Genesis 11:1-9; Acts 2:1-21

It’s for your own good! That’s what your mom says when she dumps the veggies on your plate. It’s for your own good! That’s what the dentist says when he tells you to brush after every meal.

“It’s for your own good,” says the mean overseer when he cracks his whip and makes the slaves get out there in the hot sun and pile up those bricks to build the city and the tower that we now call “Babel,” but used to be “Babylon.” “It’s for your own good because if you don’t slave away and build that tower, I’m going to beat you to death!”

I know, I know, in the story Jerry read to us a few minutes ago it sounds like a neighborhood project by a bunch of good buddies. “Come now, let’s build ourselves a city. Let’s make a name for ourselves.” But if we think about it, we know that the only way a great ancient city with a big tower like that could get built ... was if it was done by slave labor. If we think about it, we know that only a few people managed to “make a name for themselves,” and all the rest were nameless production units at the bottom of the organization table.

“It’s for your own good,” says God, introducing a virus into all the Babylonian computers, so they can’t communicate, can’t read each others’ spreadsheets, can’t read each others’ flowcharts, can’t read each others’ instant messages. Even before God did that, communications were already starting to break down between the electricians and the plumbers; negotiations were already breaking down between the city management and the union; and husbands and wives were already discovering ... that one of them was from Mars and the other one from Venus.

So they ended up being scattered over the face of the earth, “for their own good.”

Of course, God is not only in the scattering business, God is also in the gathering business, as we found out when Jerry read our second story today: A weird happening, with the sound of wind, but no wind; the appearance of flames, but no fire. Instead of being confused, everybody understands; and instead of being scattered, people are gathered together.

So one story has people trying to be united, but ending up so scattered that they can’t  speak the same language, can’t even understand each other. The second story has people already divided, speaking fifteen different languages, all of a sudden being drawn together, and discovering how easy it is to communicate. In one story everyone is united until they get confused. In the other story everyone is confused until they get united. In one story people stop listening. In the other story people start listening. In one story people are scattered. In the other story people are gathered. The stories are opposites. Everything God does in the city of Jerusalem, God had undone in the city of Babel. The stories are opposites. The interesting thing is that here, on the day of Pentecost, God is also doing this ... for our own good.

Young people, we all know that most of you are going to leave Creston, for your own good. There aren’t enough good-paying jobs around here. For your own good you’ll probably have to seek employment somewhere else. There aren’t enough young people around here to give you much of a dating choice. For your own good you’ll probably end up marrying somebody from somewhere else.

But even if we were in New York or Los Angeles, you’d still be leaving home, for your own good. There seems to be an inner unrest, an inner drive, I might even call it ... Spirit-with-a-capital-“S” ... that picks us up, drives us out, turns us into pioneers, scatters us over the face of the earth. You know that’s how Creston got its start in the first place. Pioneers. Scattered people. People who left home and safety behind.

In that first story, the Tower of Babel story, people are hunkering down, seeking safety instead of adventure, building up instead of spreading out. They call this “making a name for ourselves.” But we all know you can’t stay home and make a name for yourself. If you stay here, you’ll always be Mrs. Jones’s boy, Dr. Smith’s girl, one of the [Anyan/Martin/Krause/Nelson] kids. It’s kind of sad to think about, but most of you will probably leave Creston for your own good.

But just because we leave home for our own good, it doesn’t mean that home itself isn’t good. Home is very good, ... and God is rebuilding home to be even better. The city of Babel was certainly a great city, but the City of God is even greater, and of that city we all are called to be citizens. The town of Creston is certainly great, but the City of God is even greater, and of that city we all are called to be citizens. The Christian Church in Creston is pretty hot stuff, but God is creating a church that spreads out over the face of the earth, and someday, maybe, to the stars; and in that church we all are linked together into a connect-the-dots image of God.

God is scattering us out, and God is gathering us together, and the nature of that togetherness is different from what we left behind.

In that Pentecost story from the book of Acts, that story that represents the Birth Day of the church, the author says there were people from every nation under heaven, which is something of an exaggeration, but also intended, I think, to be a parable, a prophecy of what eventually would happen: The Spirit of God, who is scattering the human race out over the planet in the first story, is now working to gather people together, until the whole world is collected, gathered, united in the love of Jesus Christ.

Archeologists have discovered that the ancient city of Babylon, the city called Babel in Genesis, was surrounded by a double wall, The outer wall was seventeen miles long, and wide enough at the top for a two-lane chariot road [_Eerdmans New Bible Dictionary_, J. D Douglas, ed.] It’s pretty clear that this city was not the result of a bunch of neighbors getting together on a Saturday afternoon and playing with their Legos®. Like all ancient cities, like all successful governments, ancient or modern, it was united by force, organized by force, protected by force. The people piling up those bricks to make a wall, to make a tower, were not doing it because it was so much fun. They were doing it from fear. They were doing it because they were forced to. A city united by force. A city united by fear. Certainly their government told them that their walls, their army, their rigid controls were for their own good. But it all ended up in confusion, and the scattering of the proud in the imagination of their hearts.

The City of God is united by hope. The City of God is built on the attractive power of God’s Spirit, the Spirit of love. God’s city doesn’t need walls, because there is nothing to fear. God is not gathering us together for mutual protection against all those wild animals, those bandits, those demons out there; God is attracting us by the beauty, the wonder, the joy, the love. This is our true home, the home not even Creston could provide. This is our true family, the family not even the best of human parents could provide. This is the place where we will truly make a name for ourselves. This is the place where we will all speak the same language, the language of love. It’s not even a place, really, since the Holy Spirit links us together into a lacework of love that covers the planet, a pattern of beauty, a connect-the-dots picture more lovely than anything Rembrandt could have painted.

And when it comes to building a city: the folks in this church know that I am much taken by an image from the last book in the Bible, the Revelation to John, an image of the Holy City, the New Jerusalem. It’s supposed to be fifteen hundred miles long, fifteen hundred miles wide, fifteen hundred miles high. Assuming they build a new floor every half-mile, so that your ceiling is 2600 feet over your head; and assuming that each of us will be invited to homestead a quarter section of heaven, half-a-mile on a side, then there will be room for nine billion of us, each in our half-mile cube. Then if we still feel cramped, we’ll start building the suburbs. There’s a city we can be proud of. There’s a city build for our own good.

Since we’ll have so much room to spread out, we won’t need towers, but maybe we’ll put up a few grain elevators so we can feed the hungry. Since we’ll have the Tree of Life, with a new fruit every month, we won’t need grocery stores or restaurants, but maybe we’ll get together for picnics beside the River of Life. Jesus Christ will preside at the picnic table, handing out bread and wine like we’ve never tasted before, delicious food for our own good.

And we’ll never have trouble understanding each other, for we’ll all speak the same language. It won’t be English or Spanish. It won’t be Chinese or Swahili. It will be the language of love.

It’s the true home none of us has ever had. God is the true father or mother each of us has wished for. And no matter how far we are scattered, the image of God will still be recognizable in Spirit-linked relationships, for our own good. And no matter how far we are scattered, we will always, always, always be home.

(Comments to Don at crestnch@televar.com.)
Creston Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), Creston, WA, USA