Since our fiery, razzle-dazzle remembrance of Pentecost last month, Scriptures have been speaking to biblical images and symbols of the Holy Spirit.
First came water, with a full-throated invitation to abundant living from the Old Testament prophet Isaiah: “Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters. And you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. … For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.”
By all means, for your physical health, drink more water. But for eternal health, please drink more of the Spirit. Life can sometimes feel like a desert wilderness where you become tired, frustrated, weak, and apathetic. Like the scorching heat of the summer sun, duties and responsibilities drain your vitality. Your get-up-and-go gets up and leaves.
But thanks be to God, the Holy Spirit flows forever as a river: The wet, watery, very-real sense of having the living water of the Holy Spirit gushing into your life – a blessing for yourself and blessed relief for others, when the going gets tough and when the heat is on. As I shared in the pathetic story of my rescuing an insect, a mere drop of rainwater holds the power to revive a lethargic bubble bee.
Next came fire and flame – the Spirit’s tongue flickering with the gentle nuances of God’s grace, its sparks oddly enough never burning or scarring, never inflicting pain or trauma – instead purifying the human tongue and burning off the chaff that chokes the heart, instead producing voices and actions of love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control – gracious attitudes and behaviors that the apostle Paul labels “fruit of the Spirit.”
As it turns out, water and fire make a perfect combination. The Spirit of Water cools the overheated heart of fire, cordially turning down the heat, before the human spirit builds up a full head of steam. Thanks be to God!
And this morning, in flies the Holy Spirit as a dove.
In their similar tellings of the Lord’s baptism, all four Gospel writers paint gentle, fluttering images of the Spirit as a dove. John the Baptist no sooner pulls up his cousin from the baptismal waters of the Jordan River when – according to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John – the Spirit of God descends upon Jesus as a dove. And through the open gates of heaven, a commanding voice proclaims, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” (Matthew 3:16-17, Luke 3:22, Mark 1:10)
John’s Gospel adds a bracing postscript to the watery and feathered spectacle: “On whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit. And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.” (John 1:33-34)
I’m planning to unpack the ties that bind the dove to baptism next Sunday when we celebrate that sacrament with the Otting family. For now, though, prompted by two similar Gospel passages that have been resting quietly upon my heart, let’s this morning zoom out from doves in particular and focus on birds in general.
“Look at the birds,” Matthew’s Gospel commands a couple chapters after the Spirit like a dove touches down upon Jesus. In his observation Matthew notes with the words of Jesus that birds “don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to [God] than they are?” (Matthew 6:26 NLT)
In his “orderly account of the events that have taken place,” Luke takes it up a notch. “Consider the ravens” is his challenge to reflection from the Lord. “They neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds!” (Luke 12:24 NRSV)
Many of us share the year-round love of watching backyard birds.
Over at our place, we don’t enjoy the blessing of bird variety that’s available to country folks. But we’re grateful for the routine brood that we’re able to enjoy.
Thus Julie and I were excited when we noticed that a pair of robins put down roots atop a utility box under the southwest eaves of the fellowship hall. On trips from manse to church and back again, we watched as mom and dad each took turns guarding some number of eggs laid in the free-falling nest. It wasn’t long before three little beaks began poking above its rim. I named them “Mary,” “Ryan,” and “James” in love and remembrance of my three young-adult children who more or less have left the nest.
For days I watched those adult robins flying into the nest with beaks stuffed full of greasy earthworms to feed their growing family – and then turning tail to resume the search for the next course.
“Look at the birds. They don’t plant, or harvest, or store up, for their heavenly Father feeds them. … Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap; they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds!”
And you just can’t help but break into song with the psalmist:
“Sing out your thanks to the LORD; sing praises to our God with a harp. God covers the heavens with clouds, provides rain for the earth, and makes the grass grow in mountain pastures. The LORD gives food to the wild animals and feeds the young ravens when they cry.” (Psalm 147)
In thanksgiving for God’s Creation and generous provision, it’s hard to resist a song we love to sing: “Sweet the rain’s new fall sunlit from heaven, like the first dewfall on the first grass. Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden, sprung in completeness where God’s feet pass.”
No doubt, for those with eyes to see, most definitely something of God becomes visible in the natural world that’s borne of heaven’s doing. But, however stunning, Mother Nature only takes you so far.
For all the beauty of the earth, for all its purple-mountain majesty and fruited plain, the world is a pretty violent place. And routinely deadly in the animal kingdom! Just go for an early morning drive and make note of the widespread roadkill made available for “the young ravens, [vultures, and eagles] when they cry.”
Sometimes you’re the windshield; sometimes you’re the bug, I suppose. And when it comes to understanding God, that reality produces more confusion than clarity. So also, then, more often tears of sadness than songs of joy.
Which is where I found myself with my baby robins Mary, Ryan, and James. None of them made it. The circumstances of their demise are irrelevant, and the sadness I feel pales in comparison to the losses that some of you are grieving these days. Surely I will move on, as it relates to baby birds sooner rather than later, adding yet one more loss to a long list of the many with which I’ve learned to live.
Yet, after burying the little, lifeless figures of Mary, Ryan, and James under our magnolia tree, later in the still of many nights, I wrestle with meager belief in God’s promises of food, care, and provision for creatures like birds, who sometimes measure their lifespans with mere days – and for creatures like you and me, creations of God’s own choosing, supposedly more valuable than mere birds, yet battered and broken by darkness and evil.
Where is God to be found?
How exactly is God working together unto good, in the midst of my disappointment and darkness? In the midst of my fear and doubt? In the midst of my sin and brokenness? Then, by dawn’s early light, the cooing of a morning dove outside my bedroom window stirs me from sleep.
“Of how much more value are you than the birds!” she just as soon might well be crooning – a message of gentle-yet-powerful assurance by the Holy Spirit: “With believers in every time and place, we rejoice that nothing in life or in death can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
So indeed, even in the midst of world’s death and loss, crime and violence, hatred and oppression, lies and falsehoods, division and alienation, let heaven rejoice, and let earth be glad, and let praise surround the throne.
As God takes on human form in Jesus, so also the Spirit takes on human form in us – with us and for us. Amen, and amen!
Pastor Grant M. VanderVelden shared this message on Sunday, June 16, 2024, at First Presbyterian Church in Waukon, Iowa. It is the third of his series on images and symbols of the Holy Spirit. Previous sermons in the series are available at FirstPresWaukon.com/sermons/