The Rev. Dr. Brandon Perrine
Pentecost A
Acts 2:1-21
May 24, 2026
When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 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. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. Now there were devout Jews from every people under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language . . . in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.” But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Fellow Jews and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel: ‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh . . . Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’”
~o~
We know that in the years following Jesus’ death, his disciples approached their work with renewed vigor and urgency. Communities of so-called Christians began to spring up throughout the Roman world. Despite sporadic persecution by the government, disagreements about a number of internal matters, and even the threat of martyrdom, the Church, as the Christian movement came to be known, thrived and spread. But how did it all begin? In the wake of Jesus’ untimely death, how did a group of backwoods Galileans start, sustain, and expand a movement named for their teacher? The answer is obvious enough— they had help.
The story of Pentecost is the story of the beginning of the church, told through the dramatic lens of the church’s first unofficial biographer— Luke. Luke condensed what no doubt occurred over the course of years into a single event with a full cast of characters, a compelling narrative, and an unexpected twist. His theatrical version of events became the official birth narrative of the post-crucifixion Christian movement. But, as I said, they had help. The spirit showed up.
While I truly believe that the spirit shows up with us every time we gather together—it comes to us in an orderly manner. It’s polite and respectable and appropriately holy. But what if it wasn’t. What if it came in a gust—extinguishing candles, messing up hair, sending Paul’s choir score and my sermon notes scattering all over the chancel. What if the lights went out and dancing tongues of fire descended on our heads. What if people started speaking out of turn. What if the choir started prophesying in other languages.
What if the clamor turned to absolute chaos and it spilled through the doors out on to Chestnut St. and W. Galena Blvd. And cars started slowing down to stare—initially just gawking and honking, but eventually stopping and joining the cacophony of voices. What if passersby stopped too and the commotion ratcheted up another notch. So many languages. So much racket. And then, what if Maureen McKane, our fearless Moderator, climbed the stairs at the W. Galena entrance and started to speak.
Maybe she would say: “Fellow faithful and all who live in Aurora, listen and know. These New England Church members are not under the influence of any intoxicating substance, as you suppose. It’s only ten in the morning! No, they are filled with the spirit. And you can be too.”
What a sight. What a spectacle that would be! I think that was Luke’s point. Instead of telling the drawn-out version of the story where the church gradually picked up steam and spirit in the decades following the crucifixion, he distilled it down into one amazing morning when the spirit fell, and Jesus’ followers were filled, and the church was born. That’s good storytelling!
But there’s an element of the story that’s often overlooked and I think it’s actually the point of the whole thing: the spirit comes bringing, not chaos or confusion, but understanding. People hearing heaven’s message, as Luke tells it, in the native language of each. And if that wasn’t clear enough for someone, Peter stood up and spoke out, interpreting the moment for all in a way that everyone understood. Pentecost isn’t about chaos, it’s about comprehension—about understanding one another despite the differences that would have previously divided us.
It’s no accident that the spirit in Luke’s story didn’t come bringing uniformity or common language. The spirit doesn’t erase differences; it empowers the new church to communicate across differences. The spirit doesn’t bring conformity; it enables mutual understanding. The spirit pushes the huddled followers of Jesus out of the upper room and into the community. It defies tribalism and isolationism in favor of inclusivism and engagement. It reminds us that the good news is only good news if people can actually hear it as good news. And it insists that people don’t need to become like us before they can belong. Instead, the church is meant to meet others where they are.
In a world of insiders and outsiders, political silos, algorithmic isolation, and an overall inability to communicate across difference, the message of Pentecost is as radical today as it was when Luke first told it. And it’s less about speaking in new languages than it is about hearing and understanding in new ways. About meeting people where they are. About sharing news that’s actually good for them and for our world.
May we be that kind of Pentecostal church: a church filled with spirit; a church engaged with the world beyond these walls; a church that listens as carefully as it speaks; a church where people do not have to become like us before they belong; a church with good news that sounds like good news to the people who hear it.
And may the spirit fall fresh on us—today, and tomorrow, and always.
Amen.
