In the Bible there are many names for the Holy Spirit and his (or her?) ministry to the world. This Sunday our translation will render this third member of the Trinity as 'Advocate.' Other Biblical references include Holy Ghost, Spirit of God, Spirit of Truth and a favorite which is Paraclete (loosely: 'one who comes alongside'). What I like about this translation (which is really no translation at all) is the underlying assumption, 'Well we don't really know exactly what it means in Greek so we'll transliterate it into English and let you figure it out...'

This Pentecost Sunday the most helpful understanding of the Holy Spirit's work and ministry in my life is 'Comforter.' The Gospel text assigned to us, John 14:8-27, has the disciple Philip sitting in for you and me as he asks, 'Lord, show us the Father!' And a somewhat frustrated Jesus (I'm sure) chiming in to say, 'Have I been with you all this time (insert your name here), and you still do not know me?' We, like Phillip, are often in places where we simply cannot recognize God. We live in an age where anxiety disorder diagnoses are through the roof, worries about a dwindling middle class are well founded, a slushy and unpredictable economy keeps us awake at night, and a worrisome national security landscape haunts us (did someone really plant a car bomb in Times Square?).

Yet in the middle of it all, Jesus calls us to go out into the world to continue His work - not just healing, restoring and reconciling, but smiling at the busboy who brings us water, letting the jibe from that passive aggressive co-worker go unanswered, and taking a moment to stare deeply into the eyes of our beloveds to say, 'Ya know, I really love you.'

But in order to do this, we need to find a place to put all that crappy worrying.

And this is where the Holy Spirit - the Comforter comes in.

When my 9 month old is in his activity saucer near my desk (that's him in action, above), furiously rattling rattles, pushing buttons and ringing bells every once in a while he'll suddenly stop and look over at me - as if to say - 'Are we cool?' I look over at him and smile (like, who cannot smile at a smiling baby?) and let him know, 'Ya, we're cool.' And off he goes again, in a tornado of fury. If I don't look at him he'll speak up to grab my attention and when I leave the room there's usually a wail. He wants to know I'm nearby and everything's cool.

Pentecost is like that. Jesus tells us, relax, keep up the good work. The Comforter is here and never leaves.

Everything's cool.



Reading
Governance and Ministry - Dan Hotchkiss
Giving it Up - Maggi Dawn
The Fidelity of Betrayal - Peter Rollins