Service June 14th – Acts 2
Well, it sure is wonderful to be here in Mparntwe, on the lands of the Arrernte people. In these wide open spaces, with all of you, I feel like I can breathe again.
As most of you know, I’m here for two reasons.
The first is the funeral of our dear friend and teacher Kwementjaye Cavanagh. Stella mentioned a few weeks ago that it was a trip Martin and I took with Kwementjaye back in 2008 that was one of the great inspirations for us to move here the following year. We have remained close to the Cavanagh family ever since. This is a real loss — for us, and for Central Australia. Kwementjaye was a significant healer and elder in this community.
On a happier note, I am also here to celebrate Kwementjaye’s grandson and our beloved Clayton’s 18th birthday. I cannot quite believe it has happened. There is something deeply poignant for me that these two things are happening at the same time, and I am so grateful to be here for both. Clayton is in a better place than I could have asked or imagined, and so thank you — to all of you who have been part of his journey, and for the many prayers I know so many of you have prayed for him and for us.
The text I’m reflecting on today follows the Pentecost readings Su Sze reflected on so well three weeks ago. I know that feels like a while ago, but I’m jumping back there because we’ve been following this story at Salisbury, and so that’s what I am thinking about, but also because I love this part of the Pentecost story. I think we miss something really important if we only ever tell the first half of it.
And I think this story has something particular to say to you, at what I know has not been an easy time.
Let’s pray. You know what I’m going to say: for the word of God in Scripture, for the word of God within us and amongst us — we give thanks, and we pray that something of this word might speak to us this morning.
Ok, a quick recap of where we are in the story.
Acts opens with Luke addressing his reader, Theophilus reminding us this is a letter that follows his Gospel — the story of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection.
Jesus then ascends, telling his disciples to wait in Jerusalem for the Holy Spirit, who will empower them to be his witnesses — in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. This story is and has always been for all people.
And clearly Jesus meant it because ten days later the Spirit comes, and the first gift it gives is the gift of different language. Clearly, any Christianity that wraps itself around one group, one race, one culture, one nation — is not Christianity.
Some people are sceptical. Those of you who struggle with the wild and weird bits of Scripture probably understand how they feel.
But many others — those more like Su Sze and me who are very much into the weird stuff — are amazed, and ask: what does this mean?
Peter stands and, drawing on the prophet Joel, explains that this was foretold: in the last days, God would pour out his Spirit on all people.
He then proclaims that Jesus — whom they crucified — has been raised by God and exalted, and is therefore the anticipated Lord and Messiah.
And our reading picks up here: when they heard this, they were cut to the heart and asked, “What should we do?”
Peter replies: “Repent and be baptised in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.”
Now I know repentance has a bad reputation. It can sound harsh, judgmental, heavy. But the Greek word, as you may have heard, is metanoia — to change your mind, your direction, your heart. It is about transformation, freedom and being made new. And in Greek it implies a continuous action, not a one-time event.
The beauty of our faith is not that we were once bad and now we’re good. It’s that again and again, week by week, we can return to God — changing our minds, our hearts, our direction.
It’s not like the three attempts you get to remember your password before the system locks you out — which seems to happen to me every single time, because passwords have to be so impossibly complex these days. There is no limit to it.
The crowd receives this as good news. Three thousand are baptised that day.
Then Luke describes what this new Spirit-formed community looks like. They devoted themselves to four things: the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, the breaking of bread, and the prayers.
These four simple things are the marks of a Spirit-filled community, so let’s briefly consider them.
The apostles’ teaching is the story of Jesus — his life, death, and resurrection — and how that story fits within the wider story of God. A Spirit-filled community is shaped by Scripture: reading it, teaching it, letting it form us.
This is why the Basis of Union says
“The Uniting Church acknowledges that the Church has received the books of the Old and New Testaments as unique prophetic and apostolic testimony, in which it hears the Word of God and by which its faith and obedience are nourished and regulated. . . The Uniting Church thus lays upon its members the serious duty of reading the Scriptures and commits its ministers to preach from these. . .”
Fellowship. We are made in the image of the Triune God — Father, Son, and Spirit in eternal relational unity. We are created for relationship. The cross restores us to God vertically, and reconciles us to one another horizontally. Fellowship is not optional or secondary. It is a sign of new life.
The breaking of bread. Some understand this as communion, others as shared meals. I’d say it’s both. A Spirit-filled community gathers regularly around the table — sacramental and ordinary — to remember Christ and share life together.
The prayers. In Greek this is literally the prayers — not just prayer in general. This suggests a community shaped by shared, inherited prayers. The Lord’s Prayer, the psalms, the prayers of their tradition.
Today we tend to think the most authentic prayer is spontaneous personal expression — and it absolutely has its place. But we also need prayers that are — and I know you all miss this phrase — older, wiser and deeper than ourselves.
Prayers that form us, shape us, and teach us to pray beyond our own instincts. Because the goal of prayer is not primarily to get God to do what we want, but to form us into the likeness of Christ.
The picture Luke sketches here is a community actively formed by these rhythms and practises—teaching, fellowship, breaking bread, and prayer—while remaining open to the ongoing work of God’s Spirit. Focused on knowing Christ and making him known — not only in word but in deed, in how they love and share and serve.
And this leads to awe. Signs and wonders. People sharing their possessions, giving to those in need. Gathering in the temple as well as eating together with glad and generous hearts. Worshipping God and having goodwill toward all people.
And day by day, the Lord adds to their number.
This is the high point of the early church. A glimpse of the Kingdom of God in action — not built on power or control or human ambition, but on God’s presence among his people.
A model was established for the church. Although I’m now finding myself reading books about church growth and they rarely give this as the model.
However, as the story continues, it does not remain this simple. The church struggles, fractures, and grows in fits and starts none the less, we can be tempted to look at this and then critique the church today for falling short. And sometimes that’s necessary. But I also want to say: I see so much of the spirit of this early church in this community.
Week by week you gather here in this “temple” to confess, to pray for each other and for this town, to reflect on Scripture, to share communion and life together. And not only here — in bible studies, in countless meals and picnics and walks, in the swapping of children, you share your lives with one another.
In all this the same Spirit is still at work, forming a people, day by day.
I know this season without a minister is getting tiring. Especially for Mikaila and Benj and the council, who have been carrying so much. And so many of you are preaching and leading on top of already very full lives. Some things have had to be let go, and at times it doesn’t feel quite the same. But hang in there. I know you know this but what you have here is truly special — it is genuine Christian community — and a minister is going to recognise that soon, and they will be a most blessed minister.
I certainly was.
This is not to say I’m not blessed by my current congregation. While, it’s not the same for me either – I don’t think they appreciate the 12-minute sermon as much if you can believe it. But they are warm and kind, deeply rooted in and devoted to Scripture and the community in which we are placed – Salisbury. They run a great emergency relief program four days a week. The volunteers really go the extra mile for people. One of my favourite parts of the week is the community lunch on Wednesdays — breaking bread together with people from right across the town.
Salisbury, like Alice Springs, is a complicated place to live, but also rich and vibrant. I can’t say I’ve fully embraced city life yet — but there are some wonderful trails around Salisbury that Sami and I are enjoying getting to know.
The Kingdom of God is still at hand. Here. In Salisbury. Across the church. The same Spirit, forming a people, day by day.
Peter’s sermon called the crowd to respond to the reality of Jesus — crucified, risen, exalted — with repentance and baptism. And they did. What began as a moment of conviction became the birth of a new community: devoted to the apostles’ teaching, to fellowship, to breaking bread, and to the prayers.
Hold onto that. This Spirit-formed community lived in shared generosity and gladness, holding their possessions lightly, caring for those in need, and in doing so became a living witness to the Kingdom of God.
May it continue to be so here.
