Introduction
Another year and another opportunity to remember that we get two Pentecost moments in scripture. The violent wind and tongues of fire in Acts AND the Advocate in John (who will come as a breath right after the resurrection). Two wildly different portrayals of Spirit for us to wrestle with.
This year the texts don’t mesh super easily but there are ways of tying them together. That being said, this John 14 text can give us plenty on its own if we want to go in that direction.
John 14: “Show us…”
We start out our text with one of John’s brilliant teaching moments in the Gospel. This is such a human moment and such a human demand. Philip, addressing Jesus, asks, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” (John 14:8).
What a phenomenal moment. With the incarnate Word standing before him, Philip says, “Show us the Father.” Philip’s plea is raw and honest. It names the deepest yearning of the human soul: to see God, to know God, to understand the mystery and presence of the divine with clarity. He says aloud what many of us think: “If only I could see it (see God) I would be satisfied.”
But Jesus’ response reorients Philip’s request entirely. “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me?” Jesus doesn’t grant Philip a new vision or an unexplainable divine moment. He says: “Look at me. You’ve seen me and you’ve seen the Father.”
It’s an extraordinary theological claim. That to see Jesus, to know Jesus, is to know the very heart and nature of God.
This passage isn’t just a lesson in Christology; it’s the beginning of a deeper Trinitarian promise. Because Jesus doesn’t stop there. He goes on to say that through the Holy Spirit, that same divine presence will be with us and within us. The same God whom Philip longs to see will continue to dwell with us, not visibly, but intimately, through the Advocate, the Holy Spirit.
This is the pivot from incarnation to indwelling. From seeing Christ before us to receiving the Spirit within us. From a faith that requires physical sight, to one that listens to the Spirit’s language in our hearts, our communities, and yes, even in our neighbor’s voice.
Connecting to Acts 2: The Language of the Heart
This is where Acts 2 comes in. Pentecost is not just the fulfillment of a promise, it’s the proof of Jesus’ words to Philip. The Spirit has come. It moves with fire and wind, yes, but more importantly, it moves through language and through understanding.
It’s tempting to view the Acts 2 story as a miracle of speaking. But as theologian Eric Law writes, it’s really a miracle of hearing/communication.[1] Every person understands the many different languages. They hear the gospel in the language of their own heart.
It’s a reversal of Babel, but it’s also the very thing Philip was asking for. He wanted to see God. But on Pentecost, the people heard God. In their own tongue, in the sounds and stories that formed them. The Spirit makes God known, not by spectacle, but by intimacy. Not by flashy revelation, but through deep understanding.
Martin Luther: God Made Knowable
Martin Luther deeply understood the tension between the desire to see a hidden God and the promise that God has already been revealed. In his theology of the cross, Luther argues that God is most fully revealed not in glory or visible triumph, but in the crucified Christ. In weakness, suffering, and paradox.
In his Large Catechism, Luther also reflects on the Apostles’ Creed and says that we cannot by our own reason or strength come to know Jesus Christ or believe in him, but the Holy Spirit calls us through the Gospel. In other words, the Spirit is the only reason we know God at all.
Like Philip, we might think the solution to our uncertainty is a vision, a sign, a moment of clarity. But Luther reminds us that God is not found in what we think we want. God is found in the Word, in the sacraments, and in the presence of the Spirit working through the ordinary things of life. Through preaching, through bread and wine, through water, through community, through language.
This is the great reversal of both Philip’s request and our expectations.
Preaching Possibilities
Where Are We Still Saying, “Show Us the Father”?
Philip’s plea is not just historical—it’s deeply contemporary. “Show us the Father and we will be satisfied” is a line that echoes across time. It is the spiritual posture of our age, a cry for proof, clarity, and control.
We hear it in our politics:
“Show us that your way works.”
“Prove to us that the money is being used wisely and not just for those seeking an easy handout.”
“Demonstrate your power so we know which side to trust.”
We demand signs before we risk commitment. Certainty before discipleship.
We hear it in the church’s ideas of ministry:
“Show us the numbers.”
“Show us the growth.”
“Show us that our programs are effective.”
There is a deep craving in our congregations for something measurable, something visible, something that validates the work we’re doing. But Jesus never promises spectacle. He promises presence.
We even hear it in our personal spirituality:
“God, show me you’re real.”
“Give me a sign.”
“Make it obvious.”
But Jesus responds then as he does now: “I’ve already come to you. You’ve seen me. You know me. I have given you the Spirit. What more do you need?”
The danger in Philip’s request is not that it’s wrong to want God. It’s that he doesn’t recognize the fullness of what’s already been given. He’s asking for what’s already in front of him.
That’s the challenge for us too. What if our constant asking is keeping us from noticing the Spirit who is already moving—already whispering in the voices of those we overlook, already present in the quiet faithfulness of our communities, already at work through the acts of justice, love, and service that we sometimes deem too small to matter?
Jesus doesn’t shame Philip for asking—but he redirects him. He invites him, and us, to look again. The answer we crave is not a spectacle, but a relationship. Not a lightning bolt, but the still, small voice of the Advocate.
The Spirit is already here.
Already speaking.
Already acting.
The invitation of Pentecost is to tune our hearts to that presence, to stop waiting for some distant miracle, and instead bear witness to the one already unfolding among us.
The Church and Moneyball
We are so afraid of dying (as a Church) that we can’t even see that we have really done some good. We’re so fixated on attendance, money, and loyalty, that we can’t see where God is moving among us right now.
One of my favorite movies is Moneyball. Of course, one reason is that I love baseball and it’s a very good baseball movie. But it’s also because of the scene at the end of the movie.
In the final moments, Jonah Hill’s character, Peter Brand, shows Brad Pitt’s character, Billy Beane, a video of one of their minor league players who is terrified to run past first base. He’s a big guy, not someone anyone expects to be fast, and he rarely takes risks. Specifically, he’s afraid to run to second base. But one day, he hits the ball farther than he realizes. When he finally works up the courage to round first and run to second, he trips and falls. Scrambling back to first base in a panic, thinking he’s about to be tagged out, he doesn’t realize what actually happened.[2]
He hit a home run. The ball went 60 feet over the fence. He just didn’t see it.
After a beat, Peter says simply, “It’s a metaphor.”
Billy is stuck on the team’s playoff loss. But Peter is trying to help him see the bigger picture.
And Church: it’s a metaphor.
At our Synod Assembly in Delaware-Maryland this past weekend, The Rev. Christopher Otten shared that his childhood congregation has since closed. Its building is now an Aldi’s and a McDonald’s. But out of his youth group, five people now serve in vocational ministry in the Church.
You may not always see the impact. You may feel like you tripped rounding first. You may think you’re failing. But what if the Spirit is already showing you: the ball’s gone over the fence.
Whether you’re in a large, medium, or small congregation, you are doing some good in this world.
If you proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ and ensure that everyone in your pews, chairs, or couches feels the love of God, you are doing good.
If you’re sharing food, resources, coats, socks, gift cards, or gas cards (no matter how much or to how many), you are doing good.
If your church hosts 12-step meetings or support groups in your building, you are doing good.
The list is endless. Because God is there. The Spirit is moving through all of it.
Even when we don’t see the home run.
[1] Eric Law, The Wolf Shall Dwell with the Lamb: A Spirituality for Leadership in a Multicultural Community (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 1993).
[2] Video Clip of the Moneyball scene: https://youtu.be/gVDAPTabZNQ
Micah Krey 
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