It was a Pentecost moment that no one knew was coming.

It was a Pentecost moment no one knew we needed. It

was certainly a Pentecost moment that no one would have

asked for.

The boat was sinking. Though, we did not know it. You see,

we were on day six of our Footsteps of Faith pilgrimage, and

we had just finished the day on the sacred island of Patmos.

We had been to the Grotto of Revelation, the Cave of

Apocalypse where it is said that John received his revelation.

In many ways, it had been one of those mountaintop faith

kinds of days. There had been vulnerable sharing, intimate

connection, tears had been shed. The day had been one

thick with the Holy Spirit.

Surely, the Pentecost moment had already come.

Infused with the divine inspiration of the Holy Spirit, we

joyfully and gleefully hopped back onto the boat that had

gotten us to Patmos, intent on riding the holy waves of

the Spirit all the way back to our hotel in Samos, where a

relaxing evening with dinner on the pier awaited us. The

journey began simply and smoothly enough. There were

lots of smiles and lots of selfies. And then, a peculiar thing

happened. We hit a few waves that felt a little different. They

were choppier than anything we had felt previously.

We had been warned that, at times, the ride home can be

a bit bumpy, so we didn’t pay it too much mind. And then,

another big bump came, and it seemed to knock the boat

off course. Different. But perhaps just one final rush of wind

from the Holy Spirit.

And so, because the boat had been redirected a bit, the

captain and crew had us do a U-turn of sorts to get us

back on course. But again, another big bump, and we were

knocked off course again. Our boat turned around, and we

assumed another U-turn was coming, but that was not the

case, the boat was headed back to Patmos. Again, different.

But, we had also been warned of this possibility. Sometimes,

the waters back to Samos are just too choppy, and, at times,

it becomes necessary to spend the night in Patmos.

Surely, the Holy Spirit must be up to something. After all,

scripture tells us that the wind blows where it chooses. The

Holy Spirit is not one to be tamed. And so, back to Patmos

we went. By this time, most of our group had made their

way up to the second level of the boat, intent on sitting

outside to avoid getting seasick and to see the beautiful

scenery. There were rumblings of the smell of gas on the

lower level of the boat. It gets better.

Introvert that I am, I took a moment of introverted

isolation, and I made my way down the stairs to the lower

level of the boat. This is when I noticed something very

different was, in fact, happening. It may have been the

inner rumblings of the Holy Spirit. But, if the Holy Spirit

is supposed to be our comforter, I wasn’t necessary

picking up comforting vibes. There was a lot of movement

and motion amongst the captain and the crew. There

was, indeed, a strong smell of gas that seemed mildly

problematic. But no alarms had been sounded, no

announcements of an emergency or impending doom and

been proclaimed, the life jackets were still safely stowed

away. And so, trying to do my best Jesus impersonation, I

tried to stay calm while on a boat that bounced back and

forth. Surely, the Holy Spirit is simply just rushing in through

the winds of the Aegean Sea one last time.

And then it happened.

I happened to glance at the back of the boat, and that’s

when I noticed a member of the crew remove a cushion

to a long and padded bench, and, taking a large bucket,

he started scooping out buckets full of water, throwing the

water overboard back into the sea. Something was at work,

and it seemed it was certainly not the Holy Spirit. And just

as soon as the rush of fear and worry and anxiety began to

set in, the violent rush from the winds of a much larger boat

came up beside us.

What then followed was a chaotic—and yet well-

choreographed—scene where the Hellenic Coast Guard tied

our much smaller boat to their much larger boat. And then,

our group was instructed to leap from our boat to the boat of

the coast guard.

Once we were all to the safety of our new vessel, the engine

of our original boat was turned off, and slowly it began to

succumb to the sea, steadily submerging under the water

while being towed along towards the pier. Our boat had

been sinking!

It was a Pentecost moment that no one knew was coming.

It was a Pentecost moment no one knew we needed. It was

certainly a Pentecost moment that no one had expected.

But it wasn’t the thrill and the terror of discovering that we

had been on a sinking boat that made this a Pentecost

moment. It is what happened after. Once we were able to

get settled and centrally located within Patmos, this is when

the divided tongues of fire began to appear, each of us

processing the events in our own unique ways, in our own

unique language. And yet, I watched and witnessed as this

group began to speak each other’s language fluently.

There was understandable panic that was tended to with

an attentive tenderness. There was space made for silent

and quiet reflections. There was the opportunity for raucous

and raw accounts of all that had happened. There was a

sacred and shared meal of gelato—a sugary delight that

allowed us to communally begin to settle. Tears could be

shed. Hands could be held. Hugs were held for just a bit

longer. Pentecost happened.

While not typically achieved through sinking boats, since

the year 2000, the annual Footsteps of Faith pilgrimage for

high school seniors to Greece, Turkey, and Italy has been

providing the space and opportunity for these young people

to have an intimate encounter with the Holy Spirit. Pentecost

through pilgrimage.

Footsteps of Faith happens at a tender time, a pivotal

moment of profound transition and change. There is much

to joyfully anticipate, and there is much to anxiously await.

High school is finished, a chapter is closing, a phase of life

is ending, formative identities are being shed, relationships

and friendships are shifting. It is a time ripe for the howling

winds of the Holy Spirit to rush onto the scene.

They, too, were in a tender time of profound transition. Just

one chapter earlier, the impending baptism of the Holy Spirit

has been promised. Jesus has ascended, lifted and taken out

of their sight. And after casting lots, Matthias is chosen to

replace Judas.

And so here they are—the faithful followers of Jesus—

all together in one place, huddled together in a house,

anxiously waiting for what is to come.

So much in their life has changed. So much in their life

has been lost. There is much to anticipate, and so much to

anxiously await. The Holy Spirit has certainly been hovering,

and now the fiery winds will rush in and consume them.

It was a Pentecost moment they did not know was coming.

It was a Pentecost moment no one knew they needed. It

was certainly the Pentecost moment they had hoped for.

And I imagine that this scene had to be similar to our

moment of Pentecost in Patmos. Surely, the panic of it all

for some was tempered by the tenderness of others. Surely,

even the joyous exclamations allowed for space to be held

for silent and quiet reflection. Surely, there was raucous and

raw accounts of all that was happening. Surely, tears were

shed. Surely, there was embrace—hands being held, hugs

that were especially tight.

It was, as theologian Willie James Jennings calls it, “the

revolution of the intimate.” 1 The intimate sharing not just

of language, but the intimate sharing of lives, the intimate

invitation to incarnationally encounter one another, to

engage and experience one another in the fullness of

their humanity. The promise had been fulfilled. Pentecost

became baptism, baptism with the Holy Spirit, and it was

as if everyone joyfully and gleefully shouted, “The water

feels great, come on in!” The shared language became a

communal splashing in the waters together.

Pentecost happened. Pentecost shapes us. Pentecost gives

us, as Craig Dykstra calls it, “the language of faith.” And, as

Dykstra says:

[This] religious language is indispensable to religious

faith and community [because] such language makes

possible historical continuity. It is a factor in the

perpetuation of the faith and community over time and

across generations. 2

And so, leaning on these wise words, we come to recognize

that Pentecost shapes us because Pentecost isn’t simply

a one-time occurrence. Pentecost has happened, and

Pentecost is still happening. The winds are still rushing in,

and the flames are still full and vibrant with the vocabulary

of our faith.

But Dykstra also wisely offers us a word of caution:

But this use of language raises the possibility of a great

temptation. The community may fall into self-idolatry.

When the religious community uses its language simply

for self-perpetuation, then God has been captured as

the god of the religious cultus and is no longer the God

of all of life. And this, in turn, makes the valid use of

religious language in everyday life impossible. 3

This is not unlike what Peter cautioned in that very first

Pentecost sermon when he leaned into the prophetic

language of his faith and tradition and community and

boldly proclaimed, “I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh.”

Pentecost is for everyone. Pentecost happens because

Pentecost is the intimate invitation for everyone. The Holy

Spirit will not be controlled or contained. It is poured out in

abundant portions for everyone, the language of faith made

accessible and available to all.

Pentecost shapes us. Pentecost gifts us with the Holy

Spirit such that the language of faith takes the shape of an

intimate and inclusive sharing and listening.

And, I wonder, what might that sound like? Where might

those divided tongues of fire be located for the church

today? Well, taking our cue from Peter, I think the daughters

and sons of Second Presbyterian Church are a great place

to start. They’ve received the language of faith, raised in the

rhetoric and rhythms of this community of faith. They’ve

listened so well. They’ve been shaped, and they now have a

robust language of faith to share with us.

And so, friends, I invite you to hear, to listen intently to,

the intimate language of faith from the voices and the

experiences of former Footsteps pilgrims.

“Footsteps of Faith was not only a step out of my comfort

zone, but was a huge step for me spiritually. There are

aspects of myself and my faith that I learned throughout

Footsteps that I still hold in my heart today, three years

later. My faith grew stronger as I entered into college, and

still holds as part of the foundation of my faith today! The

relationships I created throughout the trip still stand today,

and I’ll be telling about the impact of that trip until the day I

die!! I miss it so much, and would do anything to go back.”

“One of my favorite moments on our Footsteps trip came

on the final night. Throughout the trip, we had been told to

stay out of each other’s hotel rooms. We were pretty good

about this until the last night we were all together. After

returning from a long day in Rome, everyone had checked

in for the night. The students on the trip had a small group

chat together to talk and share plans. I received a text saying

that we were all going to meet in one of the larger hotel

rooms to spend one final moment together before our flight

home. Everyone arrived at the room, and we originally had

just planned to play a card game. After a few rounds of the

game, we stopped and all started talking about our favorite

moments throughout the trip. This resulted in everyone

opening up to each other. I learned so much more about my

fellow footsteps members than I could have ever imagined.

Tears were shed and laughs were shared. We ended the

night with a big group hug and a prayer together. We began

that journey as good friends, but we returned as a family. I

love that group, every single one of them. That is a day that I

will never forget and will keep with me for the rest of my life.”

“One of the most impactful moments of Footsteps was

seeing the island of Patmos, and the Holy Cave of the

Apocalypse. Revelation 21:4 was one verse that helped me

grieve the sudden death of my cousin when I was in 8th

grade. By being in the place where God revealed himself

to John so that he could write those words that had helped

me through a difficult time, I am convicted of the reality,

presence, and closeness of Jesus in my life.”

“At the time of traveling overseas, I was at a low point in my

life in terms of physical and mental health due to my eating

disorder, and while I was on the trip I felt almost every issue

related to that be washed away, and when I returned home

it proved to be the major turning point in my recovery. I think

a lot of that can just be explained by the sort of vacation

aspect of the trip removing a lot of my anxieties, but I also

recall that constantly being in spaces and engaging in

conversations that were spiritually nourishing really did

wonders for the way that I was feeling. And in terms of how

the trip affected my faith: last year I was at my most doubtful

and skeptical of Christianity, even at a point of deciding I

was no longer religious, but the experience of the footsteps

class and trip showed me that being in holy spaces and

holy communities made me feel so much more refreshed

and comforted, even though I didn’t understand why for

the longest time. Over the past several months I’ve come to

understand that not understanding is okay, and what’s more

important than ironing out every detail of a creed or faith

is the very real and undeniable beauty and healing found

in the Christian community that I’m surrounded by. The

footsteps class and especially the trip provided a guiding

light for my journey over the past year or so, and looking

back I’m so happy that I had that presence to connect me

and call me to God in a way that I couldn’t even see was

happening at the time.”

Friends, Pentecost is still happening.

It was a Pentecost moment that no one knew was coming.

It was a Pentecost moment no one knew we needed. It was

certainly a Pentecost moment, that looking back, everyone

did, in fact, want.

You see, there was an unspoken tradition in youth ministries

that involved Purell and a lighter. I’ll say no more than this:

holy mischief is the second language of youth ministry.

And, as a part of this tradition, on the last night, the adult

leaders would stay up a bit later and have a little fiery fun.

It was always safe and contained. Until that one night in

Rochester, Pennsylvania.

After combining the traditional ingredients of Purell and

fire, a long and wild trail of flames blazed. We marveled at

its beauty. And then it happened. One of the volunteers,

perhaps overcome by the Holy Spirit, but more likely

overcome by the delusion of sleep deprivation and the

joyous inspiration that comes along with spending a week

with youth, decided to run through the flames. What this

volunteer and the rest of us did not anticipate was the Purell

sticking to their sandals.

And so, instead of a tongue of fire, it was feet of fire! Flaming

flip flops were flung high in the air. With the health and

safety of all participants confirmed, and a few leg hairs

burned, the rushing winds of uncontrollable laughter took

over. Pentecost through passionate laughter.

The footsteps of our faith are fiery ones. The language of

our faith is fiery. Pentecost is our shared language of faith.

Pentecost is our shaping language of faith. And the Holy

Spirit is our enthusiastic interpreter, ensuring that this

shaping and sharing remain intimately inclusive.

Pentecost isn’t something that we simply learn. It isn’t

simply a story we hear year after year. Over and over and

over again, Pentecost shapes us. Over and over again,

Pentecost happens to us. The winds rush in, and the flames

blaze brightly.

So, friends, let’s slide on our flip flops. Let’s hop onto a boat.

Let’s dive into the waters and continue to share the fiery

language of our faith. Pentecost is still happening. Amen.