"Stark raving mad" - Pentecost Sermon 6-8-25

“On the ‘feast of Pentecost,’ or Whitsunday, June 9, 1549, the Book of Common Prayer and the Act of Uniformity became the law of the king’s whole realm. And then the troubles began” (Jacobs, 46-47).

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In his biography of The Book of Common Prayer, Alan Jacobs, whom I just quoted, writes a fair bit about theology and churchmanship and history and politics. The Book of Common Prayer, our beloved BCP, was – and is – many things all at once. But today, on its birthday and the birthday of the Church, as some call Pentecost, I’m more interested in language and usage, themes Alan Jacobs also explores in his fine book. After all, language and usage within the Church of England were front and center in 1549, and language and usage are front and center within the Episcopal Church in 2025. And in these United States of America, too, in case you haven’t been paying attention.

Language and usage are what made the BCP of its day extraordinary. Yes, liturgies were revised a bit here and condensed a bit there. Subsequent revisions of the BCP took the Church through sacramental and ritualistic hills and valleys, people were imprisoned and killed in the process – I’m simplifying, of course – but the book’s genius, or one of its geniuses, is that the BCP was and is designed to be used. By clerics and liturgists, yes, but just as importantly, by every member of the Church. Being printed and read out loud in the English language meant that people not only understood – or at least began to understand – what was happening in the liturgies; they also became active participants in the liturgies rather than passive spectators. The Book of Common Prayer not only deepened people’s devotion, it also increased their rates of literacy and, influenced by its cadences and polish, it sharpened the pens of writers and tuned the voices of orators who grew accustomed to its regular, repetitive use. Extraordinary!

Language and usage change over time. The King’s English, or the Queen’s, has given way on this side of the pond to a more modern idiom. Most of the prayers and liturgies in the 1979 version of The Book of Common Prayer of the Episcopal Church – that’s the black book in the rack in front of you – remain intelligible enough for most readers and hearers. But, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, these changes in language and usage didn’t come without a struggle. Alan Jacobs draws our attention to a letter sent in the late 1960s by the parishioner-poet W.H. Auden to the rector of his congregation, who was so bold as to test the proposed new language. The letter began, “Dear Father Allen: Have you gone stark raving mad?” (Jacobs, 181).

And today, in the quest for inclusive, expansive references to God in our progressive Episcopal Church – since “Father” and “Son” are too masculine, and “Lord” too patriarchal – we have come up with all sorts of ways to name the persons of the Most Holy Trinity, some of which may even be orthodox. Attend a liturgy, say, at our Grace Cathedral and you’ll likely hear alternative references to the Deity that may enhance your worship. Or wonder if we’ve gone stark raving mad.

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Like The Book of Common Prayer, the Feast of Pentecost we celebrate today is extraordinary, and is many things all at once. Let’s stick with language. The would-be tower-builders who were confused and scattered by the multitude of languages God imposed on them, were reunited at nine-o’clock in the morning by the Holy Spirit who, through a miracle of the tongue and of the ear – and of sobriety – enabled the gathered disciples to speak about, and the bewildered crowd to hear, the good news of God’s deeds of power.

Pentecost – the singular day and the annual feast – shows us how the Holy Spirit works. She – did you hear what I just did there – she works to achieve in us unity, though not necessarily uniformity. Reason and experience and context mean that we use different ways to approach an understanding of God. The Pentecost-day crowd heard in the litany of their own languages God’s deeds of power, not in the Aramaic, likely the common tongue spoken by Jesus’s friends.

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In our day, Anglicans are different from Roman Catholics are different from Greek Orthodox are different from the multitude of Protestant denominations, each of whom baptize in the agreed-upon formula of the Name of the Triune God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is at work in each of our traditions, I trust, as we relate God’s deeds of power to the crowds around us.

And I trust that the same Holy Spirit is at work in her own way in a means and manner understandable to the non-Christian world religions, and to those who practice no religion at all. I’ll leave it to God to sort that out.

But for Christians, as Cyril, the Bishop of Jerusalem wrote in the fourth century, we believe that the “Holy Spirit, whose nature is always the same, simple and indivisible, apportions grace to each as the Spirit wills” […] She “makes one a teacher of divine truth, inspires another to prophesy, gives another the power of casting out devils, enables another to interpret holy Scripture” […] She, “strengthens one’s self-control [and] shows another how to help the poor” […] “This action,” Cyril continues, “is different in different people, but the Spirit is always the same. ‘In each person,’ Scripture says, ‘the Spirit reveals [her] presence in a particular way for the common good’” (Wright, p 225-26).  

Unity in the Holy Spirit, without demanding uniformity of language and usage, for the common good.

That’s often not an easy path to walk. The rites and rituals of worship, and the language we use, may be expansive for some and exhausting for others. Creative metaphors for the persons of the Trinity are welcome for some and wince-inducing for others. The same is true for using plural pronouns for singular people. The gender-specific form of address “brothers and sisters” is giving way to the more fluid “siblings,” and it wasn’t even all that long ago that “sisters” was added to “brothers” to expand from the then-normative masculine-means-all usage.

Somehow we’ll survive.

We’ll survive, and maybe even thrive – wouldn’t thriving be nice? – when we approach one another with curiosity, generosity, and grace. When we apply the same charity we ask of others to those who differ from us, yet who still seek and serve the same God.

We’ll thrive when we ask God to fill us with the useful seven-fold gifts of the Holy Spirit given to us at our baptisms: the gifts of Wisdom; Understanding; Counsel; Fortitude; Discernment; Godliness; and Fear of God.

We’ll thrive when we give thanks for, and are ever-spurred on by, the fruits of the Holy Spirit that show up in our lives as we live in the gifts of the Holy Spirit: the fruits of Love; Joy; Peace; Patience; Kindness; Generosity; Faithfulness; Gentleness; and Self-Control.

Don’t these fruits sound refreshingly wonderful? … a delight, and yet oh so elusive in these hectic, stressful days?

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Jesus prayed that we have life, and have it abundantly. Not just to survive but to thrive. Let us pray to God for just that. And let us pledge, on this Pentecost Sunday, to use our language to build up, to encourage, to invite, to repent, to forgive, and to love.

When we do this, we will speak about, and show, God’s mighty deeds of power at work among us. The world will sneer and think that we’re drunk, or that we’ve gone stark raving mad. And God will bless us.

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 Father Daniel S.J. Scheid, SCP

The Day of Pentecost – June 8, 2025

All Saints’ Episcopal Church, San Francisco

“Stark raving mad”