A Pentecost sermon on Acts 2:1-21
Preached Sunday, June 8, 2025 at the Trinity UMC parking lot in Albany. NY

Social media post from JuanPa (@jpbrammer), saying "remember what it felt like when you saw a queer person owning it, and it gave you permission to be yourself? You're that person to some"

There are so many times in the Bible and in Christian teaching where self-denial is recommended. We are so often told that the right thing to do, the righteous thing to do, is to ignore our own wants and needs and turn our attention to others. Jesus tells us to sell all we have and give the money to the poor, to leave family behind, to let the dead bury the dead. Paul tells Christians they should really try to do without sex if they can, and that’s not my favorite, but he also tells us to be subject to one another, to adjust our behavior to enable others in the faith to participate in the life of the church, and that’s all right. Self-denial is all over scripture.

I’ve never preached a gay sermon. I mean, I’m not gay, I’m bi, but you know what I mean. I’ve never preached a sermon that explicitly focused on gay theology or queer theology or the queer experience. I’ve never reflected on the queerness of the rainbow or argued about the nature of David and Jonathan’s situationship and I think it’s because (outside of the homiletical excuses of context and politeness) of self-denial.

And a pride sermon? Forget it!

But here I am, and here you are, at Pride Sunday worship. I think today, with your permission, I’m going to preach a gay sermon. Well, a bi sermon. A gender inclusive bi sermon. A “may as well be pan, but I like the bi flag better” sermon. A non-binary sermon. An all-embracing queer sermon. Because it fits the scripture and it fits the context. But most importantly, because of the same reason we have pride to begin with: for our lesbian, gay, bi, trans, and queer relatives, for everyone who has gone before us, brick or leather or hand in hand, finding a way for us today, and for every queer person out there who is starting to believe the lie that they’re better off dead than gay. For the lives at risk, for the lives that have been and the precious lives that are and will be, we need a gay sermon today.

Are you with me?

And will you pray with me?

God of rainbows and queers, God of sparkles and gays, God of pride and God of us all, thank you for bringing us together to this time and this place. By your Spirit, make your presence known here among us today. And may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable to you, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

“They are filled with new wine.”

It’s absurd that this line is in scripture, and yet, I’m fascinated by it. I grew up at one of those Metho-Baptist kind of congregations in North Carolina, and we did. not. talk. about. alcohol. But here it is in scripture! Reading the Pentecost story was like reading the King James where they call donkeys asses. We all got to giggle at the cuss words and be amazed at this breach of taboo. The disciples looked like they were drunk! Can you imagine!

Because, remember, for me, self-denial is the order of the day, every day. This was the lesson I learned first and best at church. Sacrifice for others. Put others first. Be present and sober at all times so that you can be ready to help at the drop of a hat. You don’t have time to sin if you’re taking care of the needs of others.

And there’s a place for that. There really is. We all know that full-out self-denial only leads to self-destruction, but there is a balance between what you do for yourself and what you do for others, and Christ does call us to be critical about that balance, especially where the poor and vulnerable are concerned. I think in my heart of hearts that I’d follow Jesus to Golgotha if called, but much more often, Jesus calls us to compassion, to attention to those around us, and to doing justice here and now for as long as we can. It’s hard to do all that when you’re crucifying yourself daily.

I know that for a fact, because I’ve lived it.

I wish I had a different story to tell you about myself. I wish my history was different than yet another southern queer, raised just evangelical enough to learn to hate myself before I even knew myself. I wish I could tell you that there was a queer or affirming adult who recognized me for the baby enby that I was or saw me flirt with a girl in my own weird little way and pulled me aside and told me to love who I was, no matter what. I wish I could tell you that I was out and proud in high school or college or after, that it wasn’t the year of our Lord 2018, when I was a full thirty years old, before I started to admit to myself that maybe I wasn’t actually straight. I wish there was more joy, more rainbows, more pride parades in my story.

But there’s not.

“Look at them! It’s 9am and they’re drunk on new wine!”

See, the thing about self-denial is that you have to work at it. You are who you are. You have needs and wants. That’s all part of being a human, a spirit in a body, a body with a spirit, connected to the earth and all that lives upon it and to the Three-In-One who made it. You are good. Very good, according to the last verse of Genesis, chapter 1. In order to achieve the self-denial that was such a part of my youth and young adulthood, my time cosplaying as straight, you have to deny aspects of yourself that are good and very good. And that takes work. Soul-crushing work.

But soul-crushing work is not what we see here in the Pentecost story. There is work for us to do as Christians, don’t get me wrong. There is plenty of work for us to do in this world. But that’s not what this morning’s scripture is about. In this morning’s scripture, the disciples are overtaken by the Spirit. Tongues of fire come down and rest upon them and they find that the work of the Tower of Babel is undone, even if just for a moment: they can speak to each other. They can understand each other. Through the abundant gift of the Spirit, they can see each other for who they are, no matter where they came from or where they’re going.

And my friends, self-denial is nowhere in sight.

On Pentecost, souls are not crushed.

They are set free.

Now, I don’t know where you’re coming from or where you’re going. I don’t know if you speak my language. I don’t know if you’re another southern queer who could have used more pride in your life or whether you’re a northern queer who’s already dreading the amount of glitter you’ll be tracking home. I don’t know if there’s always a “YAS QUEEN” waiting on your lips or whether you, like me, are a quiet queer. Yas. I don’t know if you’re here as an ally or if you’re here and in the closet or you’re because someone dragged you along. I don’t know if you speak my language. But today, my friends, through the power of the Spirit, we understand each other.

And we’re gonna make such a noise that folks will think we’re drunk on new wine, no matter what time of day it is.

Because when I stopped denying myself and let myself be queer, I felt a lightness I never expected. When I embraced myself as nonbinary, I felt a euphoria I still can’t really express. It turns out that when you start to be the person God made you to be, it is actually, truly, honestly, very good.

And I wish that for you. I wish that for all of us.

There is work ahead. I think we all know that. There are vulnerable folks to be protected. There are unjust laws to resist. There are networks to build and tend, there are organization to support, there are trainings to go to and share, there are pieces to write, there are conversations to have, there is food to make for the folks going out to the protest and believe me, there are protests and protests galore ahead. Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera did not do what they did in order for us to go quietly into a future where we lose what our queer and trans ancestors have fought to gain. There is work to do.

But today, it is Pentecost. Today, it is Pride. Today, we welcome in the Spirit to rest upon us, tongues of fire that will teach us to dance and sing, to clap and cheer, to be as gay as we were made to be, because today we understand each other. Today, we celebrate the great cloud of witnesses that made this gathering possible. Today, we make as much noise as we can so that those who come after us know that they are loved and they are wanted and they are very, very good, just as they are.

Jesus promised us an Advocate. Jesus promised us that we wouldn’t be alone, we would never be alone.

My friends, look around. We are not alone. We have each other. We have the Spirit. We have all we need.

So go. Celebrate. Scandalize. Be who you were always meant to be, no self-denial in sight.

Happy Pentecost, and happy Pride.

Amen.