retell our story. Let us reclaim it. Let us keep moving and advancing until we have been scattered by God to the ends of the earth.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Day of Pentecost
June 5, 2022