Sermon by Tom Are Jr. | June 8, 2025 | Fourth Presbyterian Church

Pentecost Sunday
June 8, 2025

Holiday Blues

Tom Are Jr.
Interim Pastor

Joel 2:28–29
Acts 2:1–13

Well, it’s Pentecost. The birthday of the church. It’s the day to remind ourselves that God wanted the world to have a church. Church isn’t our idea; it’s God’s idea. So here we are on Pentecost. Happy birthday.

I’m not much into it, to tell you the truth. I love Christmas, and I love Easter. Not a big fan of Pentecost. I suppose I shouldn’t say that out loud, but it’s not like you are going to fire me now.

Pentecost is so intimidating. On Pentecost the Spirit moved so clearly you could hear her. You could see the Spirit as tongues of fire. She was visible! So much so these previously scaredy-cat disciples emerged as multilingual preachers, and by the end of the day 3000 people joined the church. In one day! Nancy Davis was updating the Session records this week, and I asked her when we last had 3000 people join the church on one Sunday. She said, “I’ll have to check,” but I think it’s been some time. I have never had a day like that when the Spirit is so obvious and so dramatic — even visible. Makes you wonder if the Spirit still works like this anymore. Maybe she’s lost her A game. Or gone into retirement? It happens.

Or maybe it’s less the Spirit and more the church that has lost her A game. It’s hard to live up to Pentecost.

I shouldn’t complain, but Pentecost turns me into Gene.

Gene was in the church in which I grew up. Gene seemed happiest when he was miserable. His favorite saying was, “You know me, I’m no stranger to suffering.” “Gene, how’s it going?” “You know me, I’m no stranger to suffering.”

“I hear you went to the beach, Gene.” “Yeah, I’ll never do that again. Got sunburned the first day. I used sunblock, but it streaked; I looked like a candy cane. I’m no stranger to suffering, I tell ya.”

“Gene, did you get a new car?” “Yes, but it’s white. They only had a white one, and you know how they show the dirt. I’ll have to wash it all the time, but that’s OK.”

Even if things were going pretty well, he knew it was just a matter of time. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it, Gene?” “Oh, yeah, now maybe. But it’s supposed to get hot as blue blazes this weekend. Gonna melt your hair. Not that I mind, I’m no stranger to suffering, but you won’t hear me complaining, no sir.”

Pentecost turns me into Gene. It’s an intimidating day.

There was a Pentecost early in my ministry when I tried to boost the spirit a bit. Red flowers up front. The table was set. We tied red balloons to the ends of the pews.

It was going to be perfect. We didn’t have anyone joining the church, but it looked like a party in a Presbyterian kind of way.

It looked festive as folks came in, but then folks began to slide their arms over the ends of the pews and dislodged some of the balloons. It was hard to preach while every now and then another balloon would launch.

The sacristy guild usually set the communion elements out on Saturday night, but there was a conflict, so they set them out Friday night. The bread was one of those hard-crusted breads, and after sitting out for two days, one needed a jackhammer to break it. I felt like a fool when I said, “Jesus took the loaf and he blessed it, and he … And he … and he asked, does anybody have any power tools?” It was about that time some of those balloons began to find the ceiling lights, resulting in periodic explosions, which scared the children. Their parents took them sobbing from the room.

Just feels like Pentecost sets us up to fail.

The Spirit moved among the disciples and launched them into the world to preach like they had never preached before, and the whole world comes singing “Just as I Am.” It was a great day, but the truth is, we don’t have days like this, do we? It’s a day we can read about, but I’m not sure we can relive it. It makes you wonder if the Spirit acts like this anymore.

But this we can’t forget. The spirit is not some Star Wars “Force be with you.” The Spirit is the love of God. And love moves us, changes us, gives birth to the best in us.

On Pentecost, disciples who had been shaped by their disappointment, disciples who had been defined by their fear, became empowered by love. If I understand the text, it teaches us that love brings our best selves into being. It was the love of God that called these disciples by name, and that is what transformed them on Pentecost.

My friend Sam is the younger of two brothers. Their dad was a pastor. There is a stereotype about preachers’ kids as not being the best citizens in the world. We have that stereotype in large part because of Sam. Sam’s older brother was, in Sam’s words, “Mr. Goody, Goody Two-Shoes.” He was always polite. He learned all the words to the songs in Vacation Bible School. He was always the preacher for Youth Sunday. He was a great kid. Everyone said so.

Sam, on the other hand, was obnoxious. Sam put paint in the soap dispensers in the men’s bathroom. He would disrupt the silent prayer with a burp. The only reason he wasn’t excommunicated was because his father was the pastor. But in the midst of causing all that trouble, something else happened. Those patient, kind Presbyterians loved Sam into faith. They loved him in a way that surprised him, and in time, he felt called to ministry.

Just after he was ordained, his home church invited him back to preach. He thanked them for the difference they had made in his life.

He is an extraordinary preacher. Sam says after the service everyone came down to greet him. But one man hung back. Mr. Brown had been the confirmation teacher for both Sam and his brother. He was old back then. Sam was a bit surprised he was still alive. Mr. Brown looked at Sam, and he said, “I want you to know that I always knew you would amount to something. I just knew you would bring some good to the world. Even when others around here had their doubts, I was confident in you. I knew you would make it.”

Sam remembered how Mr. Brown had put up with Sam’s foolishness and how patient he had been with him. He said, “I don’t know what to say, Mr. Brown. Thank you.” Then Mr. Brown said, “By the way, whatever happened to that no-good, pain-in-the-neck, younger brother of yours?”

“Well,” said Sam, “you’d be surprised.”

I think it still happens that love has the power to surprise us. The truth is the church is at its best when we love one another. That’s why we celebrate Pride — because the love of God includes all. And why we recognize Juneteenth — because the love of God seeks to set wrongs to right. It’s why we baptize children and we promise them, “We will be here for you. You don’t know us, and we don’t know you, but we know you will need love, just as we all do. So we will love you with all that we are.”

Love is the power to bring the best into the world. I think that’s why God wanted the world to have a church.

I know. Pentecost is still intimidating. You may not feel that skilled at love like that. I get that. I stumble too. But that’s why we come here.

John Lewis, the congressman and former civil rights leader, once said of love, “It’s just not something that is natural. You have to be taught the way … of love” (as quoted by Krista Tippett).

I think he is right. That’s why God wanted there to be a church.

It has to be taught, because love described in this faith is not limited to a feeling. No. Love is the choice we make when things have fallen apart, when relationships are fragile, when communities or nations are angry, when the walls of division seem insurmountable. It is in those moments that the spiritually mature choice is love.

Thirty-five years ago I was called to the first church I would serve as pastor. I was twenty-nine years old. There was a small group of men in that church who decided that together they would teach me how to be a pastor. They did their best. If I have had any impact along the way, it is in part because of those men.

There was Tom. He would take me to lunch every month or so, and over a Greek salad at Zorba’s we would talk about things that I should be paying attention to, plans that we should make.

There was Leonard. He was the one who, when he first saw me, thought that I was still in high school and must be the pastor’s son. I wasn’t nearly old enough to be his pastor. And yet he let me be.

There was Richard. He was the encourager. Every sermon was always better than the last.

And there was Monroe. Deep water, strong and quiet type. He intimidated the socks off of me and enjoyed it.

Several years ago I returned to that church to preach. I wanted to tell those men how much they had shaped me.

All of them had joined the Church Triumphant, except Monroe. Monroe and I stood underneath the pecan trees in the front yard of that church.

I realized what I learned from those men was not just how to run a meeting or how to visit someone in the hospital. I learned that grace can be trusted; that love is a power. I was not close to being spiritually mature enough to lead that congregation. They knew that.

Monroe said, “Yeah, we knew you would mess up. We knew what it had to be like to be our pastor at twenty-nine. So we decided, good or bad, we weren’t going anywhere.” I said, “I didn’t really deserve that.” “Didn’t say you did, but we still decided we were staying right here with you. We decided were going to love the best pastor out of you we could.”

Just then the wind blew my hair into my eye, and it may have blurred my vision a bit, but I hope you understand, for just a second I could swear there was a tongue of fire dancing over that old man’s head.

It’s Pentecost … because God knows the world needs the church, because if the best is going to come, it is going to come because love brings it to life.