Lectionary Commentaries for June 8, 2025
Day of Pentecost

I want us to start with an assumption: The disciples have reasonable requests because to be in a relationship is to have the space to have questions. Many times, in our reading of the disciples, particularly in their conversations with Jesus, it is easy to perceive their questions and wonderings as a lack of faith or trust, but there’s a more curious read of the text. When we choose to be generous with the disciples and their humanness of walking with Jesus through unprecedented, miraculous, and also wildly disconcerting times, we also have access to a generosity toward ourselves as we ask questions, wonder, and try to navigate what it means to walk this journey of faith.

Read around the text

To get at the heart of this story, and why these questions and inquiries from Jesus’ community are so important and helpful for us to see, we need to read beyond the pericope offered by the lectionary. Our pericope starts with Phillip telling Jesus, “We will be okay if you will show us the Father.” Just prior, Jesus has told the disciples that he is going to go and prepare a place for them so that they will be able to be with him. He names his Father’s house as having many rooms (John 14:2). Thomas (my favorite curious questioner) then asks, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?” and Jesus answers, “I am the way.” It is from here that we begin our pericope with Phillip.

Why is this important?

The disciples are trying to figure out all these hints in the statements Jesus is making about his time beyond earth, and what it means to be in relationship with the Father—the Divine Parent— he speaks so frequently of. They have been journeying with Jesus, who has shown them the way each step, and now Jesus is saying there will be more to the journey, where he will show up differently. He is both the way and naming that he won’t always be with them. While the answers may feel comforting for us now, with access to the entire story of Jesus, for the disciples this could be reasonably confusing. This text invites us to honor the emotions that arise and to consider questions and inquiry as a practice of faith.

In the spirit of curiosity and inquiry, here are some questions to consider:

1.       What is the significance of Jesus calling God “Father”?

This language is not always easy for hearers to access, depending on their own history with parental relationships and their history with God being identified as “father” in a way that is not loving. One might consider that in addition to the explicit “parental” language, Jesus is showing intimacy and relationship to one from whom he comes and one, as he names frequently, whom he trusts and believes in fully. Leaning into intimacy allows for nuance for those for whom parental language is hard.

2.       What are the “greater works than these” (verse 12)?

Jesus tells the disciples they will do even more than what they had witnessed. This might have been alarming because they had seen so much that was deemed impossible, yet Jesus reminds them that the work is not done and that they, too, have the power and gift of the Holy Spirit through Jesus’ name and God’s power. This is a powerful type of faith, to trust in relationships over what might feel like harsh realities.

3.       Why might the Spirit that is sent be called the Advocate (verse 26)?

In the Spirit of Pentecost, this part of the text cannot be lost. Jesus promises a sojourner who will come when he leaves, a part of this divine support system that will be with them forever in a way he cannot. “Advocate” means a supporter, defender, and guide to what is good. In that way, Jesus reminds them of how important it is to know they are not alone and that there will always be a guide to help them not just to do greater works, but to be greater people, loving and pouring into the world around them. The  Holy Spirit, the Advocate, will help them keep the commandments of Jesus, far beyond Jesus’ time on the physical earth.

4.       What is the peace that is left with us (verse 27)?

Peace is often described as the absence of turmoil, yet Jesus, knowing that these disciples both have experienced and are headed into harsh times, offers this word: “peace.” Peace then feels like an invitation to community and trust. The peace is found in the collective. In reminding them they are neither alone in spirit nor in flesh, there’s a possibility of ease and trust that might feel like peace amidst it all.

Pentecost is about relationship. 

• The relationship of God who exists beyond and yet loves us so deeply that God became flesh to develop empathy and intimacy with the human experience. 
• The relationship of Jesus, who walked alongside so many, especially his beloved friends known as his disciples, and gave them wisdom that they might not have grasped fully but that would carry them beyond his time with them. 
• The relationship of the Advocate, with the disciples as a forever companion to guide and direct them. 
• The relationship of each of us to our faith and what supports us in carrying that faith. 

This reminder of Pentecost is a reminder that God companions with us, above us, alongside us, and within us to guide us toward the work of loving and living a life like Christ. It is the hope that we have all that we need in community with the fullness of the divine and one another to operate as people of faith and bring that love, justice, and hope into the world. 

The Pentecost lectionary account takes place in Jerusalem on the feast day of Shavuot, 50 days after Passover in the Jewish calendar.¹

This story follows Luke’s retelling of the ascension of Jesus (Acts 1:1–12; see also Luke 24:50–53), the gathering of Jesus’ followers in Jerusalem—some 120 in all (Acts 1:15), and the choice of a 12th man to replace Judas (Acts 1:16–26). These can be understood as prologue, for the Pentecost narrative catalyzes the action in the rest of The Acts of the Apostles.

Luke’s narrative describes the completion of what John the Baptist began (Acts 1:5). It describes not the birth of the church but, rather, the empowerment of the believers to bear witness to the ends of the earth, as promised in Acts 1:8. Following this passage, we hear Peter’s interpretation of the events of Jesus’ death, resurrection, and status as God’s Messiah (Acts 2:22–36). The result of Peter’s speech, according to Luke, is the conversion of thousands, and the communitarianism of the earliest churches (Acts 2:37–d47).

Today’s lectionary passage begins with the 120 gathered together (Acts 2:1; see also, Acts 1:15). Luke then describes the coming of the Holy Spirit as the sound of a rushing wind, an apparition of tongues resting on each, and the gift of the ability to speak in other languages (2:2–4). The narrative turns next to the outsiders who witness this spectacle (2:5–13). These include immigrants to Jerusalem from all over the Mediterranean basin (2:8–11). The lectionary ends only nine verses into Peter’s much lengthier address, with a quotation from Joel 2.

Exegetical notes

“When the day of Pentecost had come”: Although contemporary Jews commemorate the holy gift of the Law, Torah, at Mount Sinai on Shavuot, it is not clear whether the ancient harvest festival carried that meaning in Luke’s day. Whether or not it did, Luke’s narrative serves as a Christian appropriation and reinterpretation of the festival day.

“There came a sound like the rush of a violent wind”: Acts 2:2–4 comprises one long sentence describing the coming of the Holy Spirit. This is no gentle in-breaking. The Spirit comes suddenly (aphno), even violently (biaias), upon the gathered. Fiery tongues appear and settle on each of them (Acts 2:3). Luke makes no distinction here with regard to gender, as he will in other parts of Acts. Then the gathered begin to speak in “other tongues” (2:4) as enabled by the Spirit. The later verses in this passage clarify that these are known languages of the Mediterranean basin, rather than the spiritual language that Paul calls glossolalia in 1 Corinthians 12–14.

“Now there were devout Jews”: Acts 2 focuses on the growth of belief in Jesus among Jews, not among Gentiles as will be the case in Acts 10. Moreover, these are not pilgrims to the harvest festival; they are immigrants, inhabitants of Jerusalem (Acts 2:5). Their homelands encircle Palestine in all directions (2:9–11). Further, they have mother tongues other than the languages of Palestine (Acts 2:8, 11). This points to the cultural diversity of Jews of Luke’s day, likely caused in part by various diasporas.

“All were amazed and perplexed”: Here, “amazed” should be considered a less-than-pleasant emotion. This is not the joy of a child seeing a magic trick. These have gathered because they also heard the violent wind (Acts 2:6). Their sentiment is closer to bewilderment; they are flummoxed by all of the signs and portents. Some, of course, mock the happenings as a scene caused by people drunk on new wine (2:13). Luke uses their question “What does this mean?” to launch into Peter’s speech.

“But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice”: In Acts, standing sometimes precedes an important oration (Acts 17:22). Peter delivers his address, here, with the other 11 male apostles. He addresses first Judean men (andres Ioudaioi), but also the crowd of immigrants gathered with them, whom he calls “you who live in Jerusalem” (katoikountes; 2:14).

“This is what was spoken through the prophet Joel”: The lectionary ends before we hear what Peter himself preaches. Instead, today’s reading closes with a quotation from the prophet Joel (Acts 2:16–21; Joel 2:28–32a). In its original context, this passage follows a prophecy comparing the coming of the day of the Lord to that of a devastating army (Joel 2:1–11). The prophet declares fasting and repentance as the people’s appropriate response to the fearful coming of the wrath of the day of the Lord (2:12–18).

The result is both a near reprieve—the removal of the northern army—and the promise of an eschatological hope, the pouring out of God’s Spirit. Luke uses this eschatological section as an interpretative lens for the violent, multilingual Pentecost outpouring. As in the days of Joel, the portents of God’s in-breaking are terrifying—blood, smoke, fire, and a solar eclipse (Acts 2:19–20; Joel 2:30–31). However, God’s coming also brings people to prophetic speech: women and men, slave and free. And all who call on God’s name will be saved (Acts 2:21; John 2:32a).

Theological considerations

In Luke’s telling, Pentecost engenders fear and bewilderment rather than celebration. The parallel here is to the eschatological day of the Lord. Pentecost is both its forerunner and, paradoxically, its fulfillment.

The Holy Spirit proves not to be a quiet, heavenly dove but, rather, a violent force that blows the church into being (Acts 2:41–47). That church consists mainly of immigrants, people of different languages and cultures with different mother tongues (Acts 2:5, 9–12, 14). To these, the message goes forth: a message of the coming of the day of the Lord, full of heavenly portents and prophetic women, slaves, and men. But in the midst of the chaos of Pentecost rests an anchor: Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for June 4, 2017.

There are a great many “issues” nestled in these few verses: unity/oneness and scattering, the power of language and the gift of hearing/understanding, divine and human boundaries, failure to follow God’s command, and even a critique of empire.¹ Any of these could profitably be mined for a worthwhile sermon, but the lectionary pairing of these verses with Acts 2:1–21 guides our focus. While the lectionary relegates this text to an alternative first reading for the Day of Pentecost, it is most helpfully read and reflected upon alongside Acts 2:1–21, illuminating the beautiful interplay among God’s purposes and diversity.

This pairing comes, however, with a great risk of oversimplifying a deceptively complex text, of seeing the Old Testament as always creating a “problem” that the New Testament must resolve, and ultimately then of misreading the blessing of Babel.

Misunderstanding Babel

An all-too-common interpretation of the Tower of Babel story sees it as creating a problem that the Acts 2 story must redeem. What begins at Babel with the whole earth having “one language and the same words” and being “one people” ends in multiple languages, confusion, and scattering. The Spirit at Pentecost then reverses and undoes this, creating a return to a single understood language and restoring the oneness of humanity while the apostles are “all together in one place.” Pentecost becomes the antidote to Babel.

Such a reading, however, is deeply problematic. It fails to recognize that at Pentecost there is no return to an original, single language; rather, everyone hears the gospel “in their own native language” (Acts 2:6, 8). That is the real miracle of Pentecost: how “for one brief moment, we were shown how it is possible to hear one another, regardless of our different languages, cultures, ethnicities, and races.”²

The traditional interpretation also turns diversity into a divinely created punishment. It makes diversity in all its forms something that must be corrected, overcome, undone. It is not difficult to see potential connections with current events in the United States, where diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives are being reversed, called “radical and wasteful,” “illegal and immoral.”³ Interpreters will need to consider whether they (and, more importantly, God) see diversity as a punishment or a gift.

A divine intention for diversity and scattering

At Babel, God creates diversity. It is not a punishment or a problem to be remedied; it is God’s intention for the world stretching all the way back to the very beginning. The first commandment God ever utters in the Bible directed at humanity is to “be fruitful, multiply, and fill the earth” (Genesis 1:28). This command is reiterated after the flood, as Noah and his family disembark from the ark and are tasked with repopulating the world (Genesis 9:1).

At critical junctures in the primeval history, God responds to disobedience with divine scattering. Humanity’s failure in the garden of Eden leads to their expulsion from a singular place into a much wider world (Genesis 3); Cain’s murder of Abel causes him to become a “wanderer on the earth” (Genesis 4:12); and the flood waters spread out to cover “the face of the whole earth” so that even a raven and a dove cannot find dry land (Genesis 8:6–9). At every turn, God’s purposes are tied up with spreading abroad and scattering, in accordance with that initial command to creation. And now at Babel the seeming consequence of unity and oneness in language and intention is scattering and confusing—the very things the people feared most. Their tower-building experiment was an attempt to thwart both prospects.

Yet this scattering need not be seen only as a consequence for disobedience. Walter Brueggemann rightly critiques the either/or mentality of this story, focusing on either the people’s disobedient unity or God’s scattering punishment. Brueggemann helpfully discerns that there are two kinds of unity at work here:

On the one hand, God wills a unity which permits and encourages scattering. The unity willed by God is that all of humankind shall be in covenant with him (9:8–11) and with him only, responding to his purposes, relying on his life-giving power. The scattering God wills is that life should be peopled everywhere by his regents, who are attentive to all parts of creation, working in his image to enhance the whole creation, to bring “each in its kind” to full fruition and productivity. This unity–scattered dialectic does not presume that different families, tongues, lands, and nations are bad or disobedient. They are a part of his will. And the reason God allows for that kind of differential is that all parts of humanity look to and respond to God in unity.⁴

This wider context of God’s concern with “scattering,” coupled with the unity–scattered dialectic, paints a different picture. Uniformity, homogeneity, sameness, siloing is what humanity desires, but it is not an accurate expression of how God wants humanity to inhabit the world God imagines. The scattering of people and confusion of language is not a curse or a punishment. It is God course-correcting the world to be in alignment with what has always been the divine intention and purpose. Toward that end, at Babel God not only blesses and sanctions diversity—God creates it.

To the ends of the earth

The purpose of God’s people—in Old and New Testament alike—has been not just to be scattered themselves but to scatter and spread the good news of God far and wide. Immediately after Babel and a listing of the “descendants” of Shem and then Terah, we meet Abram, who is sent from his land with a promise that through him and his family the entire world will be blessed (Genesis 12:3). At the conclusion of Matthew, the resurrected Christ instructs his followers to “go and make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19). Acts 1:8 anticipates the sending of the Holy Spirit (Pentecost!), empowering the earliest church to “be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” And Paul writes in Philippians 2:11 of a time when “every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.”

When God’s people, the Church, stays in one place, doesn’t welcome or embrace diversity, tries to define who is in and who is out, who God can love and who God can’t, then we are doing little more than trying to “make a name for ourselves,” rather than extolling and sharing all the beauty that comes with God’s name. We risk making it about ourselves instead of about God and what God has done.

At Pentecost, the Holy Spirit blows open the doors of that single house where all the disciples are gathered as one, sending them out into the world. At Pentecost, the Holy Spirit preserves, affirms, approves, and celebrates the sacred beauty and worth of diversity, birthed at Babel, in all its manifestations and works through it to begin scattering and sharing the good news of Jesus to the ends of the earth.

“The LORD came down”

This seemingly innocuous phrase occurring in Genesis 11:5 is what God must do “to see the city and the tower, which mortals had built.” Often taken as a subtle jab at the unimpressive structure even a unified humanity was able to achieve, in these words we find the very heartbeat of the Christian story. At Babel, God came down to see the tower. In Christ, God came down in human flesh all the way to the point of death on a cross (Philippians 2:5–11; see also John 3:13; 6:33, 38, 41–42, 51; 8:23). At Jesus’ baptism, the Holy Spirit came down and rests upon Jesus, marking him as God’s beloved Son (Matthew 3:16; Mark 1:10; Luke 3:22; John 1:32–33). And at Pentecost, the Holy Spirit comes down so that all hear the gospel in their own languages.

There is not a single story in the Bible where a person is able to make a way to heaven by their own power or effort. Here again we can see a recurring pattern in the primeval history, with humanity’s desire to cross a divine boundary always getting foiled or coming up short: God acknowledges that the first couple’s transgression in Eden has made them “like one of us,” fearing the risk that they might now “take also from the tree of life and eat and live forever” (Genesis 3:22); the sons of God commingle with the daughters of men (Genesis 6:1–5); and the people desire that their tower have “its top in the heavens” and long to make a name for themselves (Genesis 11:4).

Human efforts are destined to fail. There was nothing we could do to make our way “up” to God, so God came down to us. At Babel. At Pentecost. And still in baptism, in the Spirit, in the bread and the wine, and in countless other places. God is a God who comes down—and in doing so, lifts us up from trouble and despair, and ultimately, heavenward (Psalm 3:3; 18:16; 29:2; 30:1; 40:2; Isaiah 40:31; John 14:2–3; Ephesians 2:6; James 4:10; 1 Peter 5:6–7; 1 Thessalonians 4:16–17).

Notes

1. For a succinct summary of interpretive possibilities, see Kathleen M. O’Connor, Genesis 1-25A, Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary (Macon: Smyth & Helwys, 2018), 178–179.
2. Miguel A. de la Torre, Genesis, Belief: A Theological Commentary on the Bible (Louisville, WJK, 2011), 136.
3. The White House, “Ending Radical and Wasteful Government DEI Programs and Preferencing,” January 20, 2025,  https://www.whitehouse.gov/presidential-actions/2025/01/ending-radical-and-wasteful-government-dei-programs-and-preferencing/.
4. Walter Brueggemann, Genesis, Interpretation (Atlanta: John Knox, 1982), 99.

While we could read these verses at the end of Psalm 104 in isolation, we will appreciate them more fully if we see them as part of something bigger. In fact, Psalms 103 and 104 form a kind of “matched pair.” Both psalms begin and end with the psalmist’s self-directed command to “Bless the LORD, O my soul!” It’s a call to praise that reaches out across the centuries to include all of us.

While Psalm 103 focuses on God’s role as savior and redeemer, Psalm 104 is dedicated to praising God as creator and sustainer. Together, these psalms call us to give credit where credit is due. They also remind us of how we, as humans, fit into the bigger picture. Too often, we imagine ourselves as somehow set apart from what we call “nature.” Psalm 104, however, puts us squarely in our place as part of a larger project called “creation.” It is both a reality check and an honor, but it is also a responsibility. As commentator James L. Mays puts it:

We imagine ourselves autonomous, distinct from the world and different from its creatures, disposing of it and them, not accountable to any transcendent person. We are learning slowly that we damage ourselves, live in alienation from that to which we belong, and threaten the future of life.¹

When we read this psalm in the context of Pentecost, it reminds us of our responsibility to walk with—rather than against—the wind of God’s Spirit. We find our proper place in the world when we recognize that we are part of God’s creation and uniquely responsible for its continued health.

Eating out of God’s hand

Verse 24 proclaims, “O LORD, how manifold are your works! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of your creatures.”

There is a sense in which this verse could serve as a conclusion to all that’s gone before—namely, a litany of all the things that God, in wisdom, has created. When we read it this way, then verses 25–26 sound like a bit of an afterthought—as if the psalmist realized, “Oops! I forgot to mention the sea creatures!”

When the lectionary reading begins with verse 24, however, that verse serves as an introduction to what follows. In this case, the sea and its creatures—both small and great—are the first and best example of God’s power. Since the sea was typically understood as full of mystery and threat, this is an important reminder of the fact that “even the winds and the waves obey” their Creator. Even Leviathan—that terrifying sea monster of ancient myth—eats out of God’s hand. In fact, the psalmist says that God created Leviathan to “sport” or “do tricks” in it (see Job 41:1–5). The image leaves little doubt as to who is in charge here!

In any case, verses 27–28 affirm that all living creatures eat out of God’s hand. It is no surprise that these verses are often used as a table grace.

Wind, breath, and spirit

Scholars have often pointed out the ways this psalm echoes the creation stories in Genesis 1 and 2. In Genesis 1:2, for instance, God’s ruach sweeps over the face of the deep and creation begins. That Hebrew word can be translated as “wind,” “breath,” or “spirit.” In Genesis 2:7, it is God’s very breath that animates the newly formed Adam so that he becomes “a living being.”

Psalm 104:27 also acknowledges that when God takes away the creatures’ breath, “they die and return to their dust.” It’s a sobering reminder that all creatures depend on God for their continued existence. Indeed, this psalm makes it clear that God is both creator and sustainer. In other words, God does not create and then sit back to see how it all turns out. Rather, God is active in the renewal of all creation (verse 30).

Perhaps this was the passage G. K. Chesterton had in mind when he suggested that perhaps the sun rises every morning because God says, “Do it again!”

The rush of a mighty wind

Once we are alert to the ways the word for wind/spirit/breath is used in the Old Testament, it is impossible to read the story of Pentecost in Acts 2 without thinking of the creative, sustaining power of God’s breath. Is it any wonder that the birthday of the church should begin this way? And if so begun, we can also pray that that same wind/spirit/breath will sustain it throughout the centuries.

We may wonder in these difficult days, whether God’s Spirit will indeed continue to sustain what it brought into being on that first Pentecost day. But perhaps the following passage from Wendell Berry’s novel, Jayber Crow, can speak some hope into our fears.

As the character, Jayber, surveys the scene of a flood and sees that the whole world seems “cast adrift,” he laments that “the old life [is] submerged and gone, the new not yet come.” But then he says:

I knew that the Spirit that had gone forth to shape the world and make it live was still alive in it. I just had no doubt. I could see that I lived in the created world, and it was still being created. I would be part of it forever. There was no escape. The Spirit that made it was in it, shaping and reshaping it, sometimes lying at rest, sometimes standing up and shaking itself, like a muddy horse, and letting the pieces fly.²

To that, we can only say with the psalmist, “Bless the LORD, O my soul. Praise the LORD!” (Psalm 104:35b).

Notes

1. James L. Mays, Psalms (Westminster John Knox,1994), 336.
2. Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow (Counterpoint, 2000), 83.

Today is Pentecost Sunday. In our liturgical calendar, we commemorate the outpouring of the Spirit of God at the start of the Christian church. The event is canonized in Acts as an onrush of mighty wind appearing like divided tongues of fire settling on the disciples, giving them the ability to speak (Acts 2:1–4). Contrary to popular imagination, the disciples were not speaking in tongues; they were empowered to speak boldly as wise men dispensing inspired words of wisdom. 

The real demonstration of the Spirit’s power appears only in the next part of the story, when visitors from other lands found they could understand the disciples’ Galilean speeches as well as they could understand their own mother tongues (Acts 2.5–12). In other words, the Spirit was poured out on all who were there, even hearers who came from “all the nations under heaven” (Acts 2:9–11). This led Peter to declare, then and there, that Joel’s prophecy was being fulfilled, that God’s Spirit would be poured out upon all flesh (Acts 2:17; see also Joel 2:28). The world was being renewed and recreated by the Spirit of God.

Only in the context of the new creation can we understand Paul’s harsh words on flesh and spirit. “New creation” does not appear in Romans 8, but it features prominently in Paul’s writings (2 Corinthians 5:17; Galatians 6:15) and drives the narrative of this chapter. Paul begins with Christ’s resurrection, because that event first convinced him that cosmic changes were afoot. But what has that to do with us? “The Spirit of the one who raised Jesus from the dead”—that is, the same Spirit that set off the new creation—“dwells in [us also]” (8:11).

This is such momentous news that Paul announces it four times in the three verses leading to our passage (8:9–11). Being in the Spirit leads to life because that is the mark of the new creation; being in the flesh marks one as part of the passing creation, which is characterized by decay and death (8:20–21).

Death is therefore not a punishment for anything we have done; it is the result of denying the regenerating Spirit and returning to the chaos governed by a former, rapidly weakening principle: flesh (8:12–13). We are “debtors” (8:12) not because we have contractual obligations to some wrathful deity; we are debtors because we are bound by the inexorable logic of the new creation. The world is being renewed, surging toward life while voiding decay and death. No one can blunt the inexorable but re-creative force of Spirit; following the Spirit that dwells within is the only rational step one should or could take.

If we do, we become children of God and take part in the new creation with the Spirit. Paul’s language in 8:14 leaves the relationship between being children of God and being led by the Spirit ambiguous: “As many as led by the Spirit of God, these are the children of God.” Being God’s children is not conditioned on being led by the Spirit, as if only then could one be qualified to be children of God. But neither does it mean that being God’s children automatically imbues us with a natural inclination to follow the Spirit. Rather, being led by the Spirit is simply what the children of God do, as rationally and as naturally as they breathe the air around them. Indeed, the creative Spirit is the very air that envelops and nurtures the new creation.

With perfect justification, then, Paul reminds us that we have received a “spirit of adoption” through whom we can cry out “Abba, Father” (8:15). Here Paul changes his perspective slightly from the first time he made a similar observation. In Galatians 4:6, the spirit cries “Abba” while we remain passive; here, through the spirit of adoption we have agency in making this declaration—a declaration not only of belongingness but also of allegiance. The difference is slight, but the implications are enormous. We now have full cognizance of our identity as children of God, and we embrace it with gusto—so much so that our spirit is so autonomous and so self-sufficient, it can now work hand in glove with the Spirit of God to bear witness to who we are (8:16).

“To bear witness with” (symmartyrein), used here, is the first of four compound words with the Greek prefix syn-, all calling attention to our role in the new creation and our mutual relationship with the Spirit of God. Paul declares that “if we are children, we are heirs, and if we are heirs of God, then we are joint heirs [synklēronomoi] with Christ” (8:17). Inasmuch as Christ stands to inherit from God as a legitimate heir, we stand in the same position to be joint heirs with Christ. Inasmuch as Christ the Wisdom of God took an active part in the original creation, we as joint heirs must also actively participate in the new creation. And inasmuch as Christ was a co-creator with God, we too must accept, with humility but also with much boldness, our role as co-creators jointly with Christ.

Whether we succeed in discharging the responsibilities that befit our role hinges on a choice—a choice between flesh and Spirit, the same false choice we were asked to make at the outset. The way of the flesh is to deny the new creation and our role in it and to let nothingness rule over our passivity. The way of the Spirit leads to joint glorification (syndoxazein) with Christ, but it also leads to the cross. As Christ’s resurrection and glorification passed through the suffering on the cross, so too will our resurrection and glorification. We have no choice but to side with the Spirit, and we have no choice but to take up the mantle of co-creatorship with the Spirit of God—provided we jointly suffer (sympaschein) with Christ. And that gestures toward the cross.