I've been spending much of my time recently wondering how life in Sheffield will unfold, and sympathising with Jesus' disciples when he firmly told them not to worry about little things like where the next meal was coming from or, just now for me, where I'm going to find a permanent address. I don't know about you, but I don't always find it easy to leave the worries of tomorrow to sort themselves out, and focus on the realities of today. Sometimes it is much easier living in tomorrow or yesterday, which don't really exist, at the expense of today.
I remember talking to someone on the Scottish island of Iona, who had been so struck by the beautiful landscape, the atmosphere of the Abbey church and the insights of our week's stay that he was making a video with voiceover of the whole experience for his church. Unfortunately, he had focussed so much on making a perfect record of his stay that, as he admitted, he would be going home with very few impressions of that week for himself. At the other extreme, we've all come across people whose memories of the ‘golden age' - schooldays, or the glory days of a job, club or congregation - so far surpass present reality that now seems irrelevant.
Bad or good, our memories of the past are mainly under our control. Going by our plans, so is the future: when we finally get that promotion, go on that holiday, meet that one special person - though of course, even best-laid plans gang aft agley. But now is not totally within our control, so now is the time God can use to sneak in under our guard and speak to us, through the situations and people we encounter. Jewish tradition teaches that when we die, we will be asked, ‘Did you enjoy every pleasure God gave you in this world?' So are we paying attention to the smell of coffee, the stretch of sporting muscles, the proportions of a well-designed building, the taste of bread - the life-giving goodness of God's creation? The same question applies, of course, to situations we would rather not encounter: bullying; a polluted stream; illness; unforgiveness - what is God saying to us through such death-dealing situations? Do we dare ask ourselves and one another these questions? Or do we have such plans for the future, or such memories of the past, that we miss God communicating with us now?
When the risen Jesus finally left his friends, in that mysterious story we call the Ascension, they treasured their memories of him to share and pass on. But how could his final promise ever come true, that God's Spirit would fill them too? Their now seemed impossible. All they could do was to support one another and remain attentive. And amazingly, the Spirit acted. Their senses expanded; suddenly they could pass on the message they had just received about God's powerful action in the world, in language all their hearers could understand.
Regrettably, ‘speaking in tongues' is sometimes a matter of dispute between Christians; but that misses the point. If - not just at Pentecost but all year round - we try paying attention to God speaking to us through the people and situations of our own now, we may discover God still at work: loving, serving, dying, rising: setting us free by breaking down walls of hatred and fear. And that discovery can be shared with others in the language of everyday life: fresh as new-baked bread, stimulating as a good cup of coffee.