Homily for Pentecost

May 24, 2026

A young man answered a want-ad for a farmhand. He told the owner about his previous work experience and then added, “And I can sleep when the wind blows.” This puzzled the farmer a bit. However, he needed the help, so he hired the young man.

During the next few months, the hired hand did everything asked of him, and the farmer was satisfied.

Late one night, one of those infamous midwestern windstorms roared across the plains. It was two in the morning, but the famer got up, put on his clothes and ran out to tie down whatever need to be secured. First, he checked the barn. The doors were shut tight, shutters were closed, and the animals were all properly tied in their stalls. He checked the springhouse, the pump, the storage shed, the machinery, and the trucks. All was secured.

The farmer frantically ran from place to place. He just knew something had to be loose, uncovered or rattling. However, everything was as it should be. The farmer than stuck his head into the bunkhouse to thank the new hand, only to find him sound asleep.

Then the farmer remembered that curious statement, “I can sleep when the windblows.” He smiled, realizing that the young man had done everything he was expected to do. He could, indeed, sleep when the wind blew.

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We have a very different experience of wind—wind and fire, actually—on that day of Pentecost. The Holy Spirit came down upon those early believers, and they weren’t able to sleep, or feel self-satisfied. The opposite was true. Whereas before, they were reluctant, afraid and unsure of what they were supposed to do, now they were driven—driven out from their comfort zones, out from their locked rooms, out from their mediocrity. They were on fire now, they had a message to deliver, and there was no holding them back.

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That windy, fiery version of Pentecost came from Luke, who was the author of the Acts of the Apostles. But if we turn to the gospel of John, something very different is happening. To understand the passage, we have to recall, once again, that in Hebrew the same word was used for spirit and breath. This gospel, which is on the last day of the Easter season is the same gospel as on the Second Sunday of Easter.

Jesus, risen from the dead, appears in the locked room, says, “Peace be with you,” and then shows the disciples his wounds. Then, do you remember what Jesus did next? John tells us that “he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained.’”

So, in Luke, the Spirit is about the wind and fire that was needed to get things moving, to get people proclaiming, to set out on their mission, to begin the creation of the community of the Church. In John, it is by means of the Spirit that the Church is born through the forgiveness of sin. So, two unique insights from two different writers: the power to proclaim the good news, and the power to forgive and heal so people could leave their past behind.

We are born as a community of faith in wind, and fire, and breath—in proclamation, and in forgiveness. Before our God, before each other, and before the world, we have two things to say: I love you, even as I have been loved. And I forgive you, even as I have been forgiven. It’s as profound, and as simple, as that.