Bible reading: Acts 2:1-11.

I fear, as I begin today’s message, that I shall get into trouble with my wife! For I’m going to ask: what things symbolise Scotland?

Of course there are many. For example, in (as they say) no particular order, there’s Edinburgh Castle and the Scott Memorial, the Loch Ness monster, Scotch whisky, bagpipes, haggis, the Highland Fling (and other related dances), porridge, Highland cattle, Glenfinnan viaduct (made famous by Harry Potter), Irn Bru, caber tossing and the Saltire flag. (I could add mountains, rain and sheep but something tells me that they’re not quite unique to that part of the world!) There’s one thing, though, that I’ve left out of my list, although you’ve probably guessed what it is from what I’ve already said today: Scottish clothing, more specifically kilts, made of course out of tartan fabric. Apparently you need about 8 yards of “single-width” (about 26 to 30 inches) material to make an adult kilt, although it’s more common today to use half the length of “double-width” (about 54 to 60 inches) fabric.

Tartan has a long history; it goes back at least to the third or fourth century in Scotland and much further in other parts of the world. By the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, tartan clothing had become so closely identified with Highland Scots that, after the Battle of Culloden in 1746, the British government forbade people wearing it, in an attempt to suppress the rebellious Scottish culture. However by around 1800 commercial weavers developed standard colours and patterns and produced tartan on a large scale; it seems that that was when tartans started to become linked to specific clans. Today there are over 7000 registered Scottish tartans; computerised design and automated weaving means that it is relatively easy to produce new patterns, in a wide range of colours. Indeed, when we were on holiday in Brittany a few years ago we were surprised to see tartan there, as it’s not (to the best of my knowledge) part of their tradition.

I’m pretty sure that tartan was unknown in first century Palestine, so why have I been talking about it? Well, think of that Pentecost Bible reading, particularly the list of people which readers struggle with: Parthians, Medes, Elamites, Arabs and the rest of them from across the Near East and Mediterranean: they’ve come from different places and cultures and quizzically witness the events of that morning, listen to Peter’s message and, in many cases, decide to join this new religious community. Yes; they were all Jews or converts to Judaism, nevertheless they were a far more varied and diverse set of people than the Jerusalem believers. Like the many-coloured strands in tartan, they were woven into the fabric of the infant Christian Church.

This thought may make us think about Pentecost in new ways. For instance, we tend to focus on the excitement of that day: the rushing wind (or, to be more precise, something that sounded like it), the tongues of flame (or, again, something that looked like them), the noisy and exuberant worship, the milling and intrigued crowd hearing in their native languages; we can easily imagine ourselves into that morning’s drama. That’s fine; but what if we’re just concentrating on the surface detail? An American minister, serving the United Reformed Church in south Devon, has written this: “Pentecost is often imagined as wind, fire, noise, and movement. And there’s certainly plenty of scriptural evidence for that. Yet, beneath the dramatic is a subtler, quieter truth: God’s Spirit is interested in creating and fostering relationship. She weaves individuals into one Body, alive with God’s presence and purpose. She moves among ordinary people, forming them into community, and calling the Church into a shared life and witness”. All those people from the places with difficult names who believe in Jesus are woven into one multicoloured tapestry or tartan.

You may know that certain sections of the Church – the Charismatics and Pentecostals – place a lot of emphasis on the so-called “spiritual gifts” which are mentioned by Peter and Paul’s in their New Testament letters. These Christians would say that those gifts were largely ignored until the beginning of the twentieth century, with many theologians saying that they had died out once the New Testament was complete and available. I’m thankful for the Pentecostals and Charismatics in alerting us to these often-overlooked passages of Scripture; however I’m not so happy with those among them who suggest that we should be repeating the fervour and excitement of Pentecost in our own time. That has sometimes led to emotional hype and hysteria; it has also led to emphasis being placed on the dramatic gifts such as speaking in unlearned languages while forgetting that God gives these abilities for the whole church’s life and mission. Our American friend puts it like this: “What if Pentecost isn’t about individual empowerment, but about being woven into the life of God and one another?”.

This takes me back to tartan. In the old days each pattern only used a few colours; moreover these were natural dyes, derived from plants, lichens and roots. As the colours were fairly muted they harmonised with each other. A far wider range of colours is available today and I suspect that some of the combinations used make conservative Scots rub their eyes in disbelief; in other words the colours clash. I wonder if there is a metaphor here for churches: in the past, the folk who attended a church were of necessity drawn from the local community. Yes, their occupations and social status differed widely, but they all came from a similar culture and understood one another. That’s rarely the case today: most churches, especially in towns and cities, draw people from many different backgrounds. Even in our smallish church nearly a dozen nationalities are represented. I think that’s marvellous, in fact it ought to be a foretaste of heaven where, we are told, people from every race and nation and language will be praising God together. But in this kind of situation there will inevitably be times when folk misunderstand one another or clash, sometimes over matters which seem trivial. As God’s people, committed to peace and harmony, we have to work through those misunderstandings as we don’t want the pattern of his fabric to be spoiled. It isn’t always easy.

The late great Desmond Tutu, Anglican bishop of Cape Town, coined the phrase “Rainbow people of God” to describe his vision of a multi-racial post-apartheid South Africa. Although he was really thinking of Noah and God’s rainbow to him after the Flood, most people thought of the way in which many colours were mixed in the country’s flag. However it strikes me that, although the rainbow metaphor is lovely, it has a fundamental weakness as the colours stay side-by-side rather than mixing. Yes, red shades into orange and green shades into blue, but indigo never mixes – in fact it cannot mix – with yellow. Jeremy Cronin, a politician and academic who seems to be South Africa’s equivalent of Jeremy Corbyn (!), has warned of the danger of settling for a smug and candy-coated ‘rainbowism’ which gives the impression that the nation’s problems have been resolved but merely brushes under the carpet its deep-seated needs for true trans-formation and reconciliation. What is needed is not a rainbow but a fabric, a tartan in which all the colours are inextricably woven together.

The New Testament has several images to describe the Church: it is Christ’s body, his building, his bride, his flock, his family – there are probably others. I don’t recall it using the image of cloth, but to me this metaphor of a multistranded fabric works very well. Our unity and diversity cannot and must not be taken for granted as we have all been shaped by our backgrounds and our experiences. We may have different ways of sharing our thoughts, different methods of making decisions, different attitudes to time and money, different ideas about our faith. As we get to know each other more deeply, we’ll find that things which are perfectly acceptable to some folk may scandalise or infuriate others. All these are issues which must be worked through if the fabric we weave is to be without blemish or defect. That doesn’t have easily or quickly, even with the Holy Spirit’s help; it takes time, effort, patience, tolerance and humility.

But when the Church’s weave is perfect, or nearly so; when people can see how much a group of very diverse people can love and care for each other, what a positive impression it can make! We live in a world whose fabric is ripped and spoiled, a world of bigotry and division, a world shot through with intolerance and anger, a world where people despise and attack those who are different, a world which desperately needs to be repaired and sewn back together. Can we, as a church, demonstrate that there is another way? Can we display the richness of God’s multi-coloured grace? Can we, even here in one small corner of Cardiff, bring healing and wholeness? With the help of the Pentecost Holy Spirit, perhaps we can.