Lectionary Commentaries for May 24, 2026
Day of Pentecost

If we allow John’s Gospel to guide us into the celebration of Pentecost, our sense of the Spirit’s coming is shaped differently than liturgical expressions formed around Acts 2. John’s scene is an intimate proximity of bodies and breath, fright giving way to peace, signs of death bespeaking new life, and a renewed mission for those whose world had seemingly come to an end.

Grief and fear

We enter this text alongside those original disciples of Jesus, behind locked doors, in fear and grief. Their world has collapsed with the crucifixion of Jesus. Their sense of purpose is dashed. They’ve lost their beloved friend and teacher to a gruesome state execution. And they’re afraid they may be next.

There’s no indication that those gathered were just the inner circle but perhaps included many of Jesus’s friends and followers. And we can invite our congregations to place themselves in that locked room too, if we help them to enter the affective dimension of the text shaped around grief and fear. (Notably, the only disciple not present is Thomas, who, for some reason, isn’t afraid for his life enough to remain locked inside with the others.)

Jesus witnesses their grief and fear and twice speaks to them the words “Peace be with you.” These words harken back to an earlier scene in the Gospel, where Jesus tells the disciples that God will give them “another Advocate,” the “Spirit of truth” (14:16–17, 26), and says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you” (14:27).

It’s easy to imagine that this was a familiar and comforting refrain that they’ve received from the lips of Jesus many times when they needed it most, as he spoke words of peace into hearts gripped by fear.

Death and life

Jesus meets the fear of the disciples by laying bare the marks that death has carved into his body. The one who was dead now lives, but the signs of death are not erased. “He showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord” (20:20).

In this singular verse is the Gospel encapsulated: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again. In this moment of witnessing death unambiguous and resurrection life unmistakable, Jesus comes again to them.

In their grief, he gathers with them. Into their fear, he speaks words of peace. In his body, he gives them a glimpse of resurrection life in the living body of one crucified.

Breath and Spirit

“When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit’” (20:22). In contrast to our typical Pentecost scene, with “the rush of a violent wind” (Acts 2:2), the Spirit arrives with more intimacy and sensuality in John’s Gospel. Not with tongues of fire, but with warm breath upon skin.

Theologians and ethicists Laurel Schneider and Thelathia Nikki Young say, “Breathing is a profoundly physical reality, an exchange of elements carried mostly below or beyond the scope of human vision. Made of air, breath is not empty; it is laden with molecules, moisture, and the breath of other creatures. Pumped by lungs, breathing is muscular and emotional. … Breath and breathing are physicality and sensuality at their most elemental.”¹

Jesus’s breathing the Spirit upon the disciples harkens back to the intimacy of creation, in which God breathed into the nostrils of the first human the breath of life (John’s “breathed” is the same Greek word used in the Septuagint translation of Genesis 2:7).

Take this opportunity to help those likely far more familiar with Pentecost’s awe and wonder in Acts to attend to the intimacy of John’s scene: breath of new life breathed upon those huddled in the shadows of death; Spirit received into bodies tensed in fear, now releasing into possibility.

Forgiving and retaining

Verse 23 is the first mention of forgiveness in John’s Gospel, and it’s a strange one. The first part seems straightforward enough: “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them.” (This is the scriptural rooting for the Lutheran concept of the “Office of the Keys” to administer the forgiveness of sins.)

But the second half of the sentence provokes unease: “If you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” Interestingly, the word “sins” does not appear in the second part of this sentence. It is inserted for clarity by the translators, but it also shapes the interpretation in unnecessary ways. Nor is “retain” the only option for translating this half of the sentence.

Mary Coloe provides a more literal translation: “If of anyone you hold, they have been held.”² And Sandra Schneiders offers this alternative translation: “Whoever you hold, they are held fast.” She argues, “The community that forgives sins must hold fast those whom it has brought into the community of eternal life.”³

The preacher has important work to do in this final verse of the passage, as forgiveness is one of the most vital, yet problematically preached theological notions in the Christian tradition. Absolution of sin is not a word of erasure for the consequences or responsibility for harms done. But if we take seriously the alternative translation of verse 23, the assurance of forgiveness necessitates that we make a way for the repentant to return to communion—to be held fast by the community—assured of their place of intimate relationship with God, by grace alone, and with the community of faith, even amid the consequences of actions that have harmed others, and the responsibility of repair.

In this passage, Jesus comes and stands among the disciples frightened and locked away in fear. But he does not depart. There is only a coming portrayed in this scene, no going. We know they left the locked room eventually. They do so because they are invited into a renewed mission. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you” (20:21). But when the scene ends, they are all still there, with Jesus.

How might you help your congregation imagine their way into the next minutes, hours, and days in the disciples’ lives? John leaves ample imaginative space between verse 23 and verse 24. Don’t waste it.

Notes

1. Laurel C. Schneider and Thelathia Nikki Young, Queer Soul and Queer Theology: Ethics and Redemption in Real Life (New York: Routledge, 2021), 52.
2. Mary L. Coloe, John 1–10, Wisdom Commentary (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2021), 524.
3. Sandra M. Schneiders, “The Resurrection (of the Body) in the Fourth Gospel: A Key to Johannine Spirituality,” in Life in Abundance: Studies of John’s Gospel in Tribute to Raymond E. Brown, SS, ed. John R. Donahue (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2005), 186.

In attempting to describe the events of the first Christian Pentecost to the people of Pukatja, Central Australia, missionary Ron Trudinger once mistakenly referred to the Holy Spirit coming through a “deluge of wallabies” rather than through the tongues of fire of the Acts account.¹ This makes for an amusing anecdote, of course, yet it also captures some of the key issues that emerge from the biblical passage itself: the bridges and barriers formed by human languages, and the wider sense-making challenge posed by Luke’s extraordinary account of the outpouring of the Spirit. As modern interpreters of the text, we can find ourselves asking, along with the crowd of witnesses, “What does this mean?” (verse 12).

Answers to this question have frequently been sought from other parts of Scripture, and many thought-provoking connections have been suggested. These include the significance of the Jewish festival of Pentecost itself, also known as the Feast of Weeks, which was marked seven weeks and one day after the beginning of the harvest. The date of celebration came to be connected to that of Passover, rather than to the less predictable date of the actual harvest, and, for some groups, it seems to have also been connected with the renewal of the covenant (perhaps the Noahide covenant; see the book of Jubilees, chapter 6) and with the giving of the law on Mount Sinai. The imagery of the wind and fire (verses 2 and 3) has been linked to:

• the description of God in David’s Song of Thanksgiving (2 Samuel 22:9; 16),
• Elihu’s proclamation of God’s majesty (Job 37:10),
• the stormy wind of God’s wrath promised against those who prophesy falsely (Ezekiel 13:13), and
• God’s fiery descent onto Mount Sinai to meet with Moses (Exodus 19:18; 24:17).

The miracle of speech in other languages has been interpreted as a reversal or displacement of the story of Babel (Genesis 11:1–9). Parallels have also been drawn with the beginnings of Jesus’s ministry in the Gospel of Luke and the promise of baptism with the Holy Spirit and fire (Luke 3:16).

Within the Acts account, Peter also draws upon Scripture in his response to the crowd, beginning his speech with the words of the prophet Joel (verses 16–21). This quotation is often felt to hold the interpretative key to the rest of the Acts narrative, priming readers/hearers to look out for further signs of the Spirit at work. It also serves to locate the remarkable experiences of the first Christian Pentecost within a wider pattern of God’s activity in the world—past, present, and future. Though to some extent unprecedented, this event should not be viewed in isolation but must instead take its rightful place within a bigger story.

One of the interesting features of the Acts account is precisely the way in which the narrative shifts our attention to this bigger picture. The rest of Peter’s speech (not included in today’s lectionary reading) focuses on the person of Jesus, and it seems that it is this, rather than the marvels of the upper room, that convicts many of the listeners (verse 37). There is no attempt to prolong the miracle of speech—indeed, if anything, it is curtailed by the request for an explanation—and, unlike in the later account of Simon the magician (Acts 8:9–24), there is seemingly no interest in retaining or reproducing the powerful Holy Spirit experiences.

The chapter ends with the first of the so-called “summary statements” of Acts: a description of a newly formed and growing community, devoted to learning, to prayer, and to breaking bread together (verse 42). Community members respond to the needs of those around them by selling their possessions and using the proceeds for good (verse 45). Perhaps this, too, forms part of the answer to the question of what the outpouring of the Spirit might mean: not a quest for further spiritual “highs,” but a turn to the arguably more important tasks of fellowship and justice.

Indeed, this combination of divine discernment and attentiveness to justice is precisely the pattern offered to us within earlier works such as the book of Joel: Human calamities and divine promises form part of a single picture, and the task of the prophet is to observe and interpret both. As Matthew Skinner writes of today’s reading:

Peter’s brand of prophecy is truth telling. It is interpretation: naming the ways and places where God’s salvation is realized, where God’s presence and influence can be encountered. It is insisting that humanity’s existence and the life of God do not exist in separate planes; rather, they are intertwined, each a part of the other.²

Preachers and commentators have often noted the risk of a domestication and subsequent loss of impact of the account of the first Christian Pentecost, yet its disconnection from the wider picture of faith and discipleship—in the book of Acts and in the lives of all Christian communities—is equally problematic.

It may or may not be the case that we should expect to see the tongues of fire and hear the sound of rushing wind for ourselves, but the Acts narrative offers us more than a glimpse of these marvels: It weaves them into the lives of ordinary people, who are called to notice the signs of the times—both divine and other—and locate them in the wider story of God’s purposes. As God’s people, we are invited to respond, not through the pursuit of “mountaintop” or “upper room” experiences, but by engaging in community-building, hospitality, and welcome, and by looking out for the Holy Spirit at work in unexpected places.

Notes

1. Richard Guilliatt, “How a Bible Translation Is Preserving the Pitjantjatjara Language,” accessed March 5, 2026, https://ourlanguages.org.au/how-a-bible-translation-is-preserving-the-pitjantjatjara-language-2/.
2. Matthew L. Skinner, Intrusive God, Disruptive Gospel: Encountering the Divine in the Book of Acts (Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2015), 12.

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.¹ 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.²

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.³

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

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for June 8, 2025.
2. James L. Mays, Psalms (Westminster John Knox,1994), 336.
3. Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow (Counterpoint, 2000), 83.

In 1 Corinthians Paul deals with a wide range of issues in the life of the church, where he discerns a significant gap between behavior consistent with the truth of the gospel and what is happening in the Corinthian church. This is unsurprising: Not only is the church relatively new, and now lacking in-person guidance from Paul and his co-workers. There is also a culture gap because the church is largely made up of gentile believers in a Jewish Messiah, and their assumptions about appropriate behavior will naturally reflect the patterns of their own social world. Paul repeatedly challenges his readers to revise their assumptions so they align more closely with their new faith.

First Corinthians 12–14 is a major unit of such material. It focuses on how the gifts of the Spirit are being used in worship at Corinth (12:1). The Corinthians exalt speaking in tongues and treat being able to do so as a sign of personal status. Paul directs them away from treating the gifts competitively and as a source of personal honor, something with which ancient culture was deeply concerned. The Spirit’s purpose in giving gifts is to build up the church, not to exalt the recipient. The value that the Corinthians place on tongues is excessive, given that uninterpreted tongues, which those who hear them cannot understand, cannot achieve this purpose (14:13–19).

Paul does not forbid speaking in tongues (14:39), and he does not deny that some gifts are greater than others (12:31), or that some are gifted by God to exercise leadership (12:28). But he does insist that how the gifts are used must be shaped by love (1 Corinthians 13). The true index of greatness lies in concern for the community.

Here in 12:3b–13 Paul lays the foundation for this wider argument. His fundamental concern is to insist that it is the Spirit who distributes gifts and that all Christians have received the Spirit. At the outset, Paul points to the confession of faith that all believers share. To say “Jesus is Lord” is itself spiritual speech, empowered by the Spirit (12:3b). Paul does not mean that the mouthing of these words is impossible for unbelievers, but that it is impossible to intend them as “a self-involving confession of the lordship of Jesus” except by the Spirit.¹ Whoever makes such a self-involving confession is already a spiritual person irrespective of which gifts they receive.

Conversely, anyone who curses Jesus (12:3a) in a self-involving way by definition lacks the Spirit, as did the Corinthians themselves when they used to worship the deities of Greece and Rome (12:2). The Spirit speaks in the church, but the idols were mute. In a context where the Corinthians unduly exalt those who speak in tongues, Paul wants to remind them that the true boundary between what is spiritual and what is unspiritual does not lie between those believers perceived to be more gifted and the rest, but instead between those who confess the lordship of Jesus and those who do not.

It is in this context that the gifts of the Spirit should be understood. There is remarkable diversity in divine activity within the church, with different gifts, ministries, and activities (12:4–6), yet they all come from the same God, and they are all for the common good of the community (12:7). Here Paul speaks not just of the same Spirit but also of the same Lord and the same God. He describes how the work of God is experienced in the church in a trinitarian way. The purpose is not to allocate different aspects of this work among the members of the Trinity, as if they operated separately from each other, but instead to emphasize that the unity of the Godhead underlies the diversity of ways in which that work happens.

Paul goes on to list some of the diverse gifts granted by the Spirit (12:8–10). There are others, as the similar lists at Romans 12:6–8 and Ephesians 4:11–13 demonstrate, so Paul is not by any means exhaustive here, but what he says is instructive:

• It is probably right to infer that he places tongues and their interpretation last (12:10) because of the Corinthians’ tendency to overvalue them.
• The utterance of knowledge and the utterance of wisdom probably relate to the granting of insight into God’s working of salvation through Jesus. Paul has earlier rebuked the Corinthians’ attraction to the wisdom of the world (1:20), and to human knowledge that merely puffs up (8:1), and here they are reminded that true knowledge and wisdom are granted by God.
• Next comes faith—which, since it is here a gift granted only to some and not the saving faith received by all, presumably must relate to miracles (see 13:2 and the faith to move mountains), as the fact that it is followed by the gift of miracles and that of healings suggests.
• The nature of prophecy (12:10) is much discussed, but it seems likely to be a God-given insight into the life of the community and its members that challenges or comforts, warns of judgment, or offers consolation. The discernment of spirits that follows involves testing prophecy and separating the true from the false.

Paul concludes the list by pointing out that not only do all the gifts come from the same Spirit but that the Spirit acts sovereignly in allocating the gifts to individuals (12:11). Yet the Spirit does not seem to will that some in Christ should receive gifts and others not. It is only which gifts they receive that varies, for their relationship in Christ is like that between the different parts of the body of a single person (12:12). Just as they all confessed Jesus as Lord (12:3), so they all received the same baptism (12:2), whatever their ethnicity or social status, and through that baptism they all received the same Spirit (see also Mark 1:8 and John 1:33).

Paul returns again and again to the same point that it is imperative for the Corinthians and for us to grasp: The gifts come from the Spirit, and the Spirit is given to all who believe.

Notes

1. Richard B. Hays, First Corinthians (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), 208.