Nothing Ordinary in the Pentecost Camp: A Season of Healing, Witness, and the Courage to Thrive

6.22.2025

2nd Sunday after Pentecost

[Texts]

Isaiah 65:1-9 The prophet sent to a rebellious people

Psalm 22:19-2 In the midst of the assembly I will praise you. (Ps. 22:22)

Galatians 3:23-29 In baptism, clothed with Christ; no longer Jew or Greek

Luke 8:26-39 Jesus casts out demons possessing a man of the Gerasenes

Blessings of Sabbath to you, my dear church.

Here we are. We’ve entered the longest season of the church year, the stretch that carries us all the way to Advent. It’s the Season after Pentecost, often called Ordinary Time. So yes, welcome to Ordinary Time.

But does that sound exciting or energizing? It can feel a bit like stepping back from the joy of celebration, returning to the reality of everyday life. All this, right after we celebrated last two weeks how the Holy Spirit stirred among us and birthed the church, the body of Christ. Isn’t that a bit like settling into daily rhythms after the joy of a birthday?

The truth is, there’s nothing ordinary about this season. Just as there’s nothing truly ordinary about our everyday lives. When we look at the Scripture texts appointed for this long stretch, nearly half the year, we see a consistent theme. They focus on deepening discipleship and confronting spiritual complacency. This is a time to bear witness. A time to remember that we were born to live, not to die. To thrive, not just survive. So how can it be ordinary?

Take today’s story from Luke, chapter 8. It’s the story of a healed person who bears witness to the life God intended for him. Luke tells us about a man named Legion, violently possessed by demons, living in the region of the Gerasenes, a Gentile territory. No one knew what to do with him. So they chained him, shackled him. And where did they leave him? In a cemetery.

It wasn’t the abyss. Not yet. But it was that in-between space, where the living are still visible even as everything around speaks of death. I don’t think any of us can fully grasp the depth of torment this man endured. The demons had overtaken him completely. He wasn’t even able to voice his suffering for those in the town to hear, let alone receive their sympathy or compassion. Even if we’ve wrestled with our own demons, I don’t believe we can truly place ourselves in his shoes. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing we can learn from this powerful story.

As we know, June echoes with many calls to awareness. It’s a month set apart to recognize Men’s Health, Men’s Mental Health, PTSD, Pride, Alzheimer’s and Brain Health, Migraine and Headache Awareness, Immigrant Heritage, Gun Violence Awareness, and National Safety.

Like the man in Luke 8, many in our society are not in the abyss. Not yet. But their lives feel like those in-between places, where the living are still visible even as death lingers at the edges. And I believe many crave a new beginning each day, if only they could express their agony. Like the healed man in Luke 8, they long to be heard not out of curiosity, but out of compassion. And they want to be connected not through intellectual knowing, but through emotional support.

The healing God offers is never out of season, not even in the season after Pentecost, what we call Ordinary Time.

This month, as we’re called to deepen our awareness of the suffering around us, we are also invited to become learners, advocates, and practitioners. Just this past Wednesday, twelve of us, members of our congregation and the Latino congregation, gathered to learn more about the rights of immigrants.

And in hope and prayer, we trust that what we do together may help the world pay closer attention to those who are craving, day by day, for a new beginning.

Have you ever craved a new beginning? Or have you ever known someone who was ridiculed, rejected, despised, or made others uncomfortable simply because no one knew what to do with them?

God gives us courage. Courage to imagine life differently. That may be what Jesus’ disciples noticed that day, watching a life transformed before their eyes. Throughout his ministry, Jesus often instructed those he healed to stay silent, especially in Jewish regions. Many theologians believe Jesus did this to avoid premature recognition of who He is in Jewish areas, where rising opposition might accelerate his crucifixion before the appointed time.

But here, he tells the healed man to speak openly. To give testimony. To spread faith in Gentile territories like the Gerasenes. In this story, the public witness of that once-tormented man did more than just inspire. It helped the people of Gerasenes and Jesus’ disciples, including you and me, to understand that God's power restores what evil tries to destroy. The healing from Jesus wasn’t just physical. It was relational and spiritual. It restored the man’s place in his community.

Today, we are reminded that the Season after Pentecost isn’t so ordinary after all. It’s more like a summer camp. Let’s call it Pentecost Camp. And just like camp, we may need to let go of our daily routines to fully engage with what’s designed for our spiritual growth.

The overall agenda of Pentecost Camp, nearly half a year, is an invitation to imagine life differently—with God. It’s relational, intentional, and deeply purposeful.

Do we hear that God whispers to us each morning, “I love you and everyone, as always. And the rest is up to you”? That’s the freedom God gives us, the freedom to act, to live differently, to avoid letting God’s message end up in our spam folder.

So we ask: what’s the cost of not living differently with God?

For me, it feels like being without God’s love, like trying to breathe without oxygen in the kingdom of God. When does the oxygen mask drop in an airplane? Only when the situation is urgent or life-threatening.

But God’s love isn’t just for crises or extraordinary moments. It’s meant for everyday living. And while everyday life may seem ordinary, it’s not because every life is precious. We are meant to live, not to die. To thrive, not merely survive.

And in those threatening moments, before we can help others, what do we do? We want to make sure we know how to put it on first before helping others.

As we leave today, may we enter the world in the gentle heart of Christ, a new start like the one we crave each day, with hearts open to stories that stir and souls ready to listen.

May we all carry the spirit of Pentecost Camp, where daily routines give way to divine rhythms, and where we freely choose compassion again and again and again.

May we walk courageously with those in the in-between places, speak hope into silence, and carry grace where others have turned away.

May we let our ordinary days become sacred ground, and let our breath echo with Jesus’ love—a love that never waits for a crisis to arrive.

Let us all live not as those merely surviving, but as those called to thrive.

And most importantly, may we all hear the Spirit whisper each morning: You are loved. The rest is up to you.”

Amen.