Following the Fire of Shavu’ot
The following essay is adapted from part one of a two part message series I recently shared at Friends Community Church. It has been revised here for readers beyond that setting, though the heart of the teaching remains the same.
There is a trail in Utah called Catherine’s Pass that my husband and I love to hike. It begins near the Alta Ski Area. At about 8,500 ft in elevation, the trailhead begins already high in the mountains. At first, the trail is mostly switchbacks and loose rock. Your lungs burn quickly in the elevation, and you cannot yet see where you are going. The mountain does not reveal itself all at once. You simply keep walking, trusting that if you remain on the trail long enough, eventually it will open into something beautiful.
And it does.
A bend in the path suddenly reveals a valley scattered with wildflowers. Meltwater streams through the rocks. Snow often still clings to the mountain in July.
A couple miles in, you crest a ridge into what I have always called Buttercup Valley, one of the most breathtaking places on the hike. Yellow wildflowers dot the valley floor. Indian paintbrush and lupine paint the slopes with color. Sometimes you see bighorn sheep or moose moving quietly in the distance. It’s a breathtaking part of the trail, and a needed meander through a meadow before the trail climbs again.
Eventually Catherine’s Pass opens before you, and suddenly the whole landscape stretches out in every direction.
But here’s the thing about hiking: someone could be dropped there by helicopter and still see the view. They would still witness the beauty of the mountains. But they’d miss the trail.
And the trail is the whole point.
They would miss the exhaustion of the climb, the anticipation around every bend, and the strange way suffering and beauty begin to intertwine after enough miles on the mountain. The trail changes your relationship to the summit.
Without the trail, you miss the story that makes the summit mean something.
I think this has happened for many Christians with Pentecost.
Most believers know Acts 2. We know about the rushing wind, the divided tongues of fire, the Spirit descending upon the disciples, and the proclamation of the gospel in many languages. It is one of the most dramatic scenes in the New Testament. But many of us encounter Acts 2 as though we were dropped there by helicopter. We arrive at the summit often without ever learning the trail that leads to it.
But Pentecost—Shavu’ot—is not merely an event in Acts. It is a trail of holy fire that climbs through Scripture. The story begins long before the disciples gather in Jerusalem.
Shavu’ot begin with a fire at a gate. The trail of Shavu’ot begins in Eden.
Eden
In the opening pages of Genesis, humanity lives openly in the presence of God. Heaven and earth overlap. The Spirit of God moves among humanity in the garden in the windy time of the day, and there is no barrier between divine holiness and human life. But one day, something fractures. The ruach shows up and realizes right away, something’s broken. The presence that once sustained humanity becomes dangerous to those no longer fit to dwell within it. Humanity is driven east of Eden, and at the entrance to the garden God places cherubim and a flaming sword turning in every direction to guard the way to the tree of life.
The fire at Eden is a holy boundary is being maintained. A broken humanity cannot simply casually reunite with God. And so the fire remains at the gate, guarding the way back into the presence of God.
It’s a loss.
From that moment onward, the biblical story begins asking a single question: How do we get back through the fire?
Sinai
For a long time, the answer to that question appears to be you don’t. You do not go back through the fire. You do not ascend the mountain of God.
For generations, humanity remains, wandering, east of Eden. The world continues spiraling outward into violence, exile, and death. Yet eventually God calls Abraham, raises up Israel, and rescues his people from Egypt through judgment and deliverance. Then he brings them into the wilderness, to the foot of a mountain wrapped in smoke and flame.
At Sinai, something astonishing happens: the fire comes down.
The imagery deliberately echoes Eden. Once again there is a holy mountain. Once again there are boundaries around sacred space. Once again humanity stands before the terrifying presence of God. But this time the story changes in an important way. At Eden, humanity is driven away from the mountain of God. At Sinai, God invites humanity toward it.
“Adonai said to Moses, “Go to the people, and sanctify them today and tomorrow. Let them wash their clothing. 11 Be ready for the third day. For on the third day Adonai will come down upon Mount Sinai in the sight of all the people. 12 You are to set boundaries for the people all around, saying, ‘Be very careful not to go up onto the mountain, or touch the border of it....But when the shofar sounds, they may ascend the mountain.” Exodus 19:10-13
Notice that the people were to:
consecrate themselves, set themselves apart for something very special
count the days—today, tomorrow, be ready for the third day, and on the third day
prepare themselves
listen for the shofar sound… then ascend
At Sinai, God invites them to ascend through the fire. The God who once guarded the mountain now calls a people toward it.
“So it came about on the third day, when it was morning, that there were thunder and lightning flashes and a thick cloud upon the mountain and a very loud shofar sound, so that all the people who were in the camp trembled. And Moses brought the people out of the camp to meet God, and they stood at the foot of the mountain. Now Mount Sinai was all in smoke because the LORD descended upon it in fire; and its smoke ascended like the smoke of a furnace, and the whole mountain quaked violently.” Exodus 19:16-18
When the mountain begins to quake and burn, the people recoil in fear. They tremble at the thunder and stand at a distance, begging Moses to mediate instead. “Do not let God speak to us,” they say, “lest we die.”
And so they . . .
see the fire
count the days
hear the shofar
but they refuse to draw near to God. Moses alone enters the thick cloud. One man ascends the mountain while the people remain at a distance.
This occurs roughly fifty days after leaving Egypt. Fire descends from heaven. The covenant is cut, God forms a people, but they are not so sure they want to be formed. What is God to do with a people who he wants to be near, but are not sure they want to be near him?
The answer: he teaches them how to approach.
Tent
Alongside the tent in the wilderness, God gives Israel something remarkable: a sanctuary in time.
The appointed times of Leviticus 23 are not random holidays. They are holy meeting times—moedim—when God invites his people to enter into a sanctuary in time and be near him. They are rehearsals—sacred rhythms teaching Israel how to live within the story of redemption before its fullness arrives. Every feast becomes a kind of embodied prophecy. Shabbat, Passover, Unleavened Bread, Firstfruits, Shavu’ot, Trumpets, Day of Atonement, Sukkot—each one teaches Israel how to remember, anticipate, and move toward the presence of God and join him in what he is doing in the world.
At Shavu’ot, Israel is commanded to count seven weeks from Firstfruits. Fifty days. Then they are to bring before the Lord two great loaves of leavened bread made from the firstfruits of the wheat harvest.
The imagery here is extraordinary.
At Passover, leaven is removed from Israel’s homes as they remember deliverance from Egypt. Later, they will start a new culture of leaven, trusting it will become strong enough to raise the bread. And in the meantime, they count. They prepare. They eat the barley grain and trust that the choice grain—the wheat harvest—will soon come. Then, about two months later, it arrives. At Shavu’ot, fully baked, beautiful loaves of leavened, golden bread are lifted before God..
Jewish tradition holds that the bread was waved forward and backward, upward and downward, declaring that the God of Israel rules over all creation. Can you hear the echoes of Eden? At the gates of the garden, the flaming sword flashed in every direction guarding the way back into the presence of God. But now, bread from the thorny ground is lifted in every direction before him in worship.
The God who once guarded Eden with fire now invites humanity to approach the fire at the altar, at the door of the tent, waving the fruit of the earth itself before him.
Into this story, Jesus steps. “I am the bread of life!” He declares that even outside of Eden, the wheat still grows. Bread still rises and through these sacred rhythms, God teaches his people to recognize every firstfruit as a sign that exile will not last forever. That is what firstfruits are throughout Scripture: signs that more is coming.
The bread matters because it reminds us the harvest is real. Much more fruit is surely on the way.
Exile
The tabernacle eventually becomes a temple. The fiery glory of God fills his house. Jerusalem becomes the center of worship and sacrifice. But the human hear is still fractured. Violence, oppression, idolatry, and injustice continue poisoning the land until eventually the prophets begin warning that exile is coming once again.
Then the unthinkable happens. In Ezekiel’s vision, the glory of God rises from the temple and departs from Jerusalem. The divine fire leaves God’s house. The story circles painfully back the gate outside of Eden again. Once again humanity stands outside sacred space.
The people of God find themselves scattered, exiled, and the land that once provided the harvest of the firstfruits to be celebrated in the sancturary in time lies desolate and forsaken.
But the prophets refuse to despair.
Ezekiel promises that God will give his people a new heart and place his Spirit within them (Eze. 36:26-27). Isaiah declares that the Spirit of God will not depart forever (Is. 59:21). Joel envisions a day when the Spirit will be poured out lavishly upon all flesh (Joel 2:28-29). What starts in Israel will renew the whole world.
These promises are not abstract spirituality or private religious experiences. They are covenant promises. They are the restoration of the bride God married at Sinai, under that veil of thick cloud and fiery glory. The prophets foresee a day when the breath that moved through Eden will once again fill all creation with life.
The restoration of Israel becomes the beginning of something larger, where those among the nations streaming upward toward the mountain of God. Gentiles willingly ascending saying “Come on! Let’s go! Let’s ascend the mountain of God so that we can learn his instructions.”
Learning to Walk the Trail
We may wonder, when does this happen? When will God pour out his Spirit? When do we reach the summit of this trail?
Shavu’ot is a trail of holy fire moving steadily toward restoration. From Eden, to Sinai, to the tabernacle and temple, to the prophets longing for the Spirit to return, the fire keeps drawing near.
And all along the trail, there are signs of the harvest. Little glimpses. Firstfruits. Pockets of golden buttercups at the foot of the long grind to the summit we can’t yet see. Moments where creation seems to whisper:
There is more coming.
Keep walking.
Stay on the trail.
The story is not over yet.
That’s what Shavu’ot is. It is a rehearsal of hope.
Shavu’ot is a trail of holy fire that awakens us to the firstfruits of a coming harvest.
Walking this trail strengthens our bodies, our souls. It’s training us how to follow the cloud by day, the fire by nigh—until the harvest yet to come arrives in full. We can continue to follow the fire into the New Testament. We’ll look at Acts 2, and keeping following the fire even from there. Because even Acts 2 isn’t the full harvest—it’s just the beginning of what God is doing for Israel and for the nations. And we are invited by God to join him in that work.
Until then, may we become a people who learn how to walk the trail, who learn how to count the days.
To lift the bread. To keep following the fire and practicing hope.
Because every Shabbat, every festival, every act of worship, every small movement toward the presence of God is training us for the kingdom and the world that is coming.
A world where:
the exile ends,
the tent is filled,
the mountain is ascended,
the gate of Eden is wide open,
and the Spirit of God fills the earth like breath in living lungs.
Until then—we must to learn to live as people of the firstfruits. People who are disciplined enough turn towards this story and ask God tohelp us follow the fire that fills his house and opens our eyes to all he is doing.