Pentecost

May 24, 2026

Acts 2:1-21

            On this Pentecost Sunday, of course we’re going to hear the story as told only in Acts.  Listen as God continues to speak to you today.

            READ

Last Sunday as we celebrated the Ascension… another Luke/Acts only story… we left the disciples on that hillside still squinting… looking into the sun. Necks craned, feet planted, mouths open, waiting. Waiting for Jesus to come back down and finish the job. They weren’t moving. They weren’t planning ahead. They weren’t imagining anything new. They were just staring upward, hoping the risen Christ would do what they still expected him to do: restore the kingdom, fix the world, take the risks, and let them reap the benefits. “Lord… is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” It’s a question soaked in religious and national nostalgia… a question that reveals how little resurrection had changed their expectations… how little the teachings about the Kingdom of God had sunk in. They still wanted a king. They still wanted the imagined nation from the glorious stories of the past. They still wanted power for themselves… power that didn’t look any different from the power that surrounded them except it would now be in their hands. They still wanted the world to bend toward them.  Maybe if they looked up into the sky long enough… maybe it might still happen from on high.

And then those two messengers appeared… and the disciples have to stop staring into an empty sky.

I imagine that walk back to Jerusalem was quiet. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the unsettled kind. The kind of quiet where no one wants to say out loud what they’re thinking. The kind of quiet where you realize the world has changed, but you haven’t caught up yet. They had seen the risen Christ. They had touched his wounds. They had eaten with him. And still they didn’t know what to do next. Resurrection had happened, but a sense of direction had not. They were caught between the world they knew and the world God was creating, and that is always an uncomfortable place to be.

Over the last year, we’ve watched AI tools explode into everyday life. People joke… not in a “ha ha” way, but that uncomfortable joking way… about letting AI now write their emails, their essays, their wedding toasts. Some folks even want AI to make their decisions for them. It’s tempting, isn’t it… to hand over responsibility to a machine that promises efficiency and certainty. We like the idea of something else doing the hard work for us. Something else taking the risk. Something else absorbing the consequences. It’s the same temptation the disciples had on that hillside: “Lord, you do it. You restore the kingdom. You take the lead. You make the decisions. We’ll follow once everything is safe.”

But here’s the thing: AI can draft a message, but it can’t reconcile a relationship. AI can summarize a meeting, but it can’t build trust. AI can generate a plan, but it can’t take a risk. AI can mimic a voice, but it cannot embody a life. And Pentecost is the opposite of being on autopilot. The Spirit doesn’t do the work for the disciples. The Spirit empowers them to do the work themselves. The Spirit doesn’t replace their voices… the Spirit multiplies them. The Spirit doesn’t automate the gospel… the Spirit incarnates it… through them. The disciples staring into the sun are like people waiting for AI to solve their lives… to take care of their problems… to lead them into the glory of the good life. Pentecost is God saying: you don’t get to outsource this. You are the witnesses. You are the storytellers. You are the ones who will speak in ways you never thought possible.

If the disciples had a vison for what came next that morning of Pentecost, I imagine it was full of manageable things. Safe things. Things that kept the world small and familiar. They had no idea that by the afternoon their vision would be set on fire. Because Pentecost arrives like a force that refuses to stay locked up tight. A sound like a violent wind. Tongues like fire. A Spirit who does not ask permission but fills them, pushes them, drives them out into the streets… out among strangers, out among languages they do not speak, out among people they were maybe raised to distrust and dislike. And suddenly the disciples are proclaiming Christ in words they never learned, connecting with people they never expected to meet, discovering that the Spirit was already at work in places they never imagined God would go. By the end of the day, their vision for what might happen next is unrecognizable.

It’s worth noticing that the Spirit doesn’t ask them if they are ready. The Spirit doesn’t wait for them to finish a training module or complete a spiritual formation checklist. The Spirit doesn’t say, “Once you feel confident and secure, then I’ll send you out.” The Spirit comes when they are still confused, still afraid, still unsure of themselves. Which means that our hesitation, our uncertainty, our lack of clarity… none of that disqualifies us from being used by God. In fact, it may be the very condition the Spirit prefers. Because people who know they don’t have all the answers are often the ones most open to being led… most open to asking new questions… most open to hearing other voices speak to them.

From that moment on, Acts becomes a story of disciples facing fears they never would have chosen. Fear of the other. Fear of losing control. Fear of being wrong. Fear of being hurt. Fear of letting the gospel take them farther than they wanted to go. They welcome Hellenized Jews. They appoint leaders who don’t look like them. They follow the Spirit to Samaritans, to an Ethiopian eunuch, to Gentiles, to Rome itself. They watch Stephen preach with courage they don’t yet have. They watch Paul… miserable, murderous Paul… become the apostle to the very people he once despised. And every time the step into a new place… led there by the Spirit… the church tries to shrink back, tries to reassert a sense of control, tries to rebuild the old boundaries. The Spirit keeps pushing outward. Because the Spirit is not nostalgic for the days that were. The Spirit is not safe. The Spirit is not interested in restoring the kingdoms we already know. The Spirit is interested in resurrection… and resurrection life always disrupts.

So here we are.  Another year.  Pentecost 2026. And we have to ask: what’s our Spirit inspired vision? And maybe more importantly… what are we too afraid to have in that vision? Because the church still wrestles with the same fears. Fear of visions that come from the young. Fear of dreams that come from the old. Fear of change. Fear of failure. Fear of going too far. Fear of not going far enough. Fear of the people the Spirit keeps insisting are part of the story. We still draw lines in order to protect ourselves and feel safe. We still try to manage the Spirit and guide it into predictable places. We still try to keep the church familiar to our expectations… expectations perhaps we’re still hoping will fall on us fully from an empty sky. But Pentecost is not safe. Pentecost is God saying: I am not done expanding this story.

I mean… wouldn’t it be great if Parkway were to develop a 10-year vision plan?  Something that laid out all the steps… put in measurable goals.  Maybe ChatGPT could whip up one for us in no time.  Let AI do the initial work that we can then fine tune and course correct to our satisfaction. 

Now… be careful.  That’s a bit of a preaching trick question to ask on Pentecost Sunday.  Because 10-year vision plans… even 5-year vision plans… are full of assumptions and expectations… full of staring up into an empty sky.  What might we be imagining as our goal?  A return to the past that doesn’t fit the reality of our present?  Is it mostly full of institutional health measurements?  Are we trying to protect what we have so we want to risk little and maximize the comfort of current members?  How much would our vision plan look like every other church vision plan safely placed behind closed doors? 

How do we craft that vision that is like the rushing wind of the Spirit?  How do we measure the effectiveness of tongues of fire?  What happens when people we haven’t met yet come in and challenge us… bring spiritual gifts we don’t already possess… bring a passion and a heart that we have already decided wasn’t where Parkway was going to go?  Thank you very much.  Remember… to each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.  Even you... even you have been given spiritual gifts. 

I doubt at Pentecost, the Holy Spirit purposefully didn’t give the gift of certain languages so that certain people would be left out.  Acts teaches us that God’s vision plan always disrupts our own.

Saints, we celebrate Pentecost every year not to remember that day when.  We celebrate Pentecost every year to anticipate the day when.  To remind ourselves to be open to the continual workings of a Holy Spirit that is unpredictable… and a bit dangerous… a Holy Spirit that does push us forward to take risks to spread this good news that we have received… and in which we hope.  Amen.