To Breathe God Out, As Well — May 24, 2026

To Breathe God Out, As Well

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Acts 2:1-21

When the day of Pentecost had come, the apostles were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

Now there were devout Jews from every people under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of

us, in our own native language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jewish-born and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does

this mean?” But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.” But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Fellow Judeans and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:

‘In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
and your children shall prophesy,
and your youth shall see visions,
and your elders shall dream dreams.
Even upon all my slaves,
in those days I will pour out my Spirit,
and they shall prophesy.
And I will show portents in the heaven above
and signs on the earth below,
blood, and fire, and smoky mist.
The sun shall be turned to darkness
and the moon to blood,
before the coming of the Lord’s great
and glorious day.
Then everyone who calls on the name of the
Lord shall be saved.’”

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The writer, theologian, and Benedictine nun Joan Chittister says that people often say to her, “I don’t pray.” She replies, “Neither do I. I just breathe God in and hope somehow to learn how to breath God out, as well.” So, Beloved, let us spend some time this morning with our breath. We breathe about 22,000 times a day, but rarely are we able to notice our breath. Rarely are we quiet enough to observe it as it flows in and out of our bodies, rarely do we quiet our breath enough to enjoy the benefits. When our breaths are shallow and fast, our nervous system ramps up the stress response, but when we breath slowly, when we breath deeply, our parasympathetic nervous system is activated and we can relax. So, let us take a few breaths together. If it helps you, you can take a moment to adjust, to find a way to somewhat comfortably. If you want, you can close your eyes or simply soften your gaze. Without changing it, just notice your breath, notice it as you take it in, notice it as you let it out. In my family, we find it sometimes helps to imagine the breath in full color, perhaps a warm red today, for Pentecost, so you can imagine this warm red air as it moves in through your nose or your mouth and into your lungs. And now, as you breathe deeper, you can imagine that breath filling your lungs, sailing on your cells until it has filled your whole self, until every piece of you benefits from this gift of breath. Keep breathing deeply. It is normal, when we breathe like this, for our minds to drift to other things; you can thank your mind for all it does to keep you safe, and without judgement, without shame, return to your breath. The first stories in Scripture center on the breath, the breath of God that moves over the waters of creation, the breath with which God fills the lungs of the person formed from the mud. As you trace your breath, as you take it in and as you let it go, notice that you are surrounded by breath. All around you is air, available to you always. An eternal connection to God who is breath, an enduring kinship with the breathing of the world: the people, the animals, the trees and plants with their oxygen-rich exhales. Take a few more breaths to fill you, to sustain you, and then wiggle your fingers, move your toes, roll your neck, whatever feels good to you, and bring yourself back to this moment. God is here, as close as your breath, to fill you with life, to show you this world is filled with God’s own life.

The Spirit of God is all around us. It is like water—at least the past few days! We had rivers snaking through our neighborhood, and vernal ponds—these temporary pools of water—have drawn a chorus of frogs. I love these elemental image of the Spirit—breath, and fire, and water. The poet Amanda Gorman says, 

Water makes up 70% of Earth,
70% of the human heart, 
and 70% of the human being
All of us, bodies of water
For we, too are oceans,
Or at least beings bobbing in the same boat.

The Spirit is like water that fills both our planet and ourselves, a shared resource. It is a resource that we swim in, and clean in, and that we take into ourselves. The Spirit is like fire that crackles and pops, and turns sugar into caramel, unpredictable and wild and all-consuming. The Spirit is like the air which we know in the wind that moves the sand to shape the deserts, the currents that forms the gulf stream and move the weather, the breath that kisses our face in a summer breeze—whispering a word of belovedness in our ears as it passes. It is like the air that we breathe, in and out, the shared breath of creation. Scripture is clear that taking God into our bodies as food and drink and breath is a perfect image for the God who fills us and fills our world. 

God is all around us, ready for us to let her in—into our lives, into our selves. But it isn’t just for ourselves. In Acts, the coming of the Spirit immediately turns the disciples outward, sending them out of the house to share the Good News with others. It is interesting that when St. Paul writes about the Spirit and her gifts, he always points out that the gifts of the Spirit are not self-serving. They’re not for us; they’re for others. No use in speaking in tongues if there is no one to interpret what is said. Too often, we forget that the great love poem of 1 Corinthians is in the middle—is part of—a long passage about the gifts of the Spirit, for if we have gifts but no love, we are nothing. 

Joan Chittister said, in prayer, “I just breathe God in and hope somehow to learn how to breathe God out, as well.” And then she said, “We go to prayer to be transfigured ourselves, to come to see the world as God sees the world, to practice the presence of God, to put on a heart of justice, of love, and of compassion for others. We go to become new of soul.” We go to become new of spirit. The Spirit is like the great translator, not just in making the sharing of the good news possible, as on that day of Pentecost, but in translating this world for us, so that we may come to know God in the world. As life-changing as it was to follow Jesus, being propelled by the Spirit sent the disciples to lands they’d never heard of us, among cultures they couldn’t imagine, and to people they’d never have met otherwise. The Spirit is with us, surrounding us, she pulses in creation. We breathe in the Spirit so that we can breathe her out, like the channels of living water Jesus said he believes we would become. We share this meal together, so we can feed others. We drink the living water so that we may join the flow of living water as it is poured out on all nations, on all creation, forever and ever. Amen.