The Sermon After the Fire

     The Spirit fell. Tongues of fire rested on each believer. They spoke in languages they had never learned. And the crowd gathered, drawn by the commotion, bewildered by what they were witnessing. Some were amazed. Others mocked. "They are filled with new wine," the skeptics said.
     Then Peter stood up.
     Not because Peter was particularly eloquent or because he had prepared a compelling presentation. Peter stood up because the Spirit who had just filled him gave him something to say. And what he said became the template for every Christian sermon that followed.
     We often think of Pentecost as the main event, the spectacular display of God's power that launched the church into existence. But Pentecost without Peter's sermon would have been a phenomenon without meaning. The crowd would have dispersed, shaking their heads at the strange behavior of these Galilean peasants. The Spirit fell so that the Word could go forth. The tongues of fire appeared so that tongues of flesh could proclaim the gospel. Pentecost was not the destination. It was the launching pad. Everything that follows in the book of Acts flows from this moment. The three thousand who believed that day, the devoted community that formed around the apostles' teaching, the bold witness before the Sanhedrin, the spread of the gospel to Samaria and eventually to the ends of the earth, all of it traces back to Peter standing up and opening his mouth.
     This is the same Peter who denied Jesus three times. Now he stands before thousands, many of whom had likely called for Jesus' crucifixion just weeks earlier, and he publicly accuses them of killing their Messiah. The difference is the Spirit. Peter didn't become a different person. He became the person he was always meant to be, filled with the power he had always lacked.
     Luke uses the same Greek word to describe Peter's speech here that he used for the Spirit-inspired tongues in verse four. Peter isn't just giving a speech. He's prophesying. The Spirit who filled him is now speaking through him. This is what Spirit-filled people do. They speak. They proclaim. They interpret what God is doing in the world.
     Peter begins by addressing the mockers' accusation. "These people are not drunk, as you suppose, since it is only the third hour of the day." It's nine in the morning. Observant Jews wouldn't eat or drink until after the morning prayers, and this was especially true during a feast day like Pentecost. Peter's response carries a hint of humor. You think we're drunk? It's not even mid-morning yet.
     But Peter doesn't linger on the accusation. He has more important things to say. "This is what was uttered through the prophet Joel." With these words, Peter does what the church has been doing ever since. He interprets the present through Scripture. The world sees phenomena it cannot explain. The church explains it. "No, this isn't drunkenness. This is that. This is what Joel prophesied centuries ago."
     Peter then quotes Joel 2:28-32, but he makes a significant change. Joel's prophecy begins with "afterward," a somewhat indefinite time reference. Peter changes this to "in the last days." This isn't a minor editorial adjustment. It's a theological declaration. Peter is announcing that the last days have arrived. The messianic age has dawned. The eschatological clock has started ticking.
     This matters more than we often realize. We tend to think of "the last days" as referring to some future period of tribulation and upheaval. But the New Testament consistently teaches that the last days began with Jesus' death and resurrection and the outpouring of the Spirit. The writer of Hebrews says that "in these last days" God has spoken to us by his Son. We are not waiting for the last days to arrive. We are living in them. We have been living in them for two thousand years. Every generation of the church has lived in the shadow of Christ's return.
     The Spirit's outpouring proves it. Joel prophesied that God would pour out his Spirit on all flesh. Not on select individuals for specific tasks, as in the Old Testament. Not on prophets and kings and occasional craftsmen. On all flesh. Sons and daughters would prophesy. Young men would see visions. Old men would dream dreams. Even servants, both male and female, would receive the Spirit and prophesy.
     The ground is level at the foot of the cross, and it's level at Pentecost too. The Spirit doesn't check your credentials before filling you. He doesn't ask about your social status or gender or age. Moses once cried out, "Would that all the Lord's people were prophets, that the Lord would put his Spirit upon them!" At Pentecost, that prayer was answered.
     Peter continues quoting Joel, and the tone shifts. "And I will show wonders in the heavens above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and vapor of smoke. The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the day of the Lord comes, the great and magnificent day."
     This language echoes throughout the prophets. It's Day of the Lord imagery, the language of cosmic upheaval that accompanies God's decisive intervention in history. Some of these signs appeared at the cross, when darkness covered the land for three hours. Others await the return of Christ. Peter includes them because they create urgency. The Day is coming. The Spirit has been poured out. The door is open. But the door will not stay open forever.
     Then comes the climax of the Joel quotation, the hinge on which everything turns. "And it shall be that everyone who calls upon the name of the Lord shall be saved."
     Everyone. The Greek is emphatic. All, whoever, anyone. No restrictions. No qualifications. No fine print. The Spirit has been poured out on all flesh, and salvation is offered to everyone who calls.
     But what does it mean to call on the name of the Lord? This isn't a magic formula. It's not reciting certain words in a certain order. The word "call" here implies desperation, dependence, a cry for help from someone who knows they cannot save themselves. You don't call on someone unless you believe they can help you. You don't call on the Lord unless you believe he is Lord.
     And this is where Peter's sermon takes its decisive turn. In Joel's prophecy, "the Lord" refers to Yahweh, the covenant God of Israel. But Peter is about to argue that Jesus is this Lord. The one they crucified is the one they must call upon. The one they rejected is the one who can save them.
     Peter will spend the next fifteen verses building this case. He'll appeal to Jesus' miracles, his death according to God's plan, his resurrection, his exaltation to the right hand of God. He'll cite David as a prophet who foresaw the Messiah's resurrection. He'll conclude with the devastating declaration: "God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified."
     The crowd will be cut to the heart. "What shall we do?" they'll ask. And Peter will tell them: "Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is for you and for your children and for all who are far off, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to himself."
     Three thousand will respond that day. The church will be born through proclamation.
     This is what the Spirit was poured out for. Not primarily for the experience of being filled, though that matters. Not primarily for the signs and wonders, though they serve a purpose. The Spirit was poured out so that the gospel could be proclaimed. The Spirit was poured out so that Peter could stand up and explain what God had done, proclaim who Jesus is, and invite everyone to call on his name.
     The church has been preaching this same sermon ever since. We explain what God is doing in the world. We proclaim that Jesus is Lord. We invite everyone to call on his name and be saved. The language changes. The illustrations update. The cultural context shifts. But the message remains: the last days are here, Jesus is Lord, and everyone who calls on his name will be saved.
     This creates an inherent urgency in everything the church does. Not the manufactured urgency of emotional manipulation. Not the panic-driven urgency of end-times speculation. The urgency comes from the message itself. God has acted decisively in history. The Spirit has been poured out. The invitation is open. And the Day is coming when the invitation will close. We don't know when that Day will arrive. But we know it's coming. And so we speak.
     That's what Pentecost was for. That's what the church is for. That's what we're for.