Peter- Sermon at Pentecost (pt 8)

The streets of Jerusalem pulsed with life, a restless hum rising with the morning sun. Peter stood among the eleven, the air thick with voices—pilgrims from every corner of the earth, their tongues clashing in a wild chorus. The upper room still echoed in his bones: the rush of wind, tongues of fire dancing over their heads, words spilling from their mouths in languages they’d never learned. The Spirit had come, just as Jesus promised, and now the city buzzed with it.

They’d stumbled out, dazed, proclaiming wonders—God’s glory in Parthian, Median, Greek. The crowd swelled, drawn by the spectacle. Some gaped, wide-eyed; others sneered, elbowing their neighbors. “They’re drunk!” a man jeered, wine sloshing in his hand. “Fishermen slurring on new wine at the ninth hour!” Laughter rippled through the throng, sharp and mocking.

Peter felt the sting, but something fiercer burned in him now. The fisherman who’d cowered by a courtyard fire, who’d denied his Lord three times, was gone. That Peter had drowned in shame and risen in grace by the Sea of Galilee. This Peter stood tall, the Spirit’s fire coursing through him, a rock unshaken. He stepped forward, raising his hands, his voice cutting through the din like a blade through nets.

“Men of Judea, hear me!” The words boomed, steady, commanding. The laughter faltered, heads turning. “These aren’t drunk words—you’re seeing Joel’s promise unfold! ‘In the last days, God says, I’ll pour out my Spirit on all flesh—your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young will see visions, your old will dream dreams.’ This is that day!”

A hush crept over the square, the wind still whispering through the streets. Peter’s gaze swept the crowd—thousands of eyes, pilgrims and locals alike, pinned on him. “You know this Jesus of Nazareth—mighty in deeds and wonders, attested by God. You handed him over, nailed him to a Roman tree by lawless hands. But God raised him up, loosed the pangs of death, because it couldn’t hold him!”

His voice rose, fierce now, the weight of truth behind it. “David saw it—‘The Lord said to my Lord, sit at my right hand.’ The prophets knew it. This Jesus, crucified and risen, is the Christ! And now his Spirit falls—on us, on you!”

The air shifted, heavy with realization. Faces paled, mouths hung open. A thousand souls felt the blade of his words sink deep—cut to the heart. The mocking died, replaced by a low murmur, then cries. A man near the front, turban askew, shouted, “What must we do?” Another echoed, voice trembling, “Is there mercy?”

Peter’s chest swelled, not with pride, but with the Spirit’s urgency. “Repent!” he thundered. “Be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ! Your sins will be forgiven, washed white as snow. This promise is yours—yours, your children’s, everyone’s who calls on him!”

The square erupted—not with scorn now, but with movement. Men and women pressed forward, tears streaking dusty faces, hands raised. Peter stood firm as the eleven rallied beside him, guiding the tide. Three thousand souls stepped into the waters that day—rivers of grace flowing through Jerusalem’s heart. The jeers turned to joyful cries, hymns rising where laughter had reigned.

Peter watched, awestruck, as the church was born before his eyes. The Spirit’s fire hadn’t just filled them—it had ignited a multitude. He’d been a fisherman of fish, then a faltering disciple. Now, by grace, he fished for men, and the catch was vast. The morning sun climbed higher, but its light paled beside the dawn breaking in their souls.

Song 8- Cut to the Heart

Verse 1

 The streets were alive with a wild, restless sound,

 Morning sun rising on a murmuring crowd.

 Some were laughing, some cried out,

 “Just a bunch of drunk men shouting loud!”

Pre-Chorus

 Then a voice cut through the noise,

 A fisherman who found his voice—

 “Listen now, hear the truth,

 These aren’t drunk words, but a sign to you…”

Chorus

 “This Jesus you nailed to a Roman tree,

 God raised Him up and set Him free!

 David saw Him, the prophets knew,

 And now His Spirit falls on you!”

Verse 2

 A hush fell over the city square,

 As fire and wind still filled the air.

 A thousand eyes, a thousand souls,

 Felt the weight of what they'd been told.

Bridge

 “What must we do? What can we say?

 Is there mercy? Is there a way?”

Chorus

 “Turn and believe, let the waters flow,

 Every sin washed white as snow!

 This promise stands for all who come,

 For you, your children, everyone!”

Outro

 Three thousand souls stepped into the tide,

 Hearts cut deep, but grace swung wide.

 The mocking turned to joyful cries,

 As the church was born before their eyes.