
Growing up in the Korean Presbyterian Church, I never heard the word “Pentecost.” For me, every Sunday was the same: Sunday School, worship and fellowship with Korean food. The only difference was on Easter and Christmas, when the sanctuary came alive with vibrant decorations and larger celebratory Korean meals featuring delicious meats, rice, noodles, banchan and rice cakes.
For many Korean churches, the church calendar doesn’t hold as much meaning as it does for other churches. It wasn’t until my undergraduate years, when I began working in a small, predominantly white church in Toronto, that I heard about Pentecost.
They spoke of fire, the Holy Spirit and the birth of the church. There was red fabric draped from the pulpits, people dressed in symbolic colors, and sermons about wind, tongues of fire and power from on high. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it.
Pentecost arrives 50 days after Easter. But it is not just a mark on the calendar; it is a moment that changed history forever.
Before Jesus ascended, he promised his followers: “I will send the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, to be with you” (John 14:16-17). They waited in the quiet of the upper room and prayed. They didn’t know what was coming, but they trusted Jesus and waited.
And then, it suddenly happened. The Spirit of God rushed in like a mighty wind from heaven. Tongues of fire appeared, resting on each of them.
Fire is a symbol of purification, power and divine presence. The fire didn’t destroy, but empowered those who were gathered.
It settled on each person, and they began to speak in different languages. They prophesied, healed, taught and comforted. What Jesus had promised was happening right before their eyes.
It was beautiful. It was also terrifying. Some were amazed while others mocked.
Some were fearful because the Spirit doesn’t come quietly. It comes to disrupt. The Spirit empowers and moves people into the streets, from fear to public witness.
It was in that wild, uncontainable moment that the church was born.
That’s why Pentecost matters. It is one of the most important days of the Christian year, not because of liturgical tradition, but because it reminds us of who we are.
We are a Spirit-filled people. We are not just keepers of a tradition, but part of a movement led by the Spirit of God.
The Spirit stirs us to move, to speak, to build, to resist injustice, to comfort the broken, and to grow the church—not just in number, but in depth, justice and love.
In some ways, we had experienced Pentecost all along, even if it wasn’t named in the Korean churches.
The Holy Spirit was in the prayers of my mother, who prayed through the night for our family. The Spirit was in the music of our congregation, as we sang hymns through loud, joyful voices. The Spirit was in the resilience of Korean immigrants who trusted God even when they felt invisible in the wider society.
Now, I celebrate Pentecost with joy and thanksgiving, not just as a liturgical event, but as a reality that invites us into courage, inclusion and transformation. It is a Spirit that speaks Korean and English, whispers in silence, and roars in justice. A Spirit that fills every corner of the world, even the places that forgot and neglected the Spirit.
No one can contain the movement and the power of the Spirit, as the Spirit will move as it wishes and empower those whom it desires.
At Pentecost, we remember God didn’t just speak once in history. God continues to speak. The Spirit didn’t just descend on a few, but fills all flesh even today.
The church isn’t just a tradition we inherit and reminisce about, but it is a movement we’re invited to join.
This Pentecost, as we reflect on its meaning, may we ask: “Where is the Spirit moving in us? In our communities? In the world?”
May we not be afraid of the fire, but receive it with enthusiasm. May it burn away our fears, ignite our courage and stir us to become the church the world needs now.
May we become the church and people of God who are full of hope, love, and peace, who embrace the marginalized and welcome the poor, outcasts and the lost.