Pentecost 2025 – Renewing the face of the earth.

 Texts:  Psalm 104. Acts 2.1-21 and John 14.8-17 (& 25-27).

_____________________________

NOTE:  I'd LOVE to know what you think about this sermon!  Do take a moment to post a comment at the end!

_____________________________

They were all together in one place. That’s how it begins — and we might as well start there, because already, it’s a minor miracle. In a world as fragmented as ours, the idea of all God’s people being together in one place — mentally, spiritually, or even geographically — sounds like the kind of thing only the Holy Spirit could pull off.  But what really happened on that first Pentecost?

Luke gives us a rousing account: a sound like a rushing wind, flames dancing on heads, a wild outburst of languages no one had taught, and a crowd amazed — not just that the disciples were speaking foreign tongues, but that they were understood.  And that detail is key. Pentecost is not just about noise and spectacle.  It’s about the Spirit of God making sense out of chaos — creating connection across difference — renewing the face of the earth, not with a magic wand, but with understanding, with truth.

But let’s be honest: have you ever heard a crowd suddenly shout out a complete list of nationalities? “Parthians! Medes! Elamites!” It’s as if a press officer from the tourist board got hold of the script. No, something deeper was happening. This wasn’t a journalism report. It was a poetic moment.  Luke is doing theology, not reportage.  He is attempting to describe the indescribable, to name the effect of what happened more than the mechanics.

So perhaps we imagine it differently. Perhaps the disciples, still blinking at their own boldness, began to speak — maybe falteringly at first — to the strangers around them. And as they spoke, the words landed. They hit home. And people who’d never met before found that they were, in some strange way, known. Understood. Drawn together. For a moment, the world wasn’t a Babel of confusion — it was a communion of spirit.  One traditional way of understanding this key moment, this birthday of the church, is that at Pentecost, the disruption of the common tongue at the Tower of Babel is, for a glorious, poetic, but brief moment, undone.

Our Psalm, just now, had the lovely refrain, ‘Send forth your spirit, O Lord, and renew the face of the earth’.  Pentecost gives us the first hint at how the Spirit might still renew the face of the earth: by restoring understanding. In our fragmented world of echo chambers, fake news, tribal politics and international distrust, the Spirit’s whisper is one of truth, of clarity, of connection. Jesus said the Spirit would “lead us into all truth” — not “my truth” or “your truth” or “the truth according to the algorithm” — but into the truth, the deep truth that flows from the heart of God. Truth that humbles, truth that frees, truth that shines like sunlight through a dirty window — suddenly revealing all the smears and streaks we’d rather not see.

And yes, that might be uncomfortable.

But truth-telling is one of the Spirit’s great gifts. It’s why the Spirit so often shows up among the prophets — those inconvenient people who tell us what we’d rather not hear. That our lifestyles are killing the planet. That our politics serve the powerful. That our faith, sometimes, is more about our comfort than our calling.

Still, the Spirit doesn’t come only to confront. The Spirit also inspires, strengthens, consoles. The word “spirit” in Hebrew — ruach — means breath, wind, life-force. That rushing wind of Pentecost wasn’t just theatrics. It was the sound of creation being stirred up again. A divine defibrillator shocking the church into life.

And how we need that breath now!  We are winded — by war, by climate breakdown, by injustice, by despair. And too many of us — in our churches, in our politics, even in our own hearts — are gasping for breath. Pentecost is a reminder that we are not alone, not abandoned, not powerless. There is breath for us still. There is life for us still. And not just for us, but for the world.

“Send forth your Spirit, O Lord, and renew the face of the earth.”

That refrain is not just poetic — it is a plea, and it is a programme. It means we need to become participants in the Spirit’s work. And we can start small. We renew the face of the earth when we care for creation — plant a tree, skip a flight, fight for green policies and an Eco-church. We renew the face of the earth when we speak truth with love — in the pulpit, the pub, or the family WhatsApp group.  We renew the face of the earth when we refuse to give in to cynicism, and instead bear witness to joy.

And we renew the face of the earth when we make space for the Spirit in our own souls. That may mean silence, prayer, listening — and yes, perhaps some holy courage. Because the Spirit, once invited, has a habit of making demands. Of sending us out to speak uncomfortable truths. To cross borders. To forgive enemies. To hope against hope.

The Spirit doesn’t always make things easy — but he does make things possible.

And before we finish, let me leave you with this one whimsical thought. I sometimes imagine the moment just before Pentecost, when the disciples are sat nervously in that upper room. Peter is pacing and Thomas is already halfway out the door, muttering something about “foolish optimism.” And someone — probably Mary — says, “Just wait. Something’s coming.”

And it did.

And it still does.

The Spirit still comes — not usually with fire and wind, but more often with a nudge, a whisper, a breath.

So let’s be ready. Let’s be expectant. Let’s be inspired.  Let’s open our hearts to the Spirit of God — the One who renews, the One who leads into truth, the One who reminds us that no matter how broken the world may seem, the story is not finished. Because when God sends forth his Spirit, the face of the earth is renewed.  Amen.
________________________________________________
DID YOU ENJOY THIS SERMON?  DID YOU HATE IT?  PLEASE take a moment to make a comment, so that I can get better at this sermon-writing lark!