The Imago D.E.I.
Acts 2:1-13
Acts 2:1-13 (NRSV):
1 When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2 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. 3 Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.
5 Now there were devout Jews from every people under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6 And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7 Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9 Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10 Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11 Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” 12 All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” 13 But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”
I want to talk about DEI. Not dei, the Latin word for God or gods, as in deity, which I can tell you were all thinking I meant. DEI as in diversity, equity, inclusion. But if we want to play with language a bit, maybe we merge the two, and assume that the “DEI” in deity means God is fundamentally diverse, equitable, and inclusive, and that being made in God’s image–imago Dei–means we are made for diversity, equity, and inclusion.
If you were a college dude in the 2000s, you may have loved and excessively quoted the movie Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, starring Will Ferrell, Christina Applegate, and a bunch of other funny people. In the movie, a 1970s all-male news team is grappling with the hiring of a woman anchor, as their station manager explains the need for greater diversity on the network. One of the news team members says, in his southern drawl: “what in the hell’s diversity?” Ron Burgundy, the lead anchor, responds: “Well, I could be wrong, but I believe ‘Diversity’ was an old, old wooden ship that was used during the Civil War era.” The station manager shakes his head and makes clear the absurdity of Ron’s answer and says “diversity means the times are changing” and then proceeds to introduce them to the first ever female co-anchor. And then, as probably won’t surprise you, the four-man news team all completely flip out (Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy).
We’ve got a bit of a flip-out at the end of this scene. A group of sneer-ers mock the speakers. This fearful, defensive response keeps them spectators to this event, rather than participants. They deny this miracle of inclusion. They resist this gift of welcome.
What came to be called “Pentecost” was originally, essentially, a Jewish harvest party. Which could partially explain the comment about new wine, if this seemed more like a drunken party than a remarkable moment of ancient mass communication. But they sneer, so I don’t think they’re confused. But it might be useful to think of this as a kind of party. A party where everyone is invited, everyone can participate, everyone is made to feel welcome, and where nobody is forced to sing “Sweet Caroline” against their will.
You’ve heard of DEI initiatives, which are efforts, through the policies and practices of an organization, to ensure that traditionally marginalized groups are treated well and given the opportunity to participate fully in the organization. There are a lot of good ways to define these three words, but just to offer us a starting point…
When there is diversity, difference and variety are present, recognized, and valued. When there is equity, every individual is getting the specific thing(s) they need to be able to fully participate and thrive in their context. When there is inclusion, efforts are being made to share power, broaden participation, and widen the circle of belonging.
In this story, that begins in a house–although most certainly moved outside as others took notice–every person gets a tongue of fire. I don’t know what we’re supposed to envision, but I know that “tongue” can mean language, that people can be fired up when they speak, and that fire can be a symbol for Divine Presence. Everyone is authorized to speak, all genders and brain types and bodies and ages. No one is required to learn the host community’s language or to learn Greek, the language of the Empire. The particularity of every listener and their language is appreciated and accommodated and influences this community’s vocal ministry. Diversity is present. Equity is practiced. Inclusion is central. Some people are not happy about it.
Why do people resist DEI, then and now? Why do they sneer with contempt?
Maybe people fear the truth? DEI can reveal the collective shortcomings and harm of the privileged, past and present, and people don’t like facing that. Maybe people are afraid of loss? That if underrepresented and marginalized folks are given what they need to thrive, I will lose something I can’t handle losing?
Maybe people think they’re supposed to not like it, because their peer group or news sources tell them it’s bad, and supporting it makes you bad, and people usually want to see themselves as good? Maybe people don’t really understand power dynamics and so wrongly assume they are being discriminated against? Or think “we’ve moved past that form of bigotry, because x, y, or z happened years ago!” forgetting that this kind of inner work and social change, if it’s real, usually takes time.
Maybe some just feel frustration about their own lives. They worked hard, did xyz, and perceive others are being given an easy path or handout; a sort of envy, or “I was here first” or “I worked my butt off” mentality, making some assumptions about others or revealing a sense of entitlement, thinking something is more “mine” than it really is.
Maybe people just lack crucial data? How often does a hateful remark indicate a lack of information or lived experience? Sarah Mapps Douglass was a 19th century Black Quaker educator and abolitionist who believed that education could counter prejudice. She saw hate as a product of ignorance and wrote that education was like “sunshine” that could “disperse the mists of prejudice around us” (Abigail Lawrence, “Sarah Mapps Douglass: An American Saint” in The Quaker World, 295). It seems that many people hate or fear what they don’t understand, and that listening and learning can increase Love.
A lot of people “sneer” at diversity, equity, and inclusion. But for those who recognize the fundamental diversity of nature; for those who think historically, contextually, and systemically, reject the American bootstraps myth, and recognize that our starting points and needs differ; for those who recognize that inclusion is not a belief but a practice, something you make happen not through magic but through intentional choices, then I’d say that DEI is one good tool in moving us toward Love.
Speaking of intentional choices, I think the inspiring thing in this scene is not that something supernatural happens, at least “supernatural” in the sense that God momentarily overrides human agency to do something contrary to the known laws of nature; what’s profound, to me, is either the hard work preceding this moment, or the remarkable work done quickly in this moment–or multi-day event recounted as though it were a moment–to learn the languages of all these people.
I mean, isn’t kind of inspiring to imagine them dividing the labor among small groups, saying “ok, you all learn Parthian, you all learn Pamphilian, you all learn Cretan, and as a community, we’ll make sure that no one in this diverse and multiethnic city is left out. Were these people instruments of a Divine force that briefly overtook them and then left them as they were? Or did the Divine within inspire conscious and deliberate efforts to prepare for this moment, slowly, through thousands of small choices? Sometimes people prefer the spectacle and surprise, in religious contexts. I call this Holy Spirit spontaneity bias, when we forget that the Spirit can work through careful planning, organizing, training, steadily showing up, and the slow work of learning.
The people who hear their own language spoken are bewildered. Which I think is less of a “how?” and more of a “why?” Not “how did they do this supernatural trick” but “what compelled them to show such hospitality to us?” You’ve probably all heard someone express their prejudice with some form of “they should learn English!” Maybe to be greeted with welcome, not hostility, was not what they expected.
I would think that many, including the powers-that-be, might prefer homogeneity, sameness. Easier to contain and control? And maybe a lot of the people there did know Greek. There is a widespread expectation that people who come to our country should learn English. Some are mean-spirited in how they communicate this, some just take it for granted. Many of us can get by without learning a second language. While I get the contextual, pragmatic reason for this expectation, something still feels off about it. To be told, implicitly or explicitly, by a world “superpower,” that your language, and all the culture, tradition, memory, and joy that your language contains, isn’t needed here. It must be powerful and dignifying to hear someone speak to you in your own language.
Everyone present, ministers. Not just the leadership. All genders, ages, abilities. People with different stories, gifts, vocations, quirks. Everyone is a participant, in this moment, and in nurturing into being the kind of world, the kind of ecological-human family that Christ-guided community, at its best, points us toward. Sadly, or realistically, Christ-guided communities are not always at their best, despite many individuals and communities throughout history whose lives have been a testimony to this diverse, equitable, and inclusive world. I’m not even sure the early Church understood the significance of this moment, this movement toward a bigger table and a wider circle.
You may know that last weekend, many Christian leaders, along with members of our current administration, hosted a massive Christian nationalist rally in DC called “Rededication 250”–a celebration of our nation’s 250th anniversary intended to “rededicate our nation to God.” Friends, obviously I want to be open to diverse ways of practicing faith. But that doesn’t mean I will ever make peace with a form of Christianity that sows hostility toward other faiths or cultures or queer people, a Christianity that justifies violence as part of a “holy war” requiring “maximum lethality,” or a Christianity that defends our current president as “God’s chosen one.”
A music worship leader whose songs I enjoyed and led when I was a college student, led people at this rally in singing, “our God is greater, our God is stronger, our God is higher than any other.” I’m sure some people sing these words relatively innocently, maybe finding solace in a God that can help them through tough times. But I think these words are a potentially dangerous mantra that can reinforce Christian supremacy, create needless division and hostility, and make the world less safe for many.
The very tragic mosque shooting in San Diego last Monday–the very next day–was not at all surprising to me. The two shooters were radicalized white nationalists, and even if they didn’t know about this Christian rally in DC, this “Christianity versus the world” mentality and every gathering that reinforces it, contributes to creating a hostile environment–toward Muslims and many others. That same worship leader has another song with the words “You’re the defender of the weak” but I’m guessing that’s not a popular song for the religious right at the moment. Or if it is, they may have a different idea of who “the weak” are than many of you do.
The Pentecost story, as I read it, is the opposite of the rally in DC. I know that Christian nationalists may read this story and find it moving too, as an instance of the power of God, taking over everyone’s bodies and controlling their mouths, guiding them to preach about “God’s deeds of power” as a declaration of the supremacy of their version of God. But I hear a story of true diversity, of lived equity, of actual inclusion.
Why did these people sneer? Why do people sneer today at DEI, as an initiative, or DEI as a reality we experience as the moral arc of the universe slowly bends toward justice? Diversity is distressing. Equity is upsetting. Inclusion is threatening. Then, and now.
I should say that sometimes, instead of DEI, DEIA is used. A for accessibility: the removing of barriers that exclude, say, people with disabilities from full participation. As we consider this potentially very noisy scene, we might wonder if those who were deaf understood the message through some form of non-verbal communication; if those with noise sensitivities were taken to a nearby quiet place to hear the message; if any young children, present, were told the message in terms they could understand. How do we speak others’ language? There’s a literal answer to that, but when someone says to me “now you’re speaking my language!” I think they’re saying, “you’ve made this accessible to me…thank you.”
And they speak with fire! As I said, fire can mean Divine Presence. Fire can speak to change or revolution, and you could read this as a change, an opening, a movement beyond my God to something that we share in common, whatever we call it. Fire can mean warmth and hospitality, which I think we witness here. Fire could mean a lot of things, and maybe that is an image or metaphor worth your attention today.
You may also want to think about our shared experience in worship, in light of Pentecost. I mean, the most nourishing part of our worship, for me, may be the silence. This…is…loud? Violent wind, fire, everyone talking at the same time? Is this order or disorder? Is this harmony or cacophony? Everyone here gets a voice, gets to participate in the sacred work of the community. Is that chaos? Or is it the beloved community, in right relationship with each other?
Peter does later explain to the crowd his perspective on this moment, with a quote from the book of Joel, but I honestly don’t think we need his help on this one. I think you can make connections between the Pentecost story and the moment we are in. I think this illustrates what it means to answer that of God in each: each speaker, each listener. And what it looks like to be a community that practices inclusion, prioritizes equity, and embraces diversity. Which is much more than an “old, old wooden ship.”
In closing, I’ll share the words of Melanie Mock, one of my literature professors at George Fox, who is publishing a book about the drama in the Newberg school district in recent years around Christian nationalists trying to take over the school board and fight against DEI efforts in the district. In a recent article, she writes:
“People who practice neighbor love and community are an antidote to the destructive, divisive, and hierarchical ideology of Christian nationalism. In Newberg, people with diverse beliefs found each other, developed systems of advocacy, and worked hard to change the school board. Those avenues for support, now more firmly in place, are working to keep neighbors safe during immigration enforcement raids in Newberg, and to assure those experiencing houselessness in our community also have resources to survive. More broadly, in places like Minneapolis and Portland and Chicago, it’s people providing care for others that gives me hope that Christian nationalism will not survive in the United States. This kind of neighbor love reflects the truest nature of Christ and his ministry, and affirms that all people, bearing God’s beautiful image, are worthy of safety, love, (and) joy” ( https://www.patheos.com/blogs/faithtownsquare/2026/05/623/ ).
That’s a pretty darn hopeful message about what can be when people work together to love their neighbor. Which I think is what the Pentecost story is about. Diversity. Equity. Inclusion. Accessibility. As my Gen Z friends say, Pentecost is SO fire! SO fire. (That’s a good thing.)
Queries:
What is most important to me about today’s text?
What’s it like when diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility are present?
Why do people oppose diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility?
How can I help affirm or cultivate diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility?
First Word: Erica Stupfel
Good morning. My name is Erica Stupfel (she/her). I’ve been involved with Camas Friends since around 2011. There are many things that drew me to this community, but the top three are its inclusivity, the curiosity and growth I see in its members, and the generosity it shows both to our immediate community and internationally. Today, I want to focus on that generosity.
I come from a very generous family. My parents have always given freely, with no strings attached. I recognize that this kind of financial generosity is often easier for those living from a place of security rather than scarcity, and I don’t want to diminish that reality. But growing up in that environment shaped me into an adult who freely gives my energy, talents, and, when possible, financial support to causes and organizations that matter deeply to me.
It has also given me the courage to ask others to give as well. I think many people simply aren’t fully aware of the immediate needs within our community or the work we do through programs like Laundry Love and our food pantry.
A few winters ago, my husband and I were scheduled to serve at Laundry Love during an especially cold February week. Many people were homebound because of the ice, and our food pantry shelves were looking very bare. I posted a photo on social media, explained the work we were doing, and asked whether anyone had items they could donate. I also mentioned that we would be making a Costco run if anyone wanted to contribute financially toward the effort.
My DMs and text messages quickly filled with responses.
That experience reminded me that people often want to help — they just need to be asked and made aware of the opportunities to give.
It taught me not to hesitate to invite others into generosity when there is a direct need, because the collective efforts of many people can meet that need in meaningful and immediate ways.
I think generosity grows through awareness and invitation. When we share the needs we see and the work being done, we create opportunities for others to step in and participate. So I want to encourage all of us to stay open — open to noticing, open to asking, and open to giving in whatever ways we can.