a true happiness

I appear to have just had an unplanned blog holiday. Oops. I lost my voice for a while and the strain of whisper shouting at the children exhausted all my mental faculties. It is at just the right time, then, that I got the all clear to delight you with some news.

Many of you have been asking over and over the many long years

When is your mother going to blog?

and

When is your mother going to write a book?

Well, the first nagging question has been brought to a cheerful and happy conclusion. Finally! Finally my mother, Joyce Carlson, is devotedly blogging at her new sight Asking for the Road and there is even some talk of my father, Robert Carlson, will be applying his own ready fingers to the keyboard. Those of you who know anything about anything know that my parents write splendidly. If you like to read at all, then you are always longing for their next letter. If you have met them in person, you are constantly exasperated by the intervals in between updates. Blogging, I am assured, will alleviate this sorrow and force my mom, in particular, to WRITE WRITE WRITE which may eventually lead to that long hopped for book.

Here is a mere taste to cause you to go NOW to her site and BOOKMARK IT and go there every day!

It seems to me after a weekend of mountain chasing, that looking for Kilimanjaro—and hoping to actually SEE it as a whole—is rather like looking for God. “I don’t see any mountain,” I say petulantly to anyone who will listen. “It’s over there,” they say, waving vaguely in a southwesterly direction. “Where?” “There.” So I stare and stare, and gradually pick out a pale blue, never-changing smear of color stretching low across the horizon, rising ever so slightly to meet an ever-changing wall of clouds. And now and then I fool myself into believing that something enormous and dark lies hidden behind the puffy white clouds... Most of the time when I’m looking for God (or mountains), I underestimate the size of things. I keep looking for something small and particular somewhere near the edge of the horizon—something comfortably about my size. And not looking high enough, I miss the essential truth that “the world is crowded with God”. C. S. Lewis says, “We may ignore, but we can nowhere evade the presence of God. The world is crowded with Him. He walks everywhere incognito.”[2] Stealthily he comes. “Clouds and thick darkness surround him.”[3] Then imperceptibly the clouds roll away, and I’m left open-mouthed, eyes shining , glad beyond glad to catch a glimpse of such magnificence, until the time when, unaccountably to me, God withdraws again into darkness, “making the clouds his chariot, and riding on the wings of the wind”[4]. It’s not like God doesn’t ever come down into the tiny, particular cry of a baby, or speak in a nearly silent whisper from the back of a cave, but that’s another story. For the time being, I’m trying to remember to get my eyes off the ground and look up.

good dads

Every year on Father's Day I waffle between discouragement about that horrible statistic about fathers' church attendance and the resulting faith of their children (what is it, one in fifty children grow up to be church going if the father doesn't go, I need to look it up) and huge gratitude and joy that I have a good father, that my husband has a good father and that my children have a good father. And by Good I mean Kind, Godly, There, Having a Backbone and Being Wonderful in Every Way.

I was always surprised and happy as a child that my father laughed when I said something funny. Also, it seemed that his highest priority in life was to organize a fun time. This priority included fun things like going to church and eating cake. Now, far away in Kenya, he does fun things like play in fancy Recorder Ensembles and preach many Sundays at St. Francis church. 

Here we are, way back in the bad old days in the village, eating toh (I actually have no idea how to spell this essential delicacy) and probably peanut sauce.

Matt's desire for a good time means that we eat really fabulously and are on our way to an enormous and lush garden. This spring, though, to keep me from generally freaking out under the vast weight of laundry and baseball, he has spent hours in the basement, I mean Sheol, bailing me out of the pit of laundry I dug for myself, and at almost all other moments standing on the top level of the baseball risers biting his nails and praying for the strength of Alouicisous' skinny angular arm.

He well deserves a moment to sit down and 

receive a fancy card from Elphine. Marigold wasn't able to make a card, she said, because it its her Earth Day. This has become her standard response when asked about anything. In fact, said Marigold, we should have made her a card. Honestly.

So Happy Father's Day! And thank you for being a true picture of God's good fatherliness.

off the bottle

We're in to week two of no bottles and day four of no Strawberry Short Cake and My Little Pony. 

How has it gone?

Well....I mean......probably good.

Marigold was horribly addicted to massive bottles of milk so that she wasn't really eating food. Fatty Lumpkin was so addicted to My Little Pony that she had no ability to play or do anything interesting when the wretched program was playing and when it wasn't. It's been like what I imagine a Hollywood rehab spa in the Sierras would be. The drama, the sneaking of the iPad to watch something quietly under the table, the practically silent pouring of a whole gallon of milk into a baby bottle and on to the floor, the violent shrieking when the offense is discovered, the bargaining, the rage, the half step forward seven steps back. One day last week, whatever day it was, Marigold gathered a bunch of bottles in a plastic bag and hauled them over to church to give them to a real baby. We fell all over ourselves congratulating her only to live through four days of her lying around whining, 'actually, I'm not a big girl anymore. I need a bottle of milk.' Fatty Lumpkin just shouts 'My Pony! My Pony' as a response to anything anyone says to her or near her.

But, it seems like maybe we've broken the back of it. There's an imperceptible tiny bit less crying and a bit more eating of food and playing. Heaven keep them from gambling and strong drink and rock and roll. I can just see the shattered wreck of their addicted lives stretching before them. And the blaming of their poor foolish parents. Well not this time! This time I win!

{phfr} here comes the rain again

It's raining torrentially and all manner of flood warnings are in effect. I cannot face my basement which I know is filling with water. I ought to get down there and cope with all the stuff on the floor. I ought also to be more holy and good. I ought to do a lot of things. So clearly blogging moves itself to the front of the line. 

{Pretty}

Gladys has such an interesting eye. I discovered this jumbled in a pile of recycling and rescued it. I particularly like all the detail, and of course the face. 

{happy}

Long ago, when baseball was still in play (heh heh heh) (so grateful it's all over, even though I do sort of miss it. But not too much. They lost the championship game on Tuesdsy night, sob, but the coach was so lovely, sitting them all down and methodically saying something wonderful about each child's performance over the course of the season--you could see the boys strain forward in turn to hear what he would say--and then sending them tumbling out of the dugout to run and slide and laugh and jump while the winning team filed somberly and strangely away)... where was I...oh yes

Long ago when there was a game on a Friday and the gods of baseball decided to go ahead and play to the bitter end even though it was clear who was going to win and Matt was stuck out in Vestsl and texting me in rage and fustration because as you all know, Friday is the One Day we sit down and talk to each other and the children aren't allowed to interrupt for any reason other than immanent death, 

I spent the long lonely two and a half hours making this

And setting up this

So that when they finally did make it home reason was restored to its throne.

{funny}

For the month of June I am spending my Sunday School hour with the Littlest at Good Shepherd. Normally this room holds not only the threes but also whacking great four, five and six year olds so that the threes get kind of lost in the shuffle. But now that Summer Sunday School is in full swing and everyone is upstairs memorizing as many verses as they can before the end of summer, I've assembled the Threes together for some quieter chatechesis by themselves. And the group of them together is pretty hilarious.

{Real}

Good Shepherd supports a church in the slum of Kuinde in Nairobi, Kenya.

Last night one of the ladies in the church, someone whom Elphine and I got to meet when we visited in 2009, lost everything in a fire that destroyed her one room tin house. She has two little girls and isn't as healthy as everyone would like. If you have a moment could you pray for her today, and for the church. Her name is the same as mine.

And now my conscience is seriously troubling me so I guess I will go have a look at the basement, that is, Sheol.

Go check out Like Mother Like Daughter.

the end is nigh

Baseball is well nigh at a close. Alouicious has plugged along all this season, keeping track of his glove and bat and cleats and hat and uniform, playing catch when there's time, throwing the ball into the tire placed carefully against our gorgeous fence (see posts from last summer) when there's less time, whistling his way through practices and games. The rest of us have been trying to live sanely around him. Elphine and I, waiting out practices, have bought groceries in myriad locations we never expected to know about in the long distant baseball-less past. Matt has been to, what seems like to me, a thousand games, standing, shoulders squared, on the top level of those dilapidated and ubiquitous risers available at every baseball field across America. He mutters under his breath and shouts desperately at his child to RUN and HIT and mostly PAY ATTENTION. I, even I, have stood, white knuckled at the fence, shouting hysterically at children to whom I have never been formally introduced to RUN RUN RUN COME ON RUN RUN RUN!!!  

Yesterday, after rushing away from the Church Picnic (sob), it occurred to me that baseball is alright. It is orderly and cheerful. The angles are well arranged. The lawn is always perfectly green. The little boys (honestly, they look so like babies but also on the cusp of being men) look so right in their bright clean white and wine colored uniforms. The catcher for our team, who I do happen to know, squats keen eyed and ready, but when the moment arises flings aside his massive helmet and cap, scoops up the ball and goes fiercely at the poor child coming desperately towards home. Then, generally satisfied, he reassembles himself with the help of the umpire. It all happens in a languid, fascinating, nail biting rhythm. 

And so, here we are, one single game away from it all being over. We have gone all the way. Had it not been for the rain today, we, I guess I should say 'they' since I am not technically playing, would have played the only other team that has gone all the way. Tomorrow? Or Wednesday? Who can know when the rain will stop and the teams will be assembled. 

don't ask me for food

I have been in bed for two days. Well, not really in bed, more languishing on the couch trying to keep the children from razing the house to its foundations while I move as minimally as possible lest something terrible befall me. And also, all the time exerting prayers and supplications over the contents of my insides, I've gone ahead and started the next school year. It's raining and cold and everyone is fractious. We might as well get on with the books. In this way, I told Elphine, you can be done with college by the time other people are supposed to start (snort) thereby saving me a lot of money. Srsly, you want to sit around wasting your life? 

I didn't wait for her to consider that option but shoved some bright shiny new books into her grubby mitts and dismissed her with my pallid blessing. Because honestly, I really hate it when you stop for the summer and everyone forgets Everything they ever knew. 

So anyway, I did manage to stand up this morning and make enough food for the whole day (pictured above) and after this little moment of blogging, I will probably try to wander around picking up various gross objects from the floor and pretend that I have energy enough to be ready for the weekend. 

Because there's the COGS HEALTH FAIR!!, and the church PICNIC!!! and baseball PLAYOFFS!!! Unfortunately kind of all at the same time. So I'm not sure how it will all play (heh heh heh) out. If I was a better person I would mumble something about 'God's perfect time' and 'everything falling providentially into place' but who am I kidding? It's stressful to have everything coincide and know that God could have rearranged it if he wanted to, given that he's known all about this for months, but he decided not to. Probably because he wants me to be more holy or something ghastly like that. But I'm not taken in! I can worry and fret anywhere anytime! 

Sorry about all the caps. It's time to go for the daily removal of Fatty Lumpkin from the family sugar bowl. Have a great weekend!

oh grow up

I've just been making a great long comprehensive list of everything I need to do in the world in order to be allowed to take a holiday later this summer. It includes things like Coping with the Basement and Throwing Half the Contents of the House Away because there's no where to put it. I've already completed some of the tasks--End of the Year Reports for the Government, Getting the Babies off of Drinking Out of Bottles since they're not actually Babies Any More (a fact brought home to me this week while trying to talk to people after church only to find two large girls, my own I realized, lying on the floor screaming and shouting in a way that was not cute or funny but was loud and Too Big)--but I went ahead and wrote everything down so as to be able to cross some things off right away.

But honestly, the reason I'm planning a holiday is because I need one--more and more than ever as the stupid list lies there on the table,

 

taunting and laughing at me while I try to muscle my way through one task after another. It seems like this would be what it would be like to get ready to die. If I had warning that I was going to die, I would feel like the house needed to be super clean and everything put away. I wouldn't be the person who said, 'Oh Whatever, I'm going to die so who cares anyway'. I would say, 'Oh No, I'm going to die and the house is not clean'. 

Without descending into morbidity and sorrow, I look cheerfully at death on this bright sunny day, which, though evil (death, that is), resembles in many ways a holiday, a welcome rest. That may be because we have had two successful days of two little girls drinking out of cups, although with so much anger. They are angry, not me. I am so happy. It's possible my happiness is contributing to their anger. And yet, my cloud of happiness is shattered by the screaming and the tripping over these large little girls flinging themselves down in my path in an effort to get bottles of milk out of me. My shins are a mass of contusions. However, because it has already been crossed off the list, I will not give in. They will have to settle, once they stop screaming, for sucking sugar water out of those little plastic tubes, or gnawing on frozen smoothie, or drinking warm sugar milk (Tea) out of their little mugs. What a misery their lives are, stretching before them in one long bottle-less wasteland. Clearly, they would rather die than live this way. 

the laundry: that great dark cloud of despair

I really ought to be downstairs doing laundry...I feel like that line should be set to music and be playing as the soundtrack to my life...it's always down there, like Gallum, hissing at me in the dark, even when I'm up here doing nice things like making tarts for a sad goodbye to graduating seniors.

Strawberry Tarts: pie crust rolled out and baked in muffin tins and then filled first with a layer of cream cheese whipped with the juice from sugar macerated strawberries and then a layer of the berries themselves and then whipped cream.

Chocolate Tarts: dark chocolate melted in a double boiler and then whipped into the rest of the cream cheese not mixed with strawberry juice. Whipped cream on top.

I doled out a small number of tarts to the children in the kitchen before making them go play. More and more I am for all the children going to play when grow ups are trying to talk. Everyone is pretty happy this way because no one has to be bored by grown ups or annoyed by whining children.

I was also generous with the rest of the strawberries and cream. I may yell, occasionally, but the compensations for my short temper are sweet. Now Stop Screaming And Eat!

See how nicely everyone is chewing with the mouth closed? 

So really, back to the laundry. It doesn't matter what other massive jobs I undertake, the garage, for instance, the laundry is ever there, living its great dark presence in my broken and diseased mind.

Even when we flee to the great out doors, to lovely parks 

on golden warm afternoons

sitting in a heavy cloud of lilac scented glory.

And yet, for all it's wretched guilty presence, we do manage to go out clothed and mildly sane. Even on Sundays, some bows and vests can be scraped together and applied before libations of chocolate milk and cookies.

Every Sunday I'm told they look beautiful, which they do, but only by grace and not my own works, my long exasperated works of washing, folding, flinging into drawers, picking clean things up off the floors, and some cussing.

And then the inevitable Sunday Morning Fuss in which I discover that I did not pick the right dress for one child or that a vest is covered in pen, or that no one has any shoes at all.

But once they're out the door they seem to forget. And I do also, until I descend back down into the pit, or Sheol, as I've been more recently calling it, to have another go at it.

Really, I argue with Jesus, at least the Pharisees did wash the outside of the cup. At least they washed something. So they never bothered with the inside, at least they cleaned something. Whatever, says Jesus, stop complaining. 

 So I guess I will for now, stop complaining that is, and revise my school plan for next year, because just as laundry hangs over the conscience, so does homeschooling. But at least that can be done in the light and there is a vague sense of going somewhere and accomplishing something.

See. One child done, Elphine,

one nearly so, Alouicious, spurred on by the future hope of something I've been told is called Sweet Frog. 

sublime

Rhubarb Mango Crumble

I made some rhubarb strawberry sauce, but more almost jam.

Just cooked down all the rhubarb I was given, maybe four cups chopped all told, with the end of some frozen strawberries and a goodly measure of sugar until it was gorgeously pectinous and delicious.

Then I discovered some unripened mangos in the back of the fridge (? What was I thinking?) and diced them up, covered them with sugar and some of the Rhubarb Strawberry Delight and then over that a crumble mixture {two cups uncooked oatmeal, half cup brown sugar, quarter cup flour, one stick warm golden luscious melted butter} baked at 350 for nearly an hour.

Then obviously I sampled a little off the side.

Thank goodness Matt doesn't eat sugar. I don't know how this could stretch to eight people. As it is, I will probably ladle it into little prep dishes for the children. It's not good to eat too much right before bed. If you're a child....

my sermon from yesterday: pentecost

We're going to be in Leviticus 23 and Acts 2 this morning. 
So let’s pray together.
Merciful and heavenly Father, we praise you for incorporating us into the mystical body of your Son, Jesus Christ, and making us heirs thorough him of your everlasting kingdom. Help us this morning to see this gift more clearly and to give ourselves over completely to the work of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Long ago,

after rescuing the people of Israel from slavery in Egypt,

God gave a series of feasts to help them commemorate

and remember how great their deliverance had been,

but also to be a picture of what he would do thousands of years later.

These pictures are prophetic. 
So you're a person in first century Jerusalem.

You've wandered around with Jesus for the last year.

You're one of the 120 that comprise the broader group of disciples

at the time of Jesus' entrance into Jerusalem on the Sunday before Passover.

You're an observant Jew,

so, looking at Leviticus chapter 23 verse 2

you keep the Sabbath.

You don't work on Saturday and you go to synagogue on that day. 
Second, you keep Passover.

Verse 5,

In the first month,

the very month that God delivered the people out of Egypt,

on the fourteenth day of that month,

as the sun is setting,

the Passover begins.

That's when Jesus celebrated the meal together with the twelve.

Then on Friday,

as hundreds of lambs without blemish were being slaughtered in the temple-

-imagine the noise and the stench,

the blood running down the altar

into the stream the runs underneath the temple and out into the city—

at that very moment

Jesus hung on the cross

and his blood flowed down.

The fifteenth day, verse 6,

is the Feast of Unleavened Bread.

Not only does your bread not have any leaven

but there isn't even any in your house.

If you are a woman

you have scrubbed every inch of your house

and washed every single solitary piece of clothing

to keep the commandment to get rid of the leaven.

Why?

Because leaven is a picture of sin.

A little bit goes a long way,

spreading itself through the whole loaf.

Jesus is the unleavened bread,

he is without sin.
So then you have to rush around

and prepare to keep the Sabbath

because from sunset on Friday

to sunset on Saturday

you can't do any work.

You don't want to anyway

because Jesus' body is lying in a tomb

and you're exhausted with grief.

What comes next?
The feast of first fruits is next.

So way back in the early spring,

if you are a man and you hadn't been following Jesus around,

you would have planted all your crops,

barley and wheat especially,

and around the time of Passover,

the first barley shoots would be just ready.

Verse 11,

You cut them

and bring them tied into a loose sheaf

to the temple that Sunday,

after the Passover Sabbath.

What does Jesus say about his death before he dies?

John 22:24 Unless the grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies,

it remains alone, but if it dies, it bears much fruit.

Inevitably, necessarily,

the grain that falls into the ground

will rise out of the ground.

The loosely bound sheaf of barley is a guarantee of the harvest to come.

Jesus walked out of the grave

on the day

that the sheaves of barley were brought into the temple.

Paul writes in first Corinthians 15:20

'But in fact Christ has been raise from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as by a man, Adam, came death, by a man, Jesus, came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all day, so also in Christ shall all be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ, the first fruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ.

Jesus, the first fruit,

risen,

is the guarantee of future harvest,

in this case,

of us rising again when he returns in glory.

It is inevitable. It will happen. 
So then what happens?

Verse 15.

You shall count seven full weeks from the day after the Sabbath, from the day that you brought the sheaf of the wave offering, that's Resurrection Sunday.You shall count fifty days to the day after the seventh Sabbath, that's another Sunday, today, the day of Pentecost. Then you shall present a grain offering of new grain to The Lord. You shall bring from your dwelling places two loaves of bread to be waved, made of two tenths of an ephah. They shall be of fine flour, and they shall be baked with leaven, as first fruits to The Lord.

This is the Feast of Weeks,

called Pentecost on the New Testament,

the celebration of the wheat harvest.
So now let's look at Acts.

The whole group of disciples, numbering 120,

are altogether in one place.

The place is probably the house that has the upper room

where Jesus celebrated the Passover.

Everyone in Israel

is bringing their two loaves commanded in verse 15

to the temple.

The disciples are praying and singing

because this is the forty ninth day after Jesus rose again.

And that day has changed everything for you.

Ten days ago, on a Thursday,

Jesus left you again ascending into heaven,

shouting down from the cloud that everything would be fine,

just wait for the Holy Spirit,

which was very confusing.

But because he told you to go wait that is what you've been doing.

Every day, in the temple and in each others homes,

with the other believers, waiting. 
So then, on the Feast of Weeks,

which we call Pentecost,

as you're all praying and singing,

there is the sound of a mighty wind,

like a hurricane force gale.

The sound of a mighty rushing wind.

The wind during the Exodus drove the water back all night

so that the people could pass through the sea on dry land.

Ezekiel was told to prophecy to the breath,

the wind,

and say,

let these bones live,

and the valley of dry dead bones was filled with living people.

Jesus spoke with a Pharisee very late at night,

and said, 'the wind blows where it wishes and you hear it's sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with the spirit.'

Nicodemus, likely standing in that room,

should have heard the sound and known what was happening.
Then the tongues,

as of fire,

descended on the heads of each of the disciples.

The Lord spoke out of the fire to Moses

to call him to work to free the people of Israel.

He appeared as a pillar of fire at night to lead them through the desert.

Here tongues,

as of fire,

alight on the heads of those in the room,

all the believers in the whole world gathered in one place.

No one is excluded.

All see and receive the sign.

This is the baptism of the Holy Spirit that Jesus promised in Acts 1:9.

So, then

verse 4,

they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues,

as the spirit gave them utterance. 
So, in short order three amazing things have happened.

There has been the sound of the wind,

the appearance of fire

and now they are all speaking in other languages as the Spirit leads,

and here it becomes a little unclear in the text

but it seems like they are propelled out onto the streets of Jerusalem

because Luke describes the various people who are out there, verse 5.
Now there were dwelling in Jerusalem, devout men,

that means men who fear God and who are paying attention,

Devout men from every nation under heaven

and at the sound they all came together—

So they heard the sound and it drew them

and then they were bewildered,

confused,

because each one was hearing them,

that is the 120 disciples,

speak in his own language. 
Let's pause for just a second and clarify under what circumstances the Spirit came. 

What were the disciples,

the 120, doing when the Spirit came?

they were together worshipping.

Did they know and perfectly expect how and when and what was going to happen? 

Did they play any kind of big organizational roll?

No.

the Holy Spirit came to them when it was the right time

After thousands of years of preparation.

They didn't summon him by the excellence of their prayers.

They were obediently waiting and he came when he was ready..

I am belaboring this point

because I think sometimes we get confused about the Spirit.

We know God the Father and Jesus don't depend on us to do their work,

but when we come to the Spirit

we think it depends on us praying in the right way

or being in the right place at the right time

Then we somehow get the Spirit to give us what we want

knowing that the Father would never give it to us.

Suffering with Jesus,

but glory with the Spirit.

But that's not true.

The work of the Spirit and of Jesus and the Father is the same work—

the redemption and sanctification of human beings for the glory of God.

The Father wants you to be saved and to be holy

and so the Spirit brings it about

through the work of the Son.

They all have the same end goal because they are One, they are God.
But the Holy Spirit does his part of the work in three stages.

First, he regenerates you.

He brings you alive where you were once dead.

We see this in John 3.

You are first born of the Spirit which allows you to see the kingdom of God.

Then you submit yourself to Jesus in faith

and the Holy Spirit comes to live in you.

The technical word is 'indwell'. 
For some,

the point of being indwelt by the Spirit isn't particularly experiential.

I don't even know the exact moment this happened for me.

Matt, on the other hand,

can tell you a whole story about what it was like for him.
Which brings us round to the third stage of the Holy Spirit's work

and to the word 'fill'.

Those who were all together in one place were 'filled' with the Holy Spirit.

It implies that they weren't before.

To be filled, there has to be a lack,

there has to be some room. 
The Holy Spirit moved in to your dark cold stone like heart

and set up his little fire there to burn

and try to shed some light on the subject,

that is you,

he's in there, that's called indwelling ,

but he could take up a lot more room.

He would like to fill you.

So

often,

at the initial point of faith

some big things that are killing you

need to go right away.

But after that,

his work is much slower.

One room at a time,

one dirt pile at a time.

And this is where you cooperate with him,

this is where the filling comes in.

Sure, he is going to have to pry some things out of your vice like grip,

but other things you're going to give him

and then you'll have more room for him,

more room to be filled with him.

And as he fills you,

guess what kind of experience it is?

The best word to describe it is the dreaded word 'Submission'.

You submit,

you yield,

you give in to the work of God in the person of the Holy Spirit.

It is an experience of joy and forgiveness and letting go of grief and hurt,

but it is also an experience of doing some things

you might never have done before,

or doing some things you don't feel like doing,

or doing some things that seem really beyond you.

Why? Because it’s not just you doing them,

it's the Holy Spirit doing them in and through you.

You can make it harder by not cooperating,

or you can give in,

cheerfully doing what God calls you to do.
The birth of the church,

this moment where the disciples are spit out into Jerusalem

in an amazing rush,

preaching the gospel so that everyone understands,

people of so many languages

who are going to go all over the world with this news.

What is being fixed here that was horribly broken?

Remember, at the Tower of Babel,

how language was confused?

Now the confusion is made into understanding.

Now all the languages speak to the glory of God.

So they rush out and the church suddenly becomes huge.

They baptize 3000 that day.

You think you're tired now,

doing whatever it is God has given you

to make the Kingdom of God real to this city?

Imagine if 1000 people walked in and we had to do hospitality,

coffee hour

integration into mission groups

discipleship

and then also cleaning the kitchen floors

and the bathrooms.

So let's tie in the harvest and the Feast of Weeks/Pentecost.

Remember the barley first fruits were brought in bound in loose sheaves,

but not so the wheat harvest.

At Pentecost, the birth of the church,

the wheat is picked and beat out for the grain

and then the grain is pounded,

milled into flour

and mixed with water and leaven,

that's right, guess what there is in the church?

Sin.

There is sin here.

It's being gently removed but it’s here.

And then heat is applied

and the grain is forged into a loaf of bread.

All warm, and comforting,

bread,

except when you think about the pounding and the mixing and the heat.

And it's being all together in one loaf.

This loaf is also called Jesus' Body.

A body where everything is connected.

Your decision to sin affects everyone else

just like my decision to sin affects you.

It's not Easy. Sometimes it's very Hard.

But, Jesus says, 'nothing is impossible with God'.

He can and he will make us holy.

He can and he will spread the gospel through us to the world.

He can and he will make us alive together in himself.

But he's not a battle ax.

He brings light to you and woos your cooperation.

He wants to fill you with himself.

He wants to use you to build up his kingdom.

He wants to use you to bring healing to other people.

He wants to use your prayers,

your conversation with him,

to bring about his plans and his desires.

He wants to be with you.

And he wants you to be holy. 
Just like the first fruits,

the resurrection of Jesus is a guarantee,

this harvest,

the gift of the Spirit,

is a guarantee, an inevitability.

Paul explains in Ephesians 1:13-14,

in him, that is Christ, in him you also, when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and believed in him, were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it, to the praise of his glory.

Sure, there's the beating out of the grain

and the pain of the fire

as we are forged into a loaf,

a body through the one Spirit

with Christ as our head.

And it's messy

because the leaven is all mixed in,

but this isn't the ultimate harvest.

We are still planting seed.

We can work and be filled up because we have the guarantee,

the Spirit,

alive in us.

……………let us pray.