The greater part of so-called Christendom is to-day[1] celebrating the gift of a Divine Spirit to the Church; but it may well be asked whether the religious condition of so-called Christendom is not a sad satire upon Pentecost.  There seems a woful contrast, very perplexing to faith, between the bright promise at the beginning and the history of the development in the future.  How few of those who share in to-day’s services have any personal experience of such a gift!  How many seem to think that that old story is only the record of a past event, a transient miracle which has no kind of relation to the experience of the Christians of this day!  There were a handful of believers in one of the towns of Asia Minor, to whom an Apostle came, and was so startled at their condition that he put to them in wonder the question that might well be put to multitudes of so-called Christians amongst us:  ’Did you receive the Holy Ghost when you believed?’ And their answer is only too true a transcript of the experience of large masses of people who call themselves Christians:  ’We have not so much as heard whether there be any Holy Ghost.’

[1] Whitsunday

I desire, then, dear brethren, to avail myself of this day’s associations in order to press upon your consciences and upon my own some considerations naturally suggested by them, and which find voice in those two indignant questions of the old Prophet:—­’Is the Spirit of the Lord straitened?’ ’Are these’—­the phenomena of existing popular Christianity—­’are these His doings?’ And if we are brought sharp up against the consciousness of a dreadful contrast, it may do us good to ask what is the explanation of so cloudy a day following a morning so bright.

I. First, then, I have to ask you to think with me of the promise of the Pentecost.

What did it declare and hold forth for the faith of the Church?  I need not dwell at any length upon this point.  The facts are familiar to you, and the inferences drawn from them are commonplace and known to us all.  But let me just enumerate them as briefly as may be.

’Suddenly there came a sound, as of the rushing of a mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting.  And there appeared cloven tongues as of fire, and it sat upon each of them; and they were all filled with the Holy Ghost.’

What lay in that?  First, the promise of a Divine Spirit by symbols which express some, at all events, of the characteristics and wonderfulness of His work.  The ‘rushing of a mighty wind’ spoke of a power which varies in its manifestations from the gentlest breath that scarce moves the leaves on the summer trees to the wildest blast that casts down all which stands in its way.

The natural symbolism of the wind, to popular apprehension the least material of all material forces, and of which the connection with the immaterial part of a man’s personality has been expressed in all languages, points to a divine, to an immaterial, to a mighty, to a life-giving power which is free to blow whither it listeth, and of which men can mark the effects, though they are all ignorant of the force itself.