It had been a week since Jesus had entered heaven. His followers still awaited his promise. Jewish pilgrims from around the ancient world ((Acts 2:9-11)) were packed into Jerusalem for the festival of Pentecost; every year they presented the first of their harvest at the temple, to show God their gratefulness, and that they trusted him to provide even more.

Like that fateful Passover almost two months past, the city was on high alert. With so many gathered together, mobs formed quickly. Pilate had his Roman guards on prominent display, but out of easy reach. The crowds seemed to grow more volatile every year. The Jews were growing tired of their overlords.

It was almost time for the morning prayer ((Acts 2:15)). The crowds filled every inch of the temple’s massive courtyard. Latecomers fought for any open space they could find. Then, without warning, the thunder of a roaring wind ((Acts 2:2)) echoed through the temple.

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