For some, today represents the birthday of the Christian Church. Easter is all well and good – resurrection is a very telling sign of the power of God – but this day, as described in the Acts of the Apostles, is something of a new chapter.

The Spirit moves. The people are astounded. Peter is bold to speak – emerging as the leader that Jesus always said he could be. And just like that, there’s a new idea on the move; the idea that God might move ordinary people to do extraordinary things.

These once cowering disciples of Jesus are suddenly and perhaps completely changed – or so it appears to those who haven’t been following Jesus. “How can this be?” say some. “They must be drunk!” is the more likely suggestion. But whatever it looks like, there is something wonderful – something impossible – that begins in this moment.

But this is NOT the first suggestion of the Spirit of God at work.

The problem with our recognition of this particular, spectacular, Pentecost event, is that we too often ignore the more ancient recognition of the ‘impossible’ in the service of the Almighty.

Take creation as an example. While Genesis chapter one seems a little fanciful to most modern people, it is a reasonable explanation of a vast and wonderful thing that …defies explanation. How is the notion of the word and breath of the Divine any less likely than a single, massive discharge of energy, time and space. A creative moment – full of mystery – is described in many imaginative ways, and always for a particular purpose.

Wind and word?  Spirit and creative spark?  Conflagration of cosmic energy?  Call it what you will, it was vast and wonderful and is still happening.

And the Spirit was not finished after the universe was created.

It was just getting started.

The same word (ruach) in Hebrew can be taken to mean a number of things – wind – breath – spirit. Greek gives us a similar gift in the word pneuma.

The essence of both words is of something active, slightly unpredictable, and life-sustaining.

The ruach is at work in our reading from Ezekiel this morning…moving the prophet to a remote and frankly depressing location. A dessert battlefield – an open graveyard – is the surprising destination where Ezekiel, suddenly and fantastically, experiences the hand of God. Everywhere, the bones of dead warriors – not an encouraging place, even if you are there at God’s insistence/invitation. And they were very dry. The image is unsettling; man and God strolling through acres of old bones – a symbol of futility and frustration, death and defeat.

This is the congregation that Ezekiel is called to serve – this is the audience for his preaching. Don’t waste your breath is what I would have told him. “Prophesy to the bones” is God’s command.

The prophet may have felt like an old windbag, but the windy word of the Lord brings miracles to this place. The breath of God – that mysterious, powerful, pervasive ruach revitalizes this ancient host. Then… the lesson.

The lesson is about and for an ancient people – lost in their purpose and defeated in their ambitions. But God has purpose for them, and God’s ambitions are not easily swept aside.

This too is the lesson of the Pentecost moment in Acts, chapter two.

Yes, Jesus friends have experienced the joy of their friend resurrected. But there was a period of time – 50 days according to tradition and scripture – of wondering.

God has done a wonderful thing, and still the world turns – life goes on – hurt and heartache persist. The disciples are party to a wonderful thing, but for 50 days they didn’t know what to do about it.

Like Ezekiel, they had been given a chance to see the stirrings of something life-changing. But whenever that happens, the next steps are often the most difficult.

The bones are miraculously re-energized. A vast army arises from dust and despair. Now what?

The Lord has risen – Risen indeed. What’s next?

The move away from the miracle in the desert – the morning after the resurrection – the day after the best day of your life carries with it a different kind of fear; a fresh dose of anxiety.

And so the work of the Spirit continues.

Bringing new life into tired old bones – giving fresh energy to weary warriors – revealing new ways to declare old promises. The Spirit is not a single-minded entity. The spirit (and her many gifts) adapt to our circumstances and offers what we need. A word. A thought. A plan of action. And in our sacrament this morning, the Spirit offers us an imaginative act of change. This plain table – set with these ordinary things – becomes a sacred meeting place. Small bits of bread and the mere taste of wine and juice carry with them the weight of divine promise. This is holy because the Spirit helps us see Holy things where once there was only the barest of meals. And in the power of that Spirit, God’s people have found fresh energy and new ideas, and in their renewed efforts to serve God, they have shown the world the living Christ.

We do no less than that every time we gather here. A mystery, to be sure, but one driven by the wild wind of the Spirit of God.