The Church Was Not Born to be Vague

Pentecost, truth-telling, and the kind of community the Spirit creates

Acts 2:1-24, 36-47

Sunday, May 24, 2026

Rev. David R. Collins

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How many of you like celebrating your birthday?

How many don’t?

And how many feel just kind of conflicted about it?

I’m with the conflicted.

On the positive side, there’s cake. And text messages. Maybe a little trip.

On the negative side…well...sometimes the mirror is a surprise.

But there is something about getting older that I really do appreciate.

I like who I am today much more than I used to like me. I know what I believe and why. I know what I no longer believe, and I don’t feel the need to apologize for it or hedge my bets a little.

Maybe that’s why birthdays make us feel conflicted. They invite us to celebrate who we are now, but they also make us look back. And looking back at the past… my past in particular… can make me cringe a little.

Not because everything back there was terrible. It wasn’t.

But because I can see things now that I couldn’t see then, or chose not to see. I can see places where more certain than I had any right to be. More afraid than I knew how to admit.

And that’s part of what makes birthdays strange. They’re not just celebrations of age. They’re little confrontations with change. And every year, whether we want it to or not, a birthday asks us to tell the truth. Not just about how old we are, but about who we were, and who we’re becoming.

Pentecost Sunday

Today is Pentecost Sunday. The birthday of the church.

And the story we tell today isn’t a birth story like your mom might have regaled you with “I was in active labor for 60 hours with you!”

And most of our birth stories, as meaningful as they are to the people who love us, don’t really set the direction for our lives. They don’t tell us who we are supposed to become. Even if your mom insists that when you were born the room filled with light and everyone knew you were a literal angel…that probably says more about your mom than about you.

But Pentecost is different.

The story of the church’s birth actually does tell us something about what the church is supposed to be. It sets the pattern. It shows us what happens when the Spirit of God gets loose among ordinary people and turns them into something they could never have become on their own.

And when we look closely at Pentecost, we see the shape of the church God intends to create.

A church where failure is not the end of the story.

A church willing to tell the truth about what is broken.

A church where people belong to each other in real, costly ways.

And a church whose love is visible enough, generous enough, and loud enough that people have to ask, “What does this mean?”

That’s the bar Pentecost sets. Not perfection. But a Spirit-filled life together that could not be explained any other way.

Acts 2 begins like this:

1 When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place.

Now, Pentecost was not originally a Christian holiday. It was, and still is, a Jewish festival. The disciples were gathered because they were faithful Jews, and also because they had seen the risen Jesus. They had watched him die and seen him alive again. And before he ascended, he told them to wait.

So that’s what they’re doing.

They’re not strategizing. They don’t have a five-year plan and a fog machine.

They’re waiting. Which is one of the hardest things faithful people ever have to do.

2 And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3 Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

5 Now there were devout Jews from every people under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6 And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one 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?

Now there’s a question people have asked for a long time about this passage. Was the miracle that they spoke in languages they had never learned? Or was the miracle that the people gathered there could understand them in their own languages?

The text kind of gives us both. But I’ll tell you where I lean.

I think the miracle is that people understood.

Misunderstanding is one of the oldest problems in the world. We can use the same words and still not hear each other. We can live in the same house, sit in the same pew, read the same Bible, and somehow walk away with completely different ideas of what just happened.

But at Pentecost, the Spirit makes the good news understandable.

Not hidden behind religious insider language. Not trapped in one culture or one accent,

Understandable.

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 about God’s deeds of power.”

It’s a whole map full of people.

Different places, languages, and cultures. Different histories. Some were born Jewish. Some had converted. Some were visitors. Some lived there. But all of them heard about what God had done in a way they could understand.

From the very beginning, the church is not born as a little club for people who already know how to talk to each other. It’s born in diversity, with the Spirit refusing to let one group of people own the story.

12 All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?”

13 But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”

Which is a Bible way of saying, “These people are drunk.”

Whenever the Spirit starts moving, there will always be somebody standing off to the side with notes. When people unite across lines that others think God ordained, they will have things to say about that.

There will always be haters. That’s the technical theological term.

But the funny thing is, sometimes the critics help spread the word better than the supporters do. They’re louder, for one thing. And when you’re busy actually doing the thing God has called you to do, they often have more free time to complain about it.

And the complaint gets people looking.

What’s going on over there?

Why are they not acting the way we expect them to?

You know, if no one has any strong feelings about what you’re doing, it might be worth asking whether you’re doing anything that matters. The point is not to be hated. Please don’t go home and make that your goal. Some people are disliked for very good reasons, and the reason is not “faithfulness.” Sometimes the reason is “personality.”

The point is to live the way God has inspired us to live.

But living that way always involves more than letting our actions speak for themselves. Actions matter, of course. If our lives don’t testify our words won’t carry much weight.

But words matter too.

At Pentecost, the Spirit does not just create a new kind of community. The Spirit helps people hear and understand. And then Peter stands up and says out loud what this means.

The church was not born to be vague. At some point, the church has to get real specific.

14 But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Fellow Jews and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. 15 Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning.

And if that didn’t get a laugh, Peter should have stopped right then and there.

And this is Peter, which matters.

Not that long before this, Peter had also gotten real specific with his words, but not in a good way. He had insisted, loudly, that even if everybody else abandoned Jesus, he never would. Then, when the pressure came, he denied three times that he even knew him.

So when Peter stands up here, he is not standing up as the guy who got it all right the first time. He is standing up as living proof of one of our deepest values around here: it’s never too late to start over.

The Spirit does not wait for Peter to have a spotless record. The Spirit doesn’t say, “Actually, maybe let someone with a better performance record handle the sermon.”

No. The Spirit fills Peter, and Peter stands up.

Grace does not erase your past, but it can redeem it. And sometimes the person who failed publicly is exactly the person who can stand up and say, “Listen… something new is happening here.”

That’s what Peter says, using the words of the Bible that he knows because he studied it for himself.

16 No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:

17 ‘In the last days it will be, God declares,

that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,

and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,

and your young men shall see visions,

and your old men shall dream dreams.

18 Even upon my slaves, both men and women,

in those days I will pour out my Spirit,

and they shall prophesy.

19 And I will show portents in the heaven above

and signs on the earth below,

blood, and fire, and smoky mist.

20 The sun shall be turned to darkness

and the moon to blood,

before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day.

21 Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’

Peter reaches for Joel because he needs language big enough for what is happening.

Blood and fire. Smoke and darkness. The moon turned to blood.

That sounds to some Christians like the end of the world, but that misses the point. Apocalyptic language is not some secret conspiracy for people who think this world is just a test we have to pass before God burns it all down.

It is the Bible’s way of narrating when one world is ending and another is being born.

Pentecost is one of those moments. Not the end of the world. But the end of a world where only some people get to speak for God.

And what Peter says next is one of those things polished preachers are taught not to do.

Don’t alienate the audience. Don’t say “you” too much. Keep it general enough that everyone can nod along and feel like the sharp parts are pointed at someone else.

But Peter is not polished. And the truth is not abstract.

The truth has names, and dates, and bodies. The truth has people who participated, people who benefited, people who looked away, and all of them would rather not talk about it now.

Move on. Leave the past in the past.

So Peter says:

22 “Fellow Israelites, listen to what I have to say: Jesus of Nazareth, a man attested to you by God with deeds of power, wonders, and signs that God did through him among you, as you yourselves know— 23 this man, handed over to you according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of those outside the law. 24 But God raised him up, having released him from the agony of death, because it was impossible for him to be held in its power.

You did it. Not someone else. You.

And just so we’re clear, Peter is saying “you” to them, not you. You’re lovely.

But you get it, right? These are the things that are impolite to point out.

And politeness has its place. I’m pro-manners. Use your turn signal. Say thank you. And most of all, don’t use speakerphone in public!

But politeness is not a Christian virtue. The truth will set you free, but first it will tick you off. So Peter says it again:

36 “Therefore let the entire house of Israel know with certainty that God has made him both Lord and Messiah, this Jesus whom you crucified.”

There it is again. Whom you crucified.

Peter names what happened because you cannot repent vaguely. You can’t heal vaguely. You cannot fight to fix what is actually broken if you refuse to say what is actually broken, and how it got that way.

That is why naming names matters.

Not because shame is the goal. Shame just makes people hide. Peter is not trying to trap them in guilt. He is telling the truth so they can finally ask the right question. Which they do.

37 Now when they heard this, they were cut to the heart and said to Peter and to the other apostles, “Brothers, what should we do?”

Not, well that’s your opinion. Not, how dare you? But “What should we do?”

And Peter tells them, “You know, just whatever feels best to you.” NO!

38 Peter said to them, “Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. 39 For the promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him.” 40 And he testified with many other arguments and exhorted them, saying, “Save yourselves from this corrupt generation.”

It’s funny how context changes the way you hear a verse.

There was a time when “this corrupt generation” sounded really judgmental to me. Like Peter had preached this powerful grace-filled sermon and then ended with, “Also, everyone is terrible.”

But I don’t hear it that way anymore! I get it now.

Sometimes a generation really is corrupt. When cruelty is policy, and greed is wisdom, and fear is patriotism, and religion gets dragged in to bless the whole thing. Yeah. There’s no saving that.

So when Peter says, “Save yourselves from this corrupt generation” He’s saying “Don’t get swept away with it. Don’t confuse what’s popular or expedient with what’s right. And for the love of God, don’t bow down to idols!”

So Peter’s words aren’t judgy. They’re urgent.

Repent. Be baptized. Receive the Spirit. And become part of a different kind of people.

41 So those who welcomed his message were baptized, and that day about three thousand persons were added. 42 They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.

That part sounds like church to us. That sounds like Sunday morning, Bible study, communion, prayer list, coffee hour. Parking lot. We know what to do with that part.

But Luke does not stop there.

Because the church was not born so that spiritual people could have spiritual feelings in spiritual rooms.

The church was born as an alternative to “this corrupt generation.” And what follows is now, and always has been the prescription for what it means to be the opposite of this corrupt generation of “I got mine” and and “if they wanted help, they should have made better choices.”

Luke says the Spirit created a people who shared what they had, paid attention to need, opened their homes, and lived with generous hearts.

43 Awe came upon everyone because many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. 44 All who believed were together and had all things in common; 45 they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. 46 Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, 47 praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.

That is not church as content delivery. That is not church as a weekly spiritual recharge station. That is real community.

A people who took responsibility for one another. And I know, this is the part where we all get a little nervous, because Luke gets specific that they shared possessions. They sold what they had. They distributed the proceeds to any who had need.

Which sounds beautiful in the Bible, and suspicious in America. But there it is.

The first thing the Spirit does after creating the church is make them generous, and responsible for each other.

Pentecost is not just the church’s origin story. It is the church’s birthday story.

Which means every year we need to ask those birthday questions.

Who were we?

Who are we now?

And who are we becoming?

Are we becoming a church where it is never too late to start over, or are we still sorting people by their worst day?

Are we becoming a church that fights to fix what is actually broken, or are we protecting our comfort by keeping the truth vague?

Are we becoming a church that insists on real community, or are we settling for friendly proximity?

Are we becoming a church that loves loud, or are we hoping people will somehow guess that we care?

Pentecost does not call us to celebrate the birthday of the church.

Pentecost calls us to become the church again.

Because the Spirit is still being poured out.

On sons and daughters. And those in-between.

On young and old.

On people with spotless records, and people like Peter.

On people who got it right the first time, if those people exist, and on the rest of us, who very much did not.

The promise is for you. For your children. For all who are far away. For everyone whom the Lord our God calls.

So what should we do?

Repent.

Remember our baptism.

Receive the Spirit.

Tell the truth.

Share what we have.

Break bread with glad and generous hearts.

And become the kind of people who make the world ask, “What does this mean?”

Because that is the church’s birthday calling.

Not perfection.

But a Spirit-filled life together that could not be explained any other way.