Sermon for June 8, 2025 - The Day of Pentecost

Today we come to the great and glorious Feast of Pentecost, the final movement in the mighty symphony of Easter. It is the day when the fire fell from heaven—not in judgment, as it did in the days of Sodom and Gomorrah—but in mercy and power, to ignite a new creation. This is the birthday of the Church, when the Holy Spirit came upon the disciples in wind and flame and gave them a voice—not for their own sake, but for the salvation of the world.

Our readings today, from Acts and John, give us a stunning vision of what God has done and what God is doing. They show us the divine movement from promise to fulfillment, from fear to boldness, from isolation to communion. Let us walk together through these texts and allow the Spirit to stir our hearts anew.

“When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place.”

Let us begin here: with a gathered people. They were waiting, not yet knowing what they waited for, only that Jesus had told them to remain in the city until they were “clothed with power from on high” (Luke 24:49). And so they waited, together, in prayer and uncertainty.

Then, suddenly, it happened. The room was filled with a sound like a violent wind, and tongues of fire appeared, resting on each of them. And they began to speak—not in gibberish or private speech, but in the languages of the world. Every nation under heaven, Luke, was represented in that city, and each person heard the good news in their own mother tongue.

What happened at Pentecost is nothing less than the reversal of Babel. At Babel, pride divided humanity; at Pentecost, grace reunited us. At Babel, God confused the tongues; at Pentecost, God made them clear. In Babel, humanity tried to ascend to heaven; at Pentecost, heaven came down to earth. This is the divine movement: not us rising to God, but God descending to us in Jesus Christ, and now again in the Spirit.

The Church is born in that moment. Not as a private club for the spiritually elite, but as a missionary people, driven out of the upper room and into the streets of the world. Peter, the same Peter who had denied Jesus three times, now stands up and proclaims, with fearless clarity, the mighty acts of God.

“This is what was spoken through the prophet Joel,” Peter says. “In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh.”

This is crucial. The Spirit does not come only for the twelve apostles. The Spirit is poured out on sons and daughters, young and old, slaves and free. No one is left out. This is not a private possession; it is a public gift. The Spirit democratizes grace.

And so the Church is born not as an institution of power, but as a community of witness. The Church is not built on bureaucracy or buildings, but on Spirit and speech—on the proclamation of Christ crucified and risen, in every language, to every people.

But what does this mean for us today? What does it mean to live as a Pentecost people?

For that we turn to the Gospel of John, to that intimate conversation between Jesus and His disciples on the night before He was crucified. Philip has just asked to see the Father, and Jesus responds with those tender, mysterious words: “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.”

Then He makes a promise: “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth.”

Here we learn something essential: the Spirit is not simply a force or energy. The Spirit is personal—an Advocate, a Comforter, a Counselor. In Greek, the word is Parakletos, the one who comes alongside. The Spirit is not only around us, but with us and in us. Jesus promises, “He abides with you, and he will be in you.”

Notice also the continuity: “another Advocate.” Jesus Himself has been their advocate, and now the Spirit will continue that work. This is not a new story, but the deepening of the same story. The Spirit does not replace Jesus; the Spirit reveals Jesus, makes Him present in a new way.

And what does the Spirit do? Jesus says, “He will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.” The Spirit is the teacher who opens the Word. He is the voice who whispers the truth when we are confused. He is the fire who kindles love when our hearts grow cold. And He is the peace of Christ, given not as the world gives, but as only God can give.

Pentecost is not only something that happened—it is something that happens. The Spirit who fell on that day is the same Spirit who moves in the Church today. The same Spirit who gave the apostles boldness and speech is the Spirit who sustains our prayers, inspires our worship, and sends us out into the world.

But let us be honest: we often live as if Pentecost never happened. We live timidly, as though we have no power. We live divided, as though the Spirit of unity were absent. We speak cautiously, as though the gospel were merely an opinion rather than good news for all creation.

Pentecost is God’s answer to all of that. The Spirit shakes us out of fear and inertia. The Spirit gathers what was scattered, and speaks through what was silent. The Spirit is not tame. It is not controllable. But it is good. He comes not to make us comfortable, but to make us holy.

And what is our part? It is simply this: to receive. To open ourselves to the gift that has already been given. To pray, “Come, Holy Spirit,” and to mean it.

But be careful when you pray that prayer. The Spirit may lead you to unexpected places. The Spirit may send you to speak to people you’ve ignored. The Spirit may ask you to love someone you find unlovable. The Spirit may fill you with courage you didn’t know you had. That is how Pentecost works.

Jesus ends His promise with words of peace: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

In these troubled and violent times, we need this word. The Spirit does not come to us in order to give us ease, but to give us peace—not the absence of struggle, but the presence of Christ. It is the peace that passes understanding, the peace of sins forgiven, of reconciliation made real, of hope stronger than death.

This is the peace the world cannot give, and the peace the Church is called to embody. As St. Seraphim of Sarov once said, “Acquire the Spirit of peace, and thousands around you will be saved.” That is what it means to be a Pentecost people.

So let us come to the altar today with open hearts and empty hands. Let us receive again the Spirit of the living God, poured out upon all flesh. Let us be kindled by the fire of love, made bold in our witness, and gentle in our peace.

And let us pray, in the words of the ancient hymn:

“Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire,

And lighten with celestial fire.

Thou the anointing Spirit art,

Who dost thy sevenfold gifts impart.”

Come, Holy Spirit. Come to your Church.

Come to this place.

Come to our hearts.

And renew the face of the earth. Amen.