Pentecost C 2025

Text: “26 But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you. 27 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid” (Jn 14:26–27).

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.”

That one sentence from our Lord says more than we often realize. He is not simply promising peace in general. He is drawing a line—a distinction. There is a kind of peace the world gives. And there is a kind of peace He gives. And they are not the same.

The world’s peace is fragile. Conditional. Temporary. It depends on quiet. On order. On outward agreement. It comes by avoidance, or by compromise, or by control. And it often falls apart just when you think you have it secured.

But the peace of Christ? That is another thing entirely. His peace is deeper than circumstances. Stronger than fear. It does not come by force, but by forgiveness. It does not depend on what is happening around you. It flows from what He has done for you. It is peace that is crucified and risen. It is peace carried by the Spirit of God.

Jesus says, “Not as the world gives.” And that phrase—not as the world gives—describes more of our lives than we may realize. Because we are always seeking peace. We crave it. But we often seek it in worldly ways.

We see that clearly at Babel.

The tower of Babel is one of humanity’s earliest counterfeits of peace. It was not built out of hope, but out of fear: “Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower... lest we be dispersed.” They feared separation. They feared being forgotten. And so they built something that would hold them together.

But it was not built on faith. It was not built on God’s Word. God had told them to go out, to fill the earth, to trust Him. But they closed ranks. They circled the wagons. They built a name for themselves, and tried to rise to heaven by their own design.

And here is the key: God does not oppose unity. He opposes self-made unity that rejects His Word. Unity without faith is not communion—it is collusion. It is not the Spirit who binds them together, but fear. It is not the truth that unites them, but pride.

Their project put horizontal unity above vertical communion. They would rather be united with each other in rebellion than scattered in obedience. And so their unity became the very thing that cut them off from God.

That is why we say: self-made unity is the enemy of true communion with God. Because true communion begins with listening to God’s Word, receiving His gifts, and walking by faith.

The judgment at Babel was not just the loss of shared language. It was the sign of something deeper: that humanity had turned inward—toward itself, and away from God. What followed was not just separation from one another, but estrangement from the One who gives true peace.

This peace is not cheap. It was bought with blood. Christ did not rise above our chaos—He entered it. He bore our pride, our rebellion, our collusion. The tower we built in defiance? He took it upon Himself. He was broken for our false unity. He was cut off, that we might be reconciled. And by His cross, He made peace—real peace. Peace with God. Peace stronger than guilt. Peace deeper than death.

And the Babel instinct lives on.

In our society, peace is often promised through control or conformity. Political ideologies offer peace, but often by suppressing truth or conscience. “Unity” is pursued through censorship or engineered agreement. But it is Babel again: peace without repentance, without grace, without God.

And it happens in the church as well.

Sometimes, counterfeit peace is maintained not by suppressing truth, but by resisting change—clinging to sameness not because it is faithful, but because it is familiar. We say we want unity, but we really want comfort. We say we want peace, but we really want control.

Churches sometimes choose silence over truth. We avoid naming sin. We withhold correction. We decide it is better to keep things calm than to confront what needs to be healed.

There is another kind of false peace we often embrace—not the peace of suppressed conflict, but the comfort of complacency. We choose not to pursue a mission. We stop asking what Christ would have us do. We let go of bold prayers, difficult questions, and uncomfortable callings. Instead, we set our sights on one goal: keeping things comfortable.

At that point, the church begins to look like spiritual hospice care. Not because we are dying—but because we have decided to stop striving toward life. No one expects anything more. No one seeks healing. We do not lose our mission. We surrender it.

And let us be clear: a church can be busy, even growing in numbers, and still be dying spiritually. The Spirit does not measure growth by attendance charts. He brings growth in repentance, in trust, in hunger for the Word. He makes you grow deeper into Christ—more fervent in prayer, more generous in love, more bold in witness, more joyful in hope.

But when we choose comfort over calling, we stop growing in those ways. We become still—and not the kind of stillness that listens, but the kind that sleeps.

It may look like harmony. But it is collusion over communion—choosing human agreement over faithfulness to Christ.

So if our comfort matters more than our calling... If preserving quiet matters more than proclaiming Christ... If the goal is to stay the same, rather than to grow in Him...

Then we must ask: Is Christ building His Church among us? Or are we building our own tower of Babel?

The Spirit’s peace is not passive. It reconciles. It restores. And it moves.

Jesus said, “The Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, He will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.”

The Spirit teaches. But He does more than inform—He delivers. He brings Christ to you in the Word. He does not merely remind you what Jesus said. He gives you Jesus Himself. And through Him, the Father and the Son come to dwell with you. “We will come to him,” Jesus said, “and make our home with him.”

This is not metaphor. This is sacrament. In Word, in Baptism, in the Supper—Christ is not absent. He is present. His peace is present.

And that is what makes Pentecost the reversal of Babel. But more than that—Pentecost is the restoration of communion. The miracle of Pentecost is not merely that people understood each other. It is that enemies were made one in Christ. The scattered nations became one holy people: baptized, forgiven, joined to their Head.

And the Spirit still does this.

Jesus said, “Let not your hearts be troubled.” But why? Because the ruler of this world is coming. And he is. He is coming for you. He accuses. He tempts. He stirs up fear, shame, doubt, and despair. But hear what Jesus says: “He has no claim on me.”

And if you are in Christ—baptized into His death, joined to His victory—then he has no claim on you either.

He may rage. He may lie. He may try to call you back into fear. But you are not his. You are Christ’s.

So let not your heart be troubled. The peace of Christ is stronger than the devil’s threats. The Spirit bears that peace into your ears, into your heart, into your very body. And in that peace, you stand.

You participate in Pentecost. The Spirit still comes—not with wind and fire, but with water and Word. Every time the Gospel is proclaimed, the Spirit is poured out. Every time the Supper is received, Christ is present.

Babel scattered the nations. Pentecost began to gather them. And Revelation 7 shows the final vision:

“A great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb...”

What was divided at Babel is restored in Christ. Not through human effort, but by the Spirit. Not in sameness, but in unity. Not in fear, but in peace.

The counterfeit peace we described earlier—the kind that settles in when a congregation seeks comfort over calling—may feel safe. But it is not the Spirit’s doing.

The Spirit never leaves Christ’s Church sitting still. He leads. He sends. He presses us into the world not to preserve ourselves, but to proclaim Christ.

And yes, that sometimes means disagreement. It means hard conversations. It means questions that do not have easy answers. But that is not a sign of failure. It is a sign that the body is alive.

The peace that comes by avoidance, compromise, or control is fragile. It can hold together only as long as no one raises a different perspective, asks a difficult question, or dares to prioritize Christ’s mission over human comfort. But the peace Christ gives is deeper. Stronger. It can hold disagreement. It can endure healthy conflict. Because it is not based on everyone thinking the same way—it is based on everyone being held by the same Lord.

And that is also how the Holy Spirit teaches us. He does not merely make us comfortable. He causes us to learn and grow. He leads us through tension to truth. He strengthens our trust in God and deepens our love for one another—not by sparing us from disagreement, but by carrying us through it in the peace of Christ.

So when you see disagreement in the Church—do not panic. Do not run. Ask instead: Is this the Spirit pressing us forward? Is this the Word doing its work?

Because sometimes, when the Spirit leads you, He does not lead you into comfort. He leads you into growth.

That is why Pentecost is not just the reversal of Babel. It is also the resurrection of the Church’s courage. Not by force. Not by fear. But by peace. His peace.

So the Spirit leads you out. Not in panic. Not in pride. But in peace.

You are not trying to build a name for yourself. You bear the name of Christ. You are not trying to reach heaven. Heaven has come down to you. And now, you are sent. Not alone. But in the Spirit.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.