The Aftermath of the Spirit: Pentecost Sermon

How do you know the Spirit of God is with you? Not in theory — but in your actual life, on an ordinary Tuesday? A Pentecost sermon about evidence, aftermath, and what it really means to be filled.

"The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control. Against such things there is no law."

GALATIANS 5:22–23

Growing Up Knowing About Pentecostals

As I've shared many times, I grew up in very rural Mississippi. Small town of about 10,000 people. The major church group there is Baptist. There is one Catholic church that serves the whole county. After that, there are many what are called "Pentecostal" churches.

I didn't grow up going to church, but I knew at a young age that segment of Pentecostal Christians was unique. Girls only wore denim dresses — couldn't wear jeans. No jewelry. They were all typically nice. And they would tell you that at their church, you'd be taught that if you didn't show the external sign of speaking in tongues, then you weren't really a Christian. Speaking in tongues, that is, speaking in a spiritual language unknown by you, was evidence that the Spirit was in you. That you were filled with the Spirit.

And you know, there is something interesting and appealing about a worship service that is emotive and enthusiastic. I grew up hearing that Presbyterians weren't like that. That they were, so to speak, the "frozen chosen." So maybe there is something we need to think about here. (Reader, I’m a pastor of a Presbyterian Church.)

What Happened on the First Pentecost

In our text from Acts 2, people come from 18 different countries, from modern-day Iran all the way into Africa. They hear the gospel explained in tongues. What does that mean? They heard it in their own language. Not Greek, which was pervasive. Not Hebrew or Aramaic. They heard it in the language their momma taught them, their heart language. Peter, James, John, and the other disciples didn't know all of those languages, but the Spirit moved, and they spoke so that others could hear and understand.

That is the miracle of Pentecost. The barrier between people came down. God spoke to everyone in the language of their own life.

The Question That Followed Me

I grew up hearing about the need to be saved from my sins by the grace of God. In high school, I became a Christian; I'll tell that story at another time. And shortly thereafter, I began to worry. What about speaking in tongues? I had just started taking Spanish, and I could speak a little bit of it. I was getting good grades in that class. Does that count?

You ever wonder about things like that? How do I know that the Spirit of God is working in me? What does that look like?

Two Girls on a Church Bus

In college, I worked at the First Baptist Church in my hometown. Quaint little town. Beautiful church building. My job was running the summer and after-school programs for their Family Life Center, basically a sports complex.

There is something good about working with kids. You have all kinds of interesting and funny conversations. There is always an element of surprise lurking around the corner.

The church had a partnership with the Boys and Girls Club, which met at a local elementary school in the summertime. My coworker David and I drove the church bus, picked kids up in the morning, and took them home in the afternoon. One afternoon, David is driving, and I'm in the row behind him, opening and closing the door. We are greeting the kids with our cheerfulness and award-winning smiles. You've got maybe ten minutes of conversation, and you want the kids to know you care.

Well, on this particular afternoon, one of the girls — the oldest, I think, was about eleven, was sitting up front in the passenger seat. I'm surrounded by the rest. And out of the blue, the girl up front said:

"Boy, at church yesterday, my momma was praisin' Jesus. And let me tell you, boy, she can dance and yell and move like nobody else, just praisin' Jesus."

And the girl beside me, maybe ten years old, said:

"So? Just because somebody can dance and yell and do that stuff in church don't mean they really worshipping God."

What an important conversation.

Who's wrong? Who's right?

They are both right. It is okay, commendable even, to be enthusiastic about your faith, about your love of God. It's something to be jubilant in your understanding that in your brokenness, in your flawed humanity, God looked upon you and redeems you and calls you "child." In some traditions, they do believe the Spirit empowers you to speak in a language you don't understand. I can't explain it, and I don't think we should feel obligated to explain it away simply because it is unfamiliar to us.

But the other girl is right too. Worship and relating to God is not just about how things appear on the outside. The gospel is supposed to work from the inside out.

Isn't There Some Kind of Evidence?

Have you ever wondered: How do I know God is with me? That the Spirit, God's personal, pervasive presence, is with me? I come to church. I hear and sing words about the Spirit of God. But I live in a physical world. And it would be very natural to want physical evidence of a spiritual reality.

I'm just trying to be honest on your behalf this morning.

Like confetti and streamers left on the road and sidewalks after the parade has passed, and like the char marks on the sides of trees after a forest fire has subsided, isn't there some kind of evidence? Some kind of aftermath that says, the Spirit has been here?

A Man Who Knew About Externals

Paul the apostle, some call him Saint Paul, was a man who was obsessed with the appearance of faith. Before he encountered Jesus, he was a Pharisee of Pharisees. He kept the law meticulously, every jot and tittle (In our words, he dotted his I’s and crossed his T’s). He tracked his lineage back through the tribe of Benjamin. He wore his religious credentials like armor. He studied under the great rabbi Gamaliel. He was, by every external standard his tradition could name, righteous.

And then he met Jesus, and Jesus was not very impressed with all of that. On the Damascus Road, in a blinding vision, Jesus essentially said: You do all of this, and yet how you treat others is shameful.

That wrecked Paul. He realized that the externals did not match the internals. He was appearing to be one thing, but his heart was wicked, selfish, and oriented toward pleasing people by achieving some external appearance. Religion had become his performance, and performance had become his prison.

Years later, he matured in his faith and wrote a letter to Christians in the region of Galatia. And those Christians were asking him: Paul, some people have come through here telling us we have to do this and do that, and if we don't, they say we're not really Christians. We need you to tell us the truth.

And if there was anyone who could tell the truth about external religion, it would be the man who had lived it most rigorously and found it hollow.

Paul wrote (my summary): If you want to understand what your life should begin to look like after the Spirit has moved in, look for this. It's like fruit on a tree. First, there are buds and leaves, and then the fruit emerges. Small at first, but as the roots find nourishment in the soil, the fruit grows larger and more evident. Don't get twisted around the axle that a particular fruit appears smaller in your life compared to someone else's. And don't grow prideful that something appears bigger. The growth is coming from the soil, the rain, the roots. That's what matters.

We call this “the fruit of the Spirit.”

Look for the Aftermath

I want to visualize this.

(Note for the reader: in the live sermon, I place several mason jars on the table, each with blue food coloring in the bottom, filled to different levels. The food coloring helps people see the water vividly.)

Paul says the aftermath of the Spirit, the fruit of the Spirit, is: love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control.

Based on your experience, your natural temperament, your history, some of that is going to have a higher starting point than others. That's honest. That's human.

Maybe you'd say: I do have joy. Not perfectly, but I have it. That jar has something in it.

Maybe you'd say: Gentleness, if I'm honest, that jar is pretty low. My words come out hard sometimes. I know it. The people around me know it.

Here's what I want to invite you to do, just between you and God right now: Look at where you are. Be honest. No performance required.

When we talk about being “filled with the Spirit,” what we are doing is noticing where we are, and we see the gap between where we are and where we think God wants us to be. We are asking God to empower us to live more fully into our identity as the forgiven and loved children of God, to be more like Jesus.

Where do you need to be filled? What area of your life needs the kind and radical grace of God?

The Spirit has been here. Look for the aftermath. Look for the fruit. And if the jar feels low today, that's not a reason for shame. That's a reason to pray.

Fill me, Lord.

Fill me.