The source of the wind is no wimpy sovereign, no soft touch who doles out newness of life through the gift of mood rings, free back massages, or the promise of an all dessert diet. No, God breathes life into the church out of the upper room in Jerusalem and into the courtroom, the surgical waiting room and meeting rooms of life. When the wind blows, things happen. When the wind blows at my back as I ride my bike along Bemis road, I effortlessly spin along. Then when I turn and face the wind, I am almost stalled, desperately in need of a wheel to ride behind to block the wind.
Dry bones come to life.
Principalities and powers fall. Churches are born. When the wind of Pentecost blew through Jerusalem, a new world came into being. As disciples filled a house and crowds of others from foreign places milled about, a blast of wind arose. An eerie howl became a fierce gale.