The Wind Still Blows
Earlier this week I received this pastoral letter from The Rev. Leslie Jackson, the Middlesex Association’s Area Conference Minister. I share it with you because it offers a glimpse into Leslie’s manner of thinking about ministry, and because I will be borrowing some of his ideas for Sunday’s Pentecost sermon.
“And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind… Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them…” — Acts 2:2–3
This is not a quiet text. Wind. Fire. Breath. Movement. And nothing — not one thing — stayed the same.
Dear Brothers, Sisters, and Siblings, Every time Pentecost comes, it comes like an interruption. The disciples are gathered together behind closed doors, uncertain about the future, carrying grief, fear, confusion, and questions about what comes next. And then — suddenly — wind, fire, breath, movement. The Holy Spirit interrupts their paralysis and pushes them into something new.
And perhaps most importantly: people from different nations, cultures, and languages hear the good news in their own voice.
That was not a small detail. That was innovation.
The birth of the Church was multilingual, boundary-crossing, and disruptive to the status quo. The Spirit did not flatten difference; the Spirit spoke through it. The Holy Spirit declared in real time that God’s love, power, and presence were not reserved for one people, one language, one culture, or one way of being.
Pentecost was not about preserving what had been. Pentecost was about becoming what was needed.
And if we are honest, that kind of change has always made religious people uncomfortable.
In my work with newly forming search committees, and in the conversations that unfold during second hours across our region, I hear it consistently: “We’re ready for change.” Congregations discerning their future, communities in transition, people of deep faith who genuinely mean it.
But Pentecost presses us toward a deeper question: Are we ready to be changed?
There is a difference between wanting change around us and surrendering ourselves to transformation within us.
Are we viewing ministry through the lens of possibility? Are we listening for where the Spirit is moving now? Or have we become guardians of what was in ways that keep us from becoming what is needed in this moment?
Tradition itself is not the enemy. Tradition can root us, guide us, and remind us who we are. I’m reminded of what my colleague, Rev. Dr. Cheryl Caronna from First Congregational Church in Deep River once said: “We should remember that the things we consider tradition today, were once new.” The order of worship that feels sacred to us now was once someone’s bold experiment. The hymns we love were once unfamiliar. The building we cherish was once a risk someone took in faith.
But tradition should be a bridge, not a barricade. The question is whether our traditions are still leading us toward the movement of the Spirit — or whether they are keeping us safely parked far from Pentecost.
Because Pentecost was never safe. It was noisy. It was unpredictable. It was public. It was innovative. It was disruptive. And the Spirit is still moving that way.
I believe many of our churches are standing in a Pentecost moment right now. A moment that calls not only for preservation, but for imagination. Not only for change, but for transformation.
The Spirit is still speaking. The Spirit is still unsettling. The Spirit is still creating possibilities where others only see decline. The Spirit is still breathing life into weary communities and raising new voices for a new season.
The question is not whether the Spirit is moving. The question is whether we are willing to move too. Or perhaps even more honestly:
We are ready for change. But are we ready to be changed?
Link to Sunday’s bulletin and service are here: