The Liturgy of the Word for the Pentecostal Vigil begins with a retelling of the Genesis myth of the Fall in a different context. This time, instead of a good couple ruining the tranquility of the garden, Genesis 11 depicts a paradise of unified humanity that makes no distinctions between geography, language, or anything else. And they decide to “make a name” for themselves. (Who before? They were one people. Until one took the lead and expected others to follow.)
Competition arose among them, along with resistance to inequality and diversity. More than that, they cultivated the assumption that God’s plan could be improved.
Using a vocabulary reminiscent of Israel’s slave labor in Egypt (Exodus 1:14), they built towers, molded bricks, used asphalt as mortar, and built life all on their own. I hear that they aimed to control and access heaven. The result was the murmur of Babel.
They created a situation where they could not trust each other. In their efforts to outdo each other, they could no longer speak the only language of a unified nation.
Similar to the story of the Garden of Eden and Abel’s murder, this account provides an alternative explanation for the origins of evil and the seemingly invincible division between the peoples of Earth. Jesus’ mission was to heal these divisions and reveal the union with God and his neighbor that humanity was created to enjoy.
In response to this predicament, Jesus describes the salvation he offers as living water, the source of life. Evoking memories of Jesus’ encounter with the woman at the well (John 4), this image represents God’s continuing offer to give life and allow His life to flow into us.
First, Jesus cries out, “Whoever is thirsty, let him come to me and drink water.”
In a land where water was even more scarce than limited food, this represented a very tangible promise of life. The image of living water complements the image of vines and branches, inviting us to contemplate how Christ feeds and refreshes us, and the image of water droplets coming together to become one. It invites us into the kind of union that occurs when we become and begin to flow.
Paul places great emphasis on the idea that the Spirit within us is not an ambition or a plan, but an experience of grace and hope. Hope in the Spirit places us in a precarious position of trust and makes us believe that more is on the horizon than we can imagine. In this way, even our prayers become a work of the Spirit within us, a wordless and imageless reminder of what only God can give: the living water that is life to all who are in Christ. It becomes a longing.
The liturgy of the Pentecost Vigil invites us to hope. Unlike the miracle of speaking in tongues that we would hear the next day, this is an invitation to dream, as theologian John Hort puts it, to “lean into the future” as God’s future beckons us.
This is the evolutionary hope Paul offers, not something we see, but something we want to wait for with patience and patience.
This feast invites us to walk humbly so that God can continue to create through us and for us. This story reminds us that the Christian journey is not a return to a perfect past, but an experience of journeying with Abraham into a dangerous and mysterious future. It can only come true when we trust God more than our own hopes and plans.
Who could imagine what it would be like if living water continued to flow through us?
