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From Here to Everywhere
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We're in a series in the book of Acts called From Here to Everywhere, about how the Spirit empowers us to share the good news of Jesus. At the beginning of Acts, Jesus gives his disciples a promise:
"You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria and to the ends of the earth." (Acts 1:8)
The disciples know where they're going, but not much about how it will happen. The Spirit comes alongside them, and they move forward trusting God.
In Acts chapter 8, great persecution scatters the church. It seems things are torn apart and broken down, but Jesus' promise is actually coming alive in unexpected ways. The believers reach Judea and Samaria — but the promise was to the ends of the earth. How will God bring that about?
In Acts chapter 10, we see the Spirit drawing near again and again:
"God does not show favoritism, but accepts from every nation the one who fears him and does what is right... everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name." (Acts 10:34-35, 43)
The Spirit of God can move through anyone. If there is one thing I want you to take home today, it's this: the only barrier to the Spirit moving in you is a hardened heart. He wants our freely given love, and he is too good to accept anything else.
This story is the beginning of the broader "to the ends of the earth" church — it's our family history.
Cornelius is a Roman centurion, an army man in charge of about a hundred soldiers. He is God-fearing, devoted, generous to the poor, and has an open heart. Yet he is a bridge figure standing between Judaism and paganism — respected by the Jewish people, but still considered an outsider, excluded from God's covenant with Israel.
He receives a message from an angel to send for Peter, one of Jesus's original twelve disciples, staying in Joppa. Interestingly, Joppa is the same place Jonah fled from in disobedience — but this is a different story, one about obedience.
Cornelius obeys the angel's command with reverence, sending two men to fetch Peter without any way to verify or track their journey. He was sending them out purely by faith. When Peter walks through his door, Cornelius falls at his feet in awe — a pivotal moment where he is front row to the glory and faithfulness of God.
Meanwhile, Peter goes up to a rooftop to pray — a sign he was open to receiving from the Spirit. There he sees a vision, repeated three times: a sheet lowered from heaven containing all kinds of animals considered unclean under Jewish law. A voice tells him, "Get up, kill, and eat." Peter refuses — "Surely not, Lord... I have never eaten anything impure or unclean."
This vision was intentionally disturbing, meant to disrupt Peter's way of thinking. The principal event in this passage isn't merely the conversion of Cornelius and his household — it's the restoration and expansion of Peter's own heart and belief system.
This passage affirms that Jesus came not to abolish the law but to fulfill it (Matthew 5:17). The law would have considered Cornelius an outsider despite his heart, but the enduring character of God is that he is loving and welcomes all into his family. The outpouring of the Spirit on all nations has always been his plan.
Consider Peter's heart posture behind his "surely not." I don't think it was only obedience to the law — I think deep down it was fear for himself, fear of being unclean, self-preservation. Yet the voice tells him: "Do not call anything impure that God has made clean."
The vision was part of God's preparation for Peter, freeing him from religious obligations rooted in fear and shame — obligations humans had added onto God's commands over generations. Devotion to rules and religion over seeking the presence of God is a path toward a hardened heart. Rules matter, especially God's — but if our goal is only to follow rules and not Jesus, we've missed the mark.
Immediately after the vision, Cornelius's men arrive at Peter's door. Talk about divine timing. The Spirit tells Peter, "Do not hesitate, but go," and Peter travels with them to Cornelius's house.
Many theologians argue that the book we call "Acts of the Apostles" could rightly be called the Acts of the Holy Spirit — because he is the main character, the through-line of the book. No one cares more for the life and flourishing of the church than the Spirit himself.
Look at Peter's story: he started as a fisherman. Jesus interjected himself into Peter's life, calling him to be a "fisher of people" — and since God is all-knowing, Jesus surely saw the day Peter would partner with the Spirit to bring good news to the Gentiles.
"On this rock I will build my church." (Matthew 16:18)
God has always been actively involved, weaving together the tiny details of our lives. He had a plan over Peter's life. He has a plan over yours.
Our greatest calling is to the Spirit — to be with him, for him to be in us. Your calling is not what you do; your calling is from God to God. That is a solid foundation to build life upon. Other things come and go, but he is enduring.
The Spirit dwells in open hearts. He won't enter where he isn't wanted, but he will surely knock — and in those knocks, in that still small voice, he mercifully breaks down barriers in us.
While Peter was still speaking to Cornelius's household, the Holy Spirit came on all who heard:
"The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were astonished that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on Gentiles, for they heard them speaking in tongues and praising God." (Acts 10:45)
This is a unifying, prophecy-fulfilling moment — Jew and Gentile each receiving the Spirit. As commentator John Stott puts it, it's difficult to grasp the impassable gulf that existed between Jews and Gentiles in that day. Yet this had been the plan all along:
"All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the Lord, and all the families of the nations will bow down before him." (Psalm 22:27)
"I will also make you a light for the Gentiles that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth." (Isaiah 49:6)
Human beings drew boundaries — social, religious, political — but the Holy Spirit sees hearts, not divisions. Nothing hinders God from being close, nothing stops his pursuit of the people he created. He longs for you to know him and love him of your own free will.
When God chose Israel, it was never about favoritism but love. Favoritism, power used for personal gain, competition, comparison — these are characteristics of the kingdom of man, not God. Israel's covenant promise in Genesis 12 was twisted into an exclusive election filled with pride, ignoring the part that said "all peoples on earth will be blessed through you." The blessing was always that Jesus would come and redeem the whole creation — not just the Israelites, but all.
A wall breaking down may feel like inconsistency to us, but when it is the Spirit doing the breaking, it is restoration. God prepares Peter's heart with a vision, and later, when Jewish believers hear that the Spirit fell on Gentiles too, their criticism ceases and their worship begins. When God breaks down barriers in a heart, he is restoring it — bringing people back to the Father and correcting false belief systems.
This is our family history, and it's great news for us. God does not show favoritism; he accepts from every nation the one who fears him and does what is right. The Holy Spirit is alive and moving in this church today — right here, right now. He knows every heart.
And here's the good news: there is no barrier but a closed heart for the Spirit to move. He moves through weakness, through joy, through sorrow, in the valley and on the mountaintop, in your coming and going, in your weeping and rejoicing — even through doubt, questioning, or criticism. Yet he cannot and will not move in a closed-off, hardened heart.
Our freely-chosen love and trust in him — our open-heartedness — delights him, because what can't he do with a willing heart? Following Peter's example, and the Jewish believers whose criticism turned to worship, we see that it is by the Spirit moving that hearts are truly changed.
I want to share something tender with you. I've walked through some of the deepest grief imaginable in my relationships with my parents. As a young teenager, about 13, my relationship with my father broke apart — the kind of pain that leaves lasting scars. In my early young adulthood, a similar break happened with my mother, and the depths of sorrow were remarkable. I felt surrounded by darkness, and in some of the darkest moments, I considered not living anymore.
I don't know how, but somehow my heart stayed open to God. He kept showing up, kept revealing himself to me — even when I was turning away from him, I found him right there. Most often, my surrender was simply crying in his presence. It doesn't matter what you bring him — it just matters that you bring it. He brings beautiful things out of ashes.
A few months ago, I attended a retreat with Alpha Canada alongside some of our youth leaders and students — about 300 people from churches across Canada, designed to empower grade 10 students to share their faith. One evening, a student I had never met came up to me for prayer. As we talked, I shared bits of my story about my parents. She looked at me with tears streaming down her face and said, "Lilly, yes — I have the exact same story as you. My father abandoned me, and my relationship with my mother is so broken."
I wept, because the hand of God was so evident. I could not have orchestrated that moment — she was from Ontario, I'm from BC; she was Catholic, I am not. Yet God brought us together. I encouraged her and spoke life over her because I had experienced that same depth of grief. All I had ever brought to Jesus was my pain and my tears — and somehow he brought about a miracle.
He wants to do that same thing in each and every one of you, because he is actively involved in all of your lives. He is so close. There is no barrier but a hardened heart for him to move.
If you need that broken-down restoration in your own life today, I want to encourage you: look to Jesus. Whether that means crying in his presence or simply bringing him whatever you have — bring it to him, because he is good and faithful.
