What I Didn't Say

I preached this past Sunday. It was a celebration of the first Pentecost and along with it, the continued presence of the Holy Spirit in the church. It was those fabulous Ezekiel and Acts texts about gifts of new life. It was a decent sermon.

But I was saddened by what I didn't preach. Reading through the texts, preparing for the sermon, I felt the Spirit Whoosh. It's my term. Think of it as a compound noun, not a noun and verb. The Spirit Whoosh. It's not uncommon, but not particularly common either. It's the spine-tingling, stomach flip moment when I know where the sermon is going and that yes, it is a word from the Lord. It usually means a really good sermon, too. I'm willing to admit, some sermons are more God-breathed than others.

The Spirit Whoosh came with I realized the Acts text, at least for this moment, was speaking to the possibility of new things. Actually, the expectation of new things. I love the doctrine that says the Holy Spirit is always with the church. I gush about it from time to time. It's the thing that says more stuff is coming from God. I could rant and rave for much longer, but will stop at simply reiterating: more stuff is coming from God. God will call the church to new places.

That's where I stopped in Sunday's sermon. But there was something missing. Mostly, I didn't name all the new places I think the Spirit may be calling the church. The thing that kept coming to mind was, not surprisingly, the church's acceptance of LGBTQ folks. I knew I couldn't say anything to my full congregation during a sermon. I'll admit, I didn't want the backlash from such a sermon. More than that, though, I knew they couldn't hear it. It would be alienating and troubling instead of liberating. I knew that. So instead, I laid the framework for openness. I preached that we should expect more things to come from the Spirit.

It's days like this, though, that I realize I'm still a fundamentalist in my marrow and it sneaks up from time to time. That means that somewhere, I am always, always conscious that I'm breaking the rules. I can admit that now. As a woman, standing in front of the assembly preaching, I'm breaking the rules. And I'm good with that. I've been led by God to do that, along with thousands of others, probably millions. The Spirit moved.

It's through that moving of the Spirit that I changed ideas about many other things, mostly a long list of things I had clearly labeled "sin." That's another story. Today, though, I mourn for what I didn't say, or what I couldn't say, take your pick. It's heart-breaking and troubling and just plain annoying.

But it causes me to pray that the Spirit keeps moving in ways that all can hear. After all, isn't that the Pentecost story?