“While Peter was still saying these things, the Holy Spirit fell on all who heard the word.”
Acts 10:44 ESV
I love words. I majored in English, and spent six years as an editor for the largest Christian publishing house in the world.
I’ve always seen myself as a writer who preaches on Sunday, not a preacher who happens to write during the week.
So when I come to the pulpit on Sundays, it’s with a full manuscript. I’ve sanded every sentence until it’s smooth. I’ve polished and honed and edited until the transitions are right and the seams between the sections are nearly invisible. I’ve literally counted every word, because I know my speaking cadence is about a hundred words per minute, so a 2500 word manuscript is about 25 minutes.
I believe the Holy Spirit is as present in the preparation as He is in the proclamation. I know there are preachers who take it as a badge of honor that they come into the pulpit with nothing but a Bible, confident that the Spirit will give them what to say. To me, that seems to be a disservice to the hard work of preparation and study.
With all that said, there is a nagging doubt in my mind every Sunday morning:
Am I leaving room for the Holy Spirit to move?
Peter, Interrupted
Peter doesn’t walk into Cornelius’s house unprepared. When he “opens his mouth” in Acts 10:34, he delivers one of the clearest, most compact summaries of the gospel anywhere in Scripture. He begins with God’s impartiality—“God shows no partiality”—and then moves straight into the life and ministry of Jesus: His anointing, His miracles, His compassion, His death, His resurrection, His appearances, His commission. It’s tight. It’s focused. It’s well-structured. You can almost feel Peter finding his rhythm, settling into the familiar cadence of telling the old, old story.
In fact, verses 36–42 read like a sermon Peter had preached many times before. He knew this material. He knew how to proclaim that Jesus is Lord of all. He knew how to testify that God raised Him from the dead. He knew how to declare that the apostles were witnesses chosen by God. And he was just getting to the climax—“…He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify…”—when suddenly the sermon is no longer in his hands.
The Holy Spirit takes over.
Before Peter can finish his point, before he can transition to application, before he can even extend an invitation, the Spirit falls on all who hear the word (v. 44). It is as though heaven says, “That’s enough, Peter. You’ve told the story faithfully. I’ll take it from here.” Peter is preaching in the groove, right in the middle of a beautifully prepared message—and God interrupts him with power he never could have produced on his own.
Acts 10 isn’t about sloppy preaching. It isn’t about winging it. It isn’t about “just let the Spirit give you the words.” It’s about something deeper, and honestly more unsettling, at least to someone like me:
Sometimes God pours Himself out in ways that don’t fit into your word count. Sometimes the Spirit breaks up your wordsmithed alliteration. Sometimes, He has additional points to make beyond the three you’ve so carefully constructed.
And when He does, how does a control freak like me respond?
Pentecostal Power
In my tradition, we don’t anticipate interruptions to our sermons. We are squarely on the “let all things be done decently and in order” end of the spectrum (see 1 Cor. 14:40). There will be the occasional “Amen,” but that’s about it. We don’t speak in tongues. We don’t jump pews, or run in the aisles, or get slain in the Spirit. We are white Southern Baptists. If someone is moved by the sermon, most of the time we just have to take their word for it.
So what would it even look like for the Spirit of God to fall on those who hear the Word… in our context?
Here’s the honest answer, the one that encourages me not to completely abandon my careful preparation: It doesn’t have to look like what I’ve been told a Spirit-filled church service looks like. For a church shaped by order, reverence, and a deep love of Scripture, the Spirit’s falling may look more like:
- Conviction that interrupts your sermon in the heart before your outline lands on the ear.
- A sudden wave of quiet weeping across the room—not emotional manipulation, but recognition of Christ’s nearness.
- An unmistakable stillness—a holy hush—not silence, but weight.
- People seeking reconciliation right after the service, not because you preached a sermon on forgiveness but because the Spirit pierced them mid-verse.
- An altar spontaneously filled without an altar call.
- A stubborn sinner repenting without you naming their sin.
- A dying marriage turning around because one spouse heard a line they can’t explain and can’t shake.
- A teenager deciding to follow Jesus without peer pressure or a mission trip high.
- A member walking across the room to pray with someone they’ve held at arm’s length for ten years.
- A baptism line forming faster than your committee can schedule a service.
None of that requires chaos. None of that violates order. None of that is prohibited because I preach from a manuscript.
It simply means this:
The Holy Spirit’s most powerful work in a church is often invisible until it becomes undeniable.
Pardoning the Interruption
When the Spirit “fell” on Cornelius’ household, it was visible because God was making a point: Gentiles get the same Spirit. But the effect of His coming wasn’t unique to them; it was just more dramatic because of the moment.
Most of the Spirit’s work in Acts is quieter:
- Lydia simply paid attention to what was said by Paul (Acts 16:14). That’s the Spirit.
- The Bereans examined the Scriptures daily with eagerness (Acts 17:11). That’s the Spirit.
- “Some were persuaded” (Acts 17:4). That’s the Spirit.
The Spirit fell on Cornelius not because Peter was unprepared, but because Peter was obedient. He preached the gospel. He said Jesus is Lord of all. He named the cross and the resurrection. He told the story faithfully.
And the Spirit said,
“That’s enough.”
He didn’t override Peter’s preparation; He fulfilled it.
What does it look like when the Spirit falls during my preaching?
It’s fruit I didn’t anticipate, repentance I didn’t manipulate, tears I didn’t orchestrate.
It’s decisions made that weren’t scheduled in advance.
It’s people changed in ways that weren’t part of my purpose statement.
And it’s those holy, wholly inexplicable moments when I step down from the pulpit after preaching your heart out, my carefully crafted manuscript tucked into my Bible, and someone says,
“Pastor, when you said ___, God spoke directly to me.”
And in my mind, I think:
I never said that.
That’s the Spirit falling.
The Holy Spirit doesn’t require tongues of fire. He doesn’t need permission.
He just needs room.
This blog will always be a free resource for anyone who wants to grow in their love for God’s Word. If it has blessed you and you would like to support the ministry of 66in52, please consider a one time or recurring donation. Thank you!
Leave a ReplyCancel reply