One of the things that is most striking reading Marcellino D’Ambrosio’s book, Jesus: The Way, the Truth, and the Life, is the honesty he brings in sharing his story.  He starts with this frank confession: “It would never have occurred to me to stop believing in Christ, but to get excited about him would have never occurred to me either!… the stage got me excited. The promise of a record deal got me excited. Going to church, on the other hand, was an obligation, a weekly interruption of my ordinary, real life.”  All of that changed because of two friends of his whose lives had been turned upside down by an encounter they claimed to have had with Jesus. As Marcellino explains, “Both had stopped using drugs. That impressed me. Both exuded a new excitement, a deep peace, and a quiet joy. That impressed me even more.”  That’s what got Marcellino’s attention. Not arguments. Not guilt trips. It was seeing the difference Christ made in people he knew.

Thank you for taking the time to read this homily for THE SOLEMNITY OF PENTECOST (June 8, 2025). Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.

And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me.  Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim

 

That’s the heart of Pentecost this great Feast day that we celebrate to close out 50 days of celebrating Jesus’ Resurrection from the Dead at Easter. Not just believing in theory, but being transformed in reality. Not memorizing stories, but being swept up into them. In the first reading today from the Acts of the Apostles, we’re dropped right into that upper room—“a noise like a strong driving wind” shakes the place, and the disciples, scared and uncertain, are suddenly overtaken by the Holy Spirit. Flames rest on them. They start speaking languages they’ve never learned. The whole world, gathered in Jerusalem, hears the Gospel in words that make sense to them. The Holy Spirit takes these ordinary, anxious people and makes them into something different—witnesses whose lives point beyond themselves. People are drawn not by clever speeches or persuasive arguments, but by the sheer reality of what God is doing in and through them.

That’s the kind of faith we crave: alive, compelling, impossible to fake or contain. And yet, it’s so easy to slip into autopilot. We show up. We say the words. But are we letting the Holy Spirit really move us? Are we willing to let Him shake us out of the routines and set our hearts on fire for something bigger? St. Paul reminds us today that the Holy Spirit gives each of us gifts—not to keep for ourselves, but to build up the Church, to bring newness and hope to a weary world.

This all reminds me of something that happened at Montclair State University, the campus I serve as Chaplain. A couple years ago, a student came into a discussion group on faith and spirituality, a weekly event that was sponsored by a professor from the Philosophy and Religion department. He came into the first meeting with a t-shirt with the words “God is dead” on it. Having majored in Philosophy in college, I knew this quote was from Friedrich Nietzsche—whose philosophical works have had a profound impact in the last two centuries. The man’s philosophy is a bit more complex than those three words—but, I doubted this student was looking to have a discussion on that. The kid wearing it was looking for a reaction from people in the room and got it from many of them. It was truly a Holy Spirit moment for me that I just was smiling to myself and kept quiet at the entire drama that was playing out. After the fireworks had ended at the end of the meeting, I said to him “I admire you’re wearing that here.” He smirked and said “oh yeah?” And when I said “yeah, that’s Nietzsche, right?” he gave a shrug, a little surprised I knew that and wasn’t attacking him. I told him I appreciated his boldness, that he actually had a position he was passionate about, enough to get a t-shirt and wear it. Honestly, he was easier to talk to than the majority of kids who showed up—kids who were Catholic, but were clearly not practicing, who felt guilty in front of a priest, but not enough to do anything about it. This student had strong feelings and opinions, and kept coming every week the rest of the semester, and over the weeks and months, he warmed up. We had real, authentic conversations there, and whenever we’d bump into each other on campus.

At one point, a couple months later, during one of these weekly meetings on faith and spirituality, the topic for the week was on human suffering, he shared that his mother was sick with cancer. I saw him after and asked if there was anything I could do, if his mom would want a visit. (I was never quite sure if they had been Catholic at some point or what the situation was at home, but I explained sometimes when people are sick, whether they are Catholic or not, they like to talk to a priest.) He started to get choked up and shook his head “no,” just mouthing “thank you,” and I said I was going to pray for her and for him. He seemed surprised by that, and I just said, “I know you think God is dead… I know He’s not… that’s why I’m praying for you and your mom.” We never had a debate about doctrine. We just had conversations—and a little bit of trust, a little bit of friendship, and I pray that a little bit of the Holy Spirit passed between us.

What my young friend might not have realized is that Nietzsche, for all his skepticism and his seemingly blasphemous claim that “God is dead,” also once said: “I will believe in the Redeemer when the Christians look a little more redeemed.” That line stings. How many people walk away from faith, not because they’ve truly encountered Christ and found Him wanting, but because they’ve never actually seen Christ alive in His people? It’s a challenge we all need to reflect on.

Last week, when we celebrated the Ascension of the Lord — Jesus’ resurrected body and soul returning to heaven — we could imagine the apostles and disciples, once again faced with Jesus’ departure. This time, it wasn’t horrifying as Good Friday, but you can imagine the tension and anxiety in the moment as they’re left on their own again. Yet Jesus promises them that this is better for them, that where He is going, we have true hope to follow. And in the meantime, He promises to remain with us. In that space between Ascension and Pentecost, those first disciples couldn’t understand what that meant. Who was this “Advocate” Jesus was going to send? How could it possibly be better than having Him there in their midst, as He had been for all those years?

Then Pentecost comes, and everything changes. Jesus’ promise is fulfilled. The Holy Spirit descends, and the disciples are no longer alone or afraid. They become the Church—alive, bold, and full of a hope that the world cannot ignore. Psalm 104 tells us: “When you send forth your Spirit, they are created, and you renew the face of the earth.” The Holy Spirit isn’t just a private comfort. The Holy Spirit is the very power that makes everything new—our hearts, our homes, our Church, our world. In the Gospel, Jesus breathes peace on His disciples and sends them out: “Receive the Holy Spirit.” He gives them the mission to forgive, to heal, to embody God’s mercy.

So here’s the question for us: Do we live as people who have received that Holy Spirit? Do our lives look redeemed—marked by a joy, a hope, a peace that cannot be explained away? Or do we blend into the background, tired, distracted, as if Easter and Pentecost never happened?

This Pentecost, let’s ask for more than routine. Let’s ask for the kind of transformation that can’t be hidden or ignored—a faith that draws others not by force, not by argument, but by the unmistakable presence of God at work in us. May the Holy Spirit fill us and send us out—not just to talk about Christ, but to make Him visible, unmistakable, alive in the world.

Come, Holy Spirit. Set our hearts ablaze. Remake us. And through us, renew the face of the earth.