Beyond the Facts

The Day of Pentecost, 5/19/2024

John 15:26-27, 16:4b-15

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Today is Pentecost, that one-day season on our liturgical calendar when we remember the arrival of the Holy Spirit and the founding of Christ’s church, the household of God.

It’s a special day, the fiftieth day after Easter, one of only five days of the church year that’s especially appropriate for baptism, a vivid display of the Holy Spirit indwelling us who are members of the household of God—

Something we will all witness and participate in together in a few minutes.

(Julian, I wrote this sermon with you in mind. Listen up!)

Pentecost is that day when we hear again that story from the Acts of the Apostles:

“The disciples were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind . . . All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit.”

And it’s also today when the Gospel of John calls the Holy Spirit the Advocate and the Spirit of truth.

This title is found only in John’s Gospel, by the way.

And it’s a weighty one, because truth is heavy.

But here’s the thing.

According to John, when Jesus rose again on that first Easter—in other words, not on the fiftieth but on the first day of Easter—he showed up in the midst of the disciples and breathed on them and said,

“Receive the Holy Spirit” (John 20:22);

But according to the Acts of the Apostles, the disciples received the Holy Spirit on the fiftieth day after Easter.

The Holy spirit’s a one-time deal. We don’t receive it twice. One Lord, one faith, one baptism. (Right, Julian?)

So, which is it? The fiftieth day or the first? Acts or John?

And to make things even more complicated, today John’s Gospel has Jesus calling the Holy Spirit the Spirit of truth.

Well, both stories can’t be true, can they?

Is the Bible lying to us?

Which version is true?

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Turns out, the Gospel of John has a lot to say about truth. John uses the Greek word for truth—aletheia—22 times, more than all the other gospels and the book of Acts combined.

Do you know that it’s only in John’s Gospel where Pontius Pilate famously asks, “What is truth?” (John 18:38).

So, truth’s a funny thing. Because there are always two (or more) sides to the same story.

For instance, I was reminiscing on the phone with one of my daughters recently about a road trip we took when she was thirteen.

Now, on this road trip, we stayed for a few days in an A-frame cabin right on the beach in Bandon, Oregon.

And I remember being surprised to learn that the morning after we arrived was to be one of the lowest tides of the year, happening right around 6 am.

So, next morning, me thinking it would be a good idea to wake the kids up for an epic anemone adventure, sun about to crest the eastern horizon, I roused this particular daughter from her contented slumber.

And what I remember next is the grumpiest response possible, something like, “How dare you wake me up, DAD!” followed by huffs and puffs and moans and groans and wailing, flailing adolescent angst.

“Fine, then,” I said—or something like it; “your loss. I’ll be out on the beach if you change your mind.”

And that’s how I remember it.

But her memory is a totally different side of the story.

She did in fact decide to join me on the beach that low-tide morning, and:

“That was the best day ever!” she says. “I ran through tidepools and touched starfish and poked sea cucumbers. Except the water was cold.”

Anyway, reminiscing with her, I remember the drama; she remembers the adventure.

That doesn’t mean that she didn’t participate in the drama; or that I didn’t participate in the adventure.

We just remember the same day differently.

Truth. Same story, two sides.

(Keep this in mind as you grow older, Julian. The tales your big sister and big brother are gonna spin—I don’t envy you.)

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So, next, we see truth’s two-sided nature in today’s Gospel—not just in the difference between Acts and John but actually within the Gospel itself.

Jesus tells his disciples that he will soon go to his Father; and when he does, they will hear one side of the story—a story of sin and righteousness and judgment.

Jesus, their leader, they will hear, has been tried and found guilty of sin. Because the greatest sin of all is to violate the laws and ideals of Roman society.

Jesus, their leader, they will hear, has been tried and found guilty of unrighteousness. Because righteousness for Roman society is measured by success and achievement in the eyes of the masses.

And Jesus, their leader, they will hear, has been justly judged. Because his rebellion has been overcome, as it should be with insurrectionists.

Anyway, this will be one side of the story that the disciples will hear after he is gone, Jesus tells them.

And there is some truth in each of these claims. For:

While the man Jesus never sinned, he did oppose political and religious systems.

While the man Jesus was righteous as God defines righteousness, he nevertheless refused power and status during his lifetime—time and time again.

And while the man Jesus was wrongly judged, he nevertheless saw the judgment coming and could have avoided it—but didn’t.

Some truth.

However . . .

The Spirit of truth, Jesus tells his disciples, will bring more truth, fuller truth, to the surface in time.

The greatest sin, they will see, is not to reject the laws and ideals of the state but to reject the love of God in Christ.

True righteousness, they will see, is not found in human success and achievement but in Christ emptying himself of the godhead for the sake of humanity, accomplishing his mission, and returning to the Father.

And just judgment, they will see, is not found in the state suppressing perceived rebellion but in forever conquering humanity’s greatest enemy: sin and death.

That is the other side of the story: the truth that all things are being reconciled to God through Christ’s way of love.

It’s why the Holy Spirit came on that Day of Pentecost and founded the church.

It’s why the church continues to carry out Christ’s mission—to this day.

And, for the early disciples, it was something that would be learned and understood by them only in time, through the guidance and direction of the Holy Spirit, the Advocate, the Spirit of truth.

(Are you still with me, Julian?)

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Well, so, far too often today, modern culture thinks of truth as just the facts.

We teach our elementary school students the Presidents’ names and dates and how to multiply 9 times 9 and divide 108 by 36.

We teach older students how to become experts in one field or another.

And there’s truth in that, to be sure—some truth.

But deeper truth is found elsewhere, truth that our culture far too frequently overlooks or doesn’t take the time to process.

What truth, for instance, might we find in today’s liturgy? In our music? In our architecture?

Each Sunday the God of all the cosmos calls us into Christ’s presence, to meet in heaven’s very throne room through Word and Sacrament.

The stained glass, vestments, prayers, readings, music, bread and wine, water, furnishings, the symbolism of the Pascal Candle—these transport us mystically into a liminal space: somewhere between heaven and earth.

And somehow, through it all, we encounter the divine: deep truth we know and experience together.

But the facts don’t help us much here.

Modern society is very good at covering the facts. Just listen to the news. But I’m afraid it’s not very good at uncovering truth beyond the facts.

“When the Spirit of truth comes,” Jesus tells us today, “he will guide you into all the truth.”

That’s us, the church. The Holy Spirit will guide us into all truth.

We are the household of God, founded by the Holy Spirit on that first Day of Pentecost. Our Advocate, the Spirit of truth, will continue to lead us into the fullest truth, which finally and ultimately will reconcile all things to the Father through Christ.

(And Julian, it’s into this sublime household that we welcome you today.)