Sermon – Pentecost
Sermon Preached by Reverend Tracey Gracey on Sunday, 8 June, 2025
They gathered not with purpose bold,
But bearing stories, worn and old.
With aching hope and prayers unsure,
Still holding wounds they couldn’t cure.
They’d seen the cross, the empty grave,
But paused in fear, not yet made brave.
What now? What next? What could it mean,
To walk in faith through the in-between.
The days following Easter were filled with mystery and emotion
for Jesus’ friends. They’d seen everything fall apart at the cross,
and then something new began at the empty tomb—
something they didn’t fully understand.
Even with the joy of resurrection,
their questions remained.
The disciples were caught in the middle—
grieving what was and unsure of what was to come.
Perhaps we’ve experienced that feeling too.
Trusting, yet still wondering. Holding hope alongside uncertainty.
Pentecost meets us right there—in the space where faith is alive,
yet still waiting and yearning for clarity and direction.
Their hands still shook, their voices low,
Their hearts unsure of where to go.
Yet in that room, so still, so small,
A quiet strength began to call.
For the disciples, that upper room wasn’t just a hiding place—
it became a space of waiting.
They didn’t know what the Spirit would look like, or sound like.
But Jesus had said, “You will not be left alone.”
He promised them a Helper, an Advocate.
Someone who would come alongside them, not just to comfort,
but to empower. So they waited.
And we, too, find ourselves in rooms like that.
Moments of stillness that feel like nothing is happening—
until we notice that something is.
There’s a strength that calls in the quiet.
A Spirit that begins to steady our breathing, deepen our prayers, nudge us toward courage.
The doors were shut, but not the heart,
The room was still, then came the spark.
The wind that stirs, the flame that sings,
The breath of God in ordinary things.
When the Spirit came at Pentecost, it wasn’t just noise and fire.
It was breath. Wind. Flame. The Spirit entered the very air the disciples breathed—God’s presence poured into ordinary people.
The same power they had seen in Jesus—
his peace, his truth, his compassion—was now alive in them.
Jesus had said, “You know the Spirit, for he lives with you
and will be in you.”
Pentecost is when that promise took root.
No longer was God just alongside them—God was now within them.
They didn’t just remember Jesus’ works—they began to live them.
That’s what the Spirit does: takes what we’ve heard and believed and makes it real in us. Not by changing our circumstances,
but by changing us from within.
No trumpet call, no mighty show,
Just presence in the quiet glow.
A holy nudge, a gentle breeze,
And finds us in our silent pleas.
The Spirit didn’t come to impress. The Spirit came to stay.
Not as a guest who visits now and then, but as a companion,
a presence that abides.
Jesus described this presence as the Spirit of Truth—
the One who reminds, reveals, and guides.
Not with pressure, but with presence.
As an Advocate, who literally, is the one who stands beside you.
That same Spirit stands with us.
Sometimes bold—but often quiet.
A deep breath before we speak.
A clarity that rises in confusion.
A nudge to reach out and check in on someone.
A peace that doesn’t always make sense but feels steady when everything else feels like it is falling apart.
That’s how the disciples were changed.
Not by being told to be brave, but by receiving something deeper:
a Spirit that reminded them of all they had seen in Jesus,
who then told them—Now it’s your turn.
Their weakness wasn’t erased.
But it was no longer the end of the story.
And maybe that’s the invitation of Pentecost for us. Not to pretend we’re stronger than we are, but to open ourselves again to the One who still whispers truth, still breathes peace, still nudges us into the next faithful step.
Through art or truth, through dance or care,
The Spirit speaks—if we are there.
Not everyone will preach or teach,
But kindness is its own clear speech.
At Pentecost, people didn’t just hear words—
they heard their own language.
Their own heart language.
That’s the beauty of the Spirit
—it speaks through whatever gifts we offer.
The Spirit doesn’t need us to be alike.
The Spirit needs us to be available.
To notice that what we love—what brings us alive—
For this might be the very place that God speaks through us.
We make a space, both wide and deep,
Where silence wakes, and longings speak.
The Spirit waits in sacred pause,
To shape our lives with holy cause.
The Spirit doesn’t rush. Doesn’t force. It waits for openness.
For the kind of faith that doesn’t need all the answers,
but is willing to be formed.
And that is the heart of Pentecost—not a single event in history,
but a living, breathing movement. God’s own life in us.
Shaping us. Sending us. Speaking through us.
So take the spark, though small it seems,
And trust the Spirit shapes your dreams.
Through trembling steps and quiet grace,
May you shine with faith in every place.
Amen