Sermon for Pentecost 2026

preached by Jenny Pittaway, Licensed Lay Minister on Sunday 24 May 2026

Readings: Acts 2: 1-11. 1 Corinthians 12: 3-7, 12-13. John 20: 19-23.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

There are moments in the Christian year when the Church seems to inhale, quietly, expectantly, and then breathe out with a force that changes everything. Pentecost is one of those moments. It is the feast of God’s breath, God’s fire, God’s wild, creative, boundary breaking Spirit.

It is the day the Church discovers its voice. And it begins, strangely enough, with waiting.

Our reading from Acts tells us that the disciples are gathered in one place. They are simply waiting, because Jesus told them to. waiting in prayer, waiting in uncertainty. Waiting, perhaps, in fear. They have seen the risen Christ, yes, but they have not yet understood what it means to be his Body in the world.

And then it happens. A sound like a rushing mighty wind. Tongues as of fire. Speech that bursts forth in languages they never learned.

But the real miracle is not the fire or the wind. The real miracle is that the Spirit gathers what is scattered. Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and all people who would never normally understand one another suddenly hear the apostles speaking in the Mother tongue of each listener. The Spirit does not erase difference; the Spirit harmonises it. The Spirit does not flatten humanity into sameness; the Spirit weaves difference into communion.

This is the first mark of the Church: a community where the barriers that divide the world, language, culture, suspicion, fear, are overcome by the love of God poured out in the Spirit. Pentecost is not merely a historical event. It is the ongoing work of God to renew, refresh, and re create. The Spirit is always making the Church young again, always calling us out of tiredness into life, always breathing hope into places where we have grown weary. The Church, every parish, every community, needs that renewing breath. We need it in our worship, in our ministries, in our relationships, in our vision.

We need the Spirit to lift us from maintenance into mission, from anxiety into trust, from nostalgia into hope.

St Paul, writing to a community that was fractious, gifted, and occasionally chaotic, reminds us that the Spirit’s gifts are many, but the Giver is one. Wisdom, knowledge, healing, prophecy, discernment, tongues, all poured out for the building up of the Body of Christ.

And here we find Pentecost becoming very local, very practical, very parish shaped.

Because after Mass today, we gather for our Annual Parochial Church Meeting. Now, this meeting may not come with tongues of fire, though one never knows,

but it is, in its own way, a Pentecostal moment. It is a moment when we recognise the gifts God has placed among us, when we listen for the Spirit’s prompting about our common life, and when we remember that the Church is not built on the talents of a few but on the gifts of the whole Body. It is the Body of Christ discerning how best to use the gifts the Spirit has given for the sake of the Gospel in this place. Paul’s words remind us that no gift is too small, no contribution insignificant. The Spirit delights in diversity of personality, of skill, of temperament, of calling.

Some are gifted in prayer, some in administration, some in hospitality, some in teaching, some in music, some in quiet acts of service that no one sees but God. All are needed. All are Spirit given. All are holy.

And then we hear Jesus in the Gospel, standing among the disciples on the evening of the first day of the week. The doors are locked, the fear is real, and into that fear Jesus speaks the words that echo through every Eucharist:

“Peace be with you.”

He shows them his wounds, the marks of love that has gone all the way to the end, and then he breathes on them and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”

This is John’s Pentecost. No wind, no fire, no crowds, just the quiet breath of the risen Christ, giving his own life to his friends. And then he sends them:

“As the Father has sent me, even so I am sending you.”

Pentecost is not only about what happens inside the Church. It is about what the Church becomes for the world. The Spirit is given not for our comfort but for our mission. Not to warm our hearts but to set them ablaze. Not to keep us safe behind locked doors but to propel us outward into the world God loves. So, what does Pentecost ask of us today, in this parish, in this year, in this moment? The Spirit is not finished with us. The Church is not a museum; it is a living Body. Where we have grown weary, the Spirit breathes life. Where we have grown cautious, the Spirit gives courage. Where we have grown comfortable, the Spirit stirs us to holy restlessness.

Pentecost invites us to ask:

Where is God calling us to be renewed?

Where is God nudging us to step out in faith?

We are all bearers of the Spirit’s gifts.

Some gifts are visible; others are quiet and hidden. All are needed. Our APCM is not simply a review of the past year; it is a moment of discernment. A moment to ask: What gifts has God placed among us? How might those gifts serve the Gospel in the year ahead?

Where is the Spirit calling us to grow, to deepen, to stretch? Jesus breathes peace upon his disciples. Not a peace that avoids conflict, but a peace rooted in his wounded love.

In a world marked by division, suspicion, and fear, the Church is called to be a place where peace is practiced, in our conversations, in our decisions, in our disagreements, in our shared life. The APCM is an opportunity to embody that peace.

To speak with charity, to listen with humility, to disagree with grace, to discern with patience. The Spirit is not present where there is bitterness or rivalry; the Spirit is present where there is love.

Pentecost propels us outward, into our homes, our workplaces, our schools, our city, as bearers of Christ’s peace. The Spirit does not let the Church stay behind closed doors. The Spirit pushes us into the world with courage, compassion, and joy.

Our parish exists not for itself but for the mission of God. Everything we do, our worship, our outreach, our pastoral care, our stewardship, is part of that mission.

The fire of Pentecost is not destructive; it is refining. It burns away fear, cynicism, and smallness of vision.

It kindles in us the love that makes the Church radiant. And the breath of Pentecost is not a momentary gust; it is the steady, sustaining breath of Christ himself, breathing peace into our hearts and life into our Parish and beyond.

So today, as we come to the altar, we do what the disciples did: we wait, we open our hearts, and we ask for the Spirit’s renewing breath. And then, strengthened by the Body and Blood of Christ, we go, into our meeting, into our daily lives, as people who have been set alight with the love of Christ. Amen.