“Coming of the Holy Spirit”
By Rev. Dr. Jason Byassee
Sunday, June 8, 2025
Reading: Acts 2:1-21
Imagine, if you will, it’s 1925. Most men in here would be wearing suits and would don our hats again on the way out. Ushers would be in morning coats. Women would be in elaborate dresses and hats that y’all were allowed to wear throughout the service. Disabled vets from the Great War would be a common sight. This church was not only a place for Sunday worship but also for Friday and Saturday night socializing—we had a bowling alley with two lanes right underneath this sanctuary. Romances begun downstairs became marriages in this room. If we were beamed back there and then, things would be both surprisingly similar and eerily different.
We have one parishioner living who remembers the birth of church union in 1925. Her parents explained they’d been going to a Methodist Church in Canada but now that same church would be called United, because Jesus is putting his church back together. She’s 106 years old, bless her.
The birth of the United Church of Canada on Pentecost Sunday in 1925 was a beautiful and blessed thing. We would be the church of first resort for Canadians. We wouldn’t compete for resources against one another, instead we would cooperate. And hopefully other churches would join—the Anglicans almost did: if one more bishop had voted for union, they’d be part of us now too. The reunion of our shattered churches is worth celebrating—thanks to Dayle Barrett for putting this service of remembrance and thanksgiving together.
Now, imagine it’s 33 AD. Your clothes are a little different. You’re a disciple of Jesus, who’d hoped might be the messiah of Israel. But then he dies, gruesomely. You just got away before the Romans nailed you up beside him. But then you hear rumours that he’s alive. And sure enough, you see him, and eat with him, and learn from your rabbi again. Until he’s taken up from your sight in the Ascension. Now, today, you’re at table with the others, and there’s a wind like a hurricane... A fire that doesn’t hurt, but heals... And you can speak in languages you never learned. That would be a lot, wouldn’t it?
If I were editing the Pentecost story I’d say, ‘Hey, God, choose one miracle, your favourite one, and stick with that. Wind and fire and languages: that’s all too much metaphor, your hearers can only concentrate on one miracle at a time. So, pick one of the three and go with that one.’ But God, without an editor, just heaps up miracle upon miracle. With God, more is more.
Pentecost started out life as a Jewish harvest festival. Our elder siblings in faith still celebrate it as a minor holy day. They don’t really know our Pentecost story, for them Shavuot is a chance to thank God for the gift of the law and for grain and wine, the basic stuff of life. When I told my hosts at Holy Blossom about the hurricane and the fire and the languages they nodded respectfully but their eyes betrayed them: yeah, that’s nuts yo. Get back in that time machine: You’re a first century Jew who lives far from Jerusalem, speaking a different language than Aramaic. Your family obeys the laws of Moses: you keep kosher, circumcise your sons, try and live by the ten commandments with all their rigor and grace. It’s been a good harvest, so you go up to Jerusalem to give thanks, make an offering in the temple, and renew your life of prayer with the God of Israel. And suddenly you hear someone speaking in your mother’s language. They’re from Galilee, you’re from far away, and they’re speaking your heart language without ever having learned it.
Each one of them heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7 Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9 Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10 Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11 Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking abut God’s deeds of power.” 12 All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?”
All four points on the compass. Jews from all the world are in Jerusalem for the festival. Some of those peoples didn’t even exist anymore—the Medes had passed from history long since. Pentecost transcends not just language but also time. You head home from the harvest festival and imagine how to explain to your loved ones: I experienced the strangest thing. People who don’t know our language miraculously spoke it. And told us about a resurrected rabbi who’s saving the universe.
Back to today. Have you ever felt so close to God it was like you were burning? Have you ever felt so driven by God it was like a hurricane at your back? Have you ever felt so inspired it was like you could speak a language you never learned? That’s what the God of Pentecost offers us all.
We celebrate Christmas right around here, don’t we? Costumes, plays, live animals, the works. Pentecost, less of a big deal. But it’s not less important. On Christmas, God the Son comes to dwell with us in human flesh for our salvation. On Pentecost, God the Spirit comes to dwell with us in human flesh for our salvation. And the images used are basic to human life. Can’t live long without breath. Without fire. As important as breath and fire are, language might be more important still. You can live for a few minutes without air, a bit longer without warmth, but not for a moment without story, without meaning. Had I been a writing consultant on the Bible, I might suggest a baby at Pentecost. Always knocks ‘em dead. Pentecost shows that Christianity is a Jewish renewal movement. Jews from all over the world hear our story anew and are saved by it. There’s not a single non-Jew among Jesus’ family, his twelve, or at this first Pentecost—God is renewing his beloved people Israel, with wind, fire, and language.
You may know something about modern Pentecostalism from friends or relatives. Some of you in here grew up in one or the other Pentecostal church (Dayle, Hugh, Lois). In the early 1900s black and white people gathered together and expected God to show up in the same way as at the first Pentecost: with signs and wonders. And sure enough: folks could speak strange languages, healings multiplied, and faith became new again. God is undomesticated and free and is saving. And the people God is gathering, are all the “wrong” people.
If you go to a Pentecostal church today, you might hear someone pray in an ecstatic language, a sort of gibberish to outsiders but a language of tenderness and affection to them. I respect and admire that, but that’s not quite what happens in our story. In Acts, the disciples speak fluently in languages in which they’ve never been tutored. Arabic without Duolingo. Languages of Mesopotamia without ever studying them in high school. Can you imagine language pouring out of you that you never learned, and a stranger says, ‘hey, that’s my language!’ That’s the miracle of Pentecost: God grants unearned connection.
I was in the Sahara desert once (believe it or not). We were college students in Spain and my friend convinced me to go to Morocco: come on, it’ll be like white water rafting or skiing or something. Okay. Except in the desert, on camels. Word. Sure enough, we had a blast. Stars brighter than belief. Berber guides with no English but versed in the language of cooking and song. They had four of us Americans dancing around the fire until a scorpion appeared. Freaked us out. Suddenly we were miles from safety and very much afraid. Our guide started speaking in a mess of Arabic: naming cities, mentioning Allah, saying “no problem.” And suddenly I could translate: Oh, he’s saying he’s been all over this desert and nothing bad ever happens because God is with us. My friends looked at me like I’d grown a second head. He was speaking the language of faith. I knew that language.
Another time I was in France at Notre Dame as a tourist. And a French couple approached. This never happens. Paris is great for many things, but friendly locals: not on the list. And they started speaking in broken English about Pentecost. Fire, wind, new languages, come in, starts soon. They were willing to use broken English to invite us. That’s Pentecost, a miracle of language. Come inside to learn more. I wish we had. Can you imagine being so joyous about God that you’ll use a language you’re not comfortable in to tell a tourist about it? And you’re Parisian?! Mon Dieu. Come to church, you will like it.
Language is a sort of ordinary miracle. One of us makes sound, it travels through space to the ear of another, who interprets that noise, and more or less gets it. It’s astonishing if you think of it. Other animals communicate too: food here, danger there, let’s play or fight. We human beings can also talk about literature, and history, and science, and love. Pentecost takes this ordinary miracle of language and doubles down on it. Imagine you could suddenly read all of Cervantes without studying Spanish. Or know all the Ojibwe stories and dances without learning them. All of Dante without Italian. I’ve told you before that Jorge Luis Borges imagines that heaven is a kind of library. Sounds like the other place to some. But imagine having all the time and patience to learn all the glories we humans have ever come up with. You know how it’s kind of a demanding gift to give someone a book. Oh great, now I have to read this. Imagine you could also offer them the time and language to do so. A heavenly gift that.
The Holy Spirit is God’s gift of language and fire.
There was a time when I wanted to follow Jesus without the church. I was so aware of the church’s failings, why bother? It just gets in the way of the gospel. A friend corrected me. Jason, I work in the church, trust me, I know its failings better than you do. The church is like a crazy mom. She wounds you. And she’s also the only way to life. Trying to be a Christian without the church is like trying to climb Everest on your own. Or paddle the Atlantic. Brave, but you’ll die. We are made to need other people. Jesus doesn’t even try to follow God on his own—he picks twelve, then all the rest of us.
I used to ask a business friend how business was, and he always said fine, except for the customers and the employees. Uh, without which, there is no business. When I taught, I’d love the university campus in the summers and other breaks. No students! Perfect! Uh, that’s not what universities are for—to be student-less. Someone wise suggested that if you want to keep your ship safe, keep it in port. But that’s not what ships are for. Human beings are for other human beings. And we people can be the worst to each other. I’m never surprised when someone’s hurt by the church. Sorry, people here, we all have fangs and claws. Here’s the thing. God only uses compromised hopeless human beings to bring about salvation. The early church said it this way: extra ecclesiam nulla salus, outside the church, no salvation. It wasn’t a comment on Jews or Muslims; it’s about the way God saves. Corporately. With others. The church is like Noah’s Ark. You couldn’t stand the smell or noise inside except for the storm outside. Scripture describes the church as God’s bride, God’s body, God’s daughter. Things you can’t do without—would never want to.
I love the United Church, the gift of union with others you would not have chosen. Wherever Jesus works we see church there and join in. We were also born in the temperance movement, an effort to make all of Canada Christian and sober. I understand and respect that but don’t love it the same way. We were also born to compete with Catholic immigrants who we were afraid would join Quebec and make Canada Catholic. I’m embarrassed by that. There is no perfect church. There’s just the bunch of sinners you’re being saved with. If there were a perfect church, and you or I joined in, we’d ruin it! And if there were, how would you learn forgiveness? How would you learn to be forgiven?
You know how people ask what your favourite Bible verse is? Here’s a naughty answer. Titus 1:12, Paul quotes a poet, “Cretans are always liars, vicious brutes, lazy gluttons” (I guess it rhymes in some other language). But Paul, look whose language is spoken at Pentecost—Cretans, there they are, Acts 2:11. Folks from Crete hear the language their mama taught them at the breast and learn about Jesus. And look who’s mentioned next? Arabs. Arabic is a New Testament language, ٱلْحَمْدُ لِلَّٰهِ. There is no language God won’t speak to get to us. Happy birthday United Church of Canada. Happy birthday to the whole church of Jesus Christ. Revive us again, Lord. Amen.