Speaking to Us Where We Are: Pentecost

Today’s reflection is from Jim McDermott, who is a freelance writer in New York and a regular contributor to Bondings 2.0.

Today’s liturgical readings for Pentecost Sunday can be found by clicking here.

Pentecost Sunday happened to fall just two days after I got ordained in 2003. One of my ordination classmates had his first Mass as a priest that morning, and as part of his homily, he invited a number of our lay and religious classmates from the Weston Jesuit School of Theology to join him in the sanctuary. One by one, each began to say the Our Father in a different language, in an attempt to recreate the experience of today’s Gospel.

I had always imagined that first Pentecost scene as a cacophony: a hundred different voices speaking over one another in such a way that you really didn’t hear much of anything. But at my friend’s Mass, somehow we each really could clearly hear the prayer being spoken in our own language as well as in the others. Instead of jarring, the experience was calming and profoundly consoling.

Today’s feast is a two-fold celebration of God’s willingness to speak to us in a language we understand, and God’s capacity to reach us no matter what might be in the way, whether it’s a hundred other people talking or a locked door.

And truly, is there any story in Scripture more apt for us in the queer community? Two thousand years before queer people talked about the struggle to come out of the closet, the disciples hid within the equivalent of one after Jesus’ death, and for the same reason we do—because they were afraid of being recognized, and afraid of what might happen to them if they were seen.

The Gospel doesn’t give us a lot of details about the disciples’ fear. I tend to believe they hid themselves away in the most unlikely place they could find, somewhere no one would ever think to look for anyone, which almost certainly almost meant it was the least livable place as well: a tiny attic where the stiflingly hot air didn’t move; a lightless sewer chamber where rodents could be heard scuttling around; a cave on the outskirts of town where only the unclean dwelt.

In my early life, I instinctively did something similar. I was so scared of realizing I was gay I edited out every feeling of attraction or awareness as they occurred. I hid that whole aspect of myself away in a cavern as deep and dark as I could find, and hoped no one would ever notice that it was missing, including me.

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus is completely unphased by the barricades that have been put up. He enters into the locked room and tells the disciples, “Peace be with you.” Then he immediately shows them his wounds. Objectively speaking, that’s pretty weird! To quote Lisa Kudrow in, the HBO series The Comeback “I don’t need to see that.”

But again, this moment is about God speaking to the disciples where they are, and in this moment they are afraid for their lives. By showing them his wounds, Jesus is acknowledging their fears and also reassuring them. Yes, all that terrible stuff you’re afraid of is real and possible. But look at me standing here, happy to see you, and know that there’s no reason to be afraid. It’s going to be okay.

We’re all at different places in our journey as queer people and people of faith. Personally, I feel like the path to self-acceptance and authenticity has been more like a Russian doll of ever-deepening levels than one step through a single doorway. And just because I’ve come this far doesn’t mean I’m not still afraid (perhaps without even allowing myself to know it).

However we currently find ourselves, the Gospel today is as much promise as history. Jesus enters into our lives and offers us peace and courage in a language we can understand.  

—Jim McDermott, May 24, 2026