(Acts 2:1–21; John 14:26–27)
Holy Spirit, ignite in us your holy fire, and strengthen us with the gift of faith. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
You may be surprised that I keep returning to the themes of unity and solidarity. You may even think, ‘Haven’t we talked about this enough?’ But I cannot stop preaching about the unity and solidarity of all human beings—especially now, especially today.
Because we are living through days where the world feels like it’s completely torn apart. From the devastation of war in Gaza and Ukraine, to the bitter fallout of politicians whose disagreements fracture entire communities and the country, to the whispers—sometimes shouts—of division, of suspicion, of hatred. Rumours swirl, attempting to drive wedges between us, encouraging us to fear those who are different, to question each other’s motives, and to lose trust.
And in this atmosphere, we grow hesitant even to speak about freedom. We once thought freedom was simple, noble, clear. But now—freedom feels murky and twisted. We ask: What does freedom even mean anymore? What is it supposed to be? But the Christian story has always had an answer to this question, and it comes to us most clearly on one particular day.
Here we are—on Pentecost, the day that speaks most clearly to both freedom and unity. Today, we are reminded of the Spirit that descended, not to divide, but to unite. Not to restrain, but to set free.
In the Book of Acts, Chapter 2, we see that the disciples gathered and were waiting. Likely anxious. Jesus had promised them a helper, an Advocate. But they didn’t know how or when. And then, everything suddenly happened.
A sound like a violent wind roars through the house—tongues of fire rest on each of them. The chaos is unmistakable. Don’t let the English translations fool you—this wasn’t some peaceful breeze or mild flickering flame. The crowd was bewildered, amazed, and perplexed. People were in uproar, disoriented, blown away—as if their very categories of understanding were breaking apart.
But in the midst of that wildness, God was creating something new.
The disciples begin speaking in many languages—real, understandable languages. And the miracle was not just in the speaking—it was in the hearing. People from every nation under heaven heard the good news in their own tongue. They understood. They felt seen.
This is the opposite of the Tower of Babel story in Genesis, where human languages divided. At Pentecost, language connects. Through the disciples receiving the power of the Holy Spirit, God speaks to those who are outside the religious circle, and cuts through human-created barriers—nationality, language, class, and gender.
This miraculous communication reveals something about freedom itself.
Pentecost isn’t just about being able to speak another language for convenience—or for passing a language exam when travelling abroad, though I’ll admit, I’ve had that wish too! Pentecost is about freedom from isolation. Freedom from fear. Freedom from the boundaries that separate us. It is a new kind of liberation!
The Christian celebration of Pentecost corresponds to an already-celebrated Jewish festival, known as Shavuot. Shavuot commemorates the giving of the Law—God’s Word—to the people fifty days after the Exodus. Fifty days after liberation from slavery, God gave instructions for living in freedom.
Now, in Acts, another 50 days after another liberation—Christ’s resurrection from death on Easter—God gives the Spirit, the Advocate, the Teacher. It is not just a new law—it is a new life.
God doesn’t just want us free from something—God wants us free for something, for mission, for community and for love.
This Spirit—the Advocate—shows up again in John’s Gospel. Jesus tells the disciples, “The Advocate, the Holy Spirit… will teach you everything and remind you of all that I have said to you” (John 14:26). This Spirit is not just a presence—it is a companion, a guide, a defender, and a supporting power.
And then Jesus says: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you… Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” (John 14:27)
That peace isn’t about the absence of noise or conflict or simple peace of mind. It is a peace that is rooted in community and trust, in knowing that we are not alone. It’s peace in the storm. Peace in the disorientation. Peace that comes from knowing the Spirit is here—with us, in us, and for us.
This is the radical, revolutionary, freeing unity of Pentecost. God pours out the Spirit on all flesh—sons and daughters, young and old, servants and leaders. No prerequisites, just gift, grace, and calling.
But we must not miss the point: the gift was not for the disciples alone. The gift was given through them, but it was for the people outside the room. Those who had been displaced, unheard, unseen—they were the audience of this divine miracle.
The Spirit empowers us to reach out—across lines of culture, language, race, and ideology—and speak the real Good News: You are seen. You are loved. You belong. God’s Spirit is for you.
All these things looked completely counter-cultural and crazy. (Perhaps they may be seen as anti-social!) People thought these disciples were drunk! The impact of the Spirit sounded too strange, too wild, too liberating. No doubt Peter needed to stand up and clarify this: This is what the prophet Joel promised! Your sons and daughters shall prophesy. The Spirit will fall on everyone.
Even today, some will resist the implications of Pentecost. Because it challenges our hierarchies. It disturbs our comfort. It turns institutions outward. It insists that no one group has a monopoly on truth or holiness. It means God can speak through anyone—a child, a refugee, a woman, a stranger, even someone we fear or distrust.
So, what does Pentecost mean for us now? In this fractured world, where freedom is distorted and unity feels impossible, Pentecost gives us a new vision. Then how do we live into this Pentecost vision? I have five suggestions:
First, speak clearly, in words others understand—not just linguistically, but emotionally and spiritually. To communicate love in their language.
Second, listen deeply, knowing the Spirit works in the hearing just as much as in the speaking.
Third, live boldly, free from fear, free from the need to control, free to love as Christ loved.
Fourth, resist division, refusing to believe the lie that we must be enemies just because we are different.
Finally, proclaim peace, not as the absence of hardship, but as the presence of God with us, together.
Pentecost is usually seen as the church’s birthday. It is messy, dramatic, awe-inspiring, and uncomfortable. And it should also be our blueprint as the new creation of God in the resurrection life, as a community of Christ’s followers.
So on this Pentecost Sunday, may we ask for the Spirit again—not just to fill us, but to transform the world through us. May we become translators of grace. May we embody that peace and create peace. May we be voices of unity in a world aching for solidarity.
Let the wind blow. Let the fire of the Spirit speak. Amen.