Feast of Pentecost - 2025

Sermon for The Feast of Pentecost, Year C
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
The Rev. Andrew McLarty

I speak to you in the name of the One God: Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer.

Today, we celebrate Pentecost—the rushing wind, the tongues of fire, the sudden understanding across barriers of language and culture. It is a day of divine disruption, a day when God refuses to be confined by our expectations. This was no gentle nudge. This was God breaking through. The same God who spoke creation into being, who breathed life into dust, who led Israel through fire and cloud—this God was now pouring out the Spirit upon all flesh. Not just prophets and kings, but sons and daughters, young and old, even servants. No one was left out.

And yet, in our Gospel reading, we hear Jesus speaking of the Holy Spirit not as a force of chaos, but as a presence of peace. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.” How do we reconcile these two images—the Spirit as both fire and peace, as both Advocate and Companion?

The Spirit as Advocate

In John’s Gospel, Jesus calls the Spirit the Paraclete—translated often as “Advocate.” This is a legal term, one who stands beside us in trial, who speaks on our behalf when we have no words. The disciples would soon face persecution, and Jesus assures them they will not be left defenseless. The Spirit will testify to the truth of Christ even when the world rejects it.

This is still true for us. There are moments when we feel on trial—when faith seems foolish, when love feels weak, when hope is dismissed as naïve. The Spirit does not erase these struggles but enters into them, reminding us that the world’s judgment is not final. The various powers of this age may seem monolithic, but the Spirit testifies to a deeper truth: that love is stronger than hate, that life conquers death.

The Spirit as Companion

But Paraclete is also translated as Companion—literally, “one who breaks bread with us.” This is the Spirit who dwells within, who walks beside us in the ordinary and the extraordinary. Jesus says, “I will not leave you orphaned.” The Spirit is not a distant force but an intimate presence, the breath of God filling our lungs, the quiet voice that whispers, You are not alone.

This, too, is Pentecost. The same Spirit that descended in fire also dwells in the stillness of our hearts. The same Spirit that empowered the disciples to speak boldly also gathers us—here, now—as one body. We are not a people abandoned. We are a people indwelled.

The Spirit Who Sends

Pentecost is not just about the Spirit’s arrival; it’s about the Spirit’s sending. The disciples did not stay in that upper room, marveling at the miracle. They went out—into streets, into synagogues, into the homes of strangers. The Spirit does not exist for our comfort alone but for our commissioning.

And so, we ask: Where is the Spirit sending us? Into what brokenness are we called to speak peace? To whom are we sent to testify—not with grand theological arguments, but with simple acts of love? The Spirit does not demand eloquence, only faithfulness.

A People of Fire and Peace

This is the paradox of Pentecost: We are a people of both fire and peace. The fire that unsettles, that disrupts, that refuses to let us grow complacent. The peace that reassures, that sustains, that reminds us we are held even in the storm.

So come, Holy Spirit. Advocate and Companion. Stir us to courage; calm us with grace. Send us into the world—not as orphans, but as children of God.

Amen.