Maybe You Speak in Tongues… But…

An open rebuke to the leadership of C3 Church Carlingford. 

Maybe you speak in tongues.

But if you still view the world as a platform for performance rather than a people to be loved, then Pentecost hasn’t touched you.

Maybe you raise your hands and shake under the lights and declare prophecy in a polished accent.

But if the fruit of your ministry is obedience to ego rather than humility before Christ, you’re not filled. You’re inflated.

We are in an hour when Pentecost is being parodied. Where pulpits play dress-up with fire and offer smoke machines in place of upper-room trembling. Where sermons are strung together with motivational fluff, and the Holy Spirit is recast as a kind of brand manager for church growth.

And to that, I say: maybe you speak in tongues… but you missed Him entirely.

Because the true outpouring doesn’t start in a sermon. It starts with surrender. With repentance. With a tearing down of platforms built on manipulation and a weeping over sheep who were fed theology laced with performance metrics and leadership coaching.

I’ve watched a church stand up and talk about marketplace prophecy while never addressing its complicity in spiritual abuse. I’ve heard them call for tongues and visions while silencing trauma disclosures and gaslighting those they wounded. Now I’ve listened—twice—as the same pastor uses the story of Pentecost to celebrate noise, not transformation.

There was a moment in the most recent sermon where the mask slipped:

“Maybe you speak in tongues… but you don’t really see people through God’s eyes.”

That’s not a word of knowledge. That’s a confession. Not a caution. A window into their failure.

Let’s tell the truth, at least for a minute…

You can preach Acts 2. You can exegete Joel. But if the people under your care have to write books just to survive what you did to them under the guise of ‘discipleship,’ then Pentecost is not your ally. It’s your indictment.

Because the Spirit of Pentecost never produces that kind of cowardice. It doesn’t wink at the suffering of the neurodivergent or elevate pastors who participated in conversion-based coercion. It does not bless emotional suppression or wrap it in theology. It doesn’t show up with a slogan, it shows up with truth.

Let’s be honest, the most prophetic thing some of us can do is stop pretending that the microphone is evidence of anointing. If Peter had spoken like this, if he had told people to kneel quietly and reflect on how God sees their job, we wouldn’t have had 3,000 saved. We would have had another conference.

This is not Pentecost. This is posturing.

And I’m not here to play games with it.

I’ve wept in the aftermath of the version of “Spirit-filled” you preach. I’ve watched what your brand of empowerment did to teenagers. I’ve lived it. I had to escape from it. And I’m here to say: no more.

You think it appropriate to offer sermons on “marketplace prophecy” while those in your congregation are recovering from spiritual violence. Why are you talking about “seeing with God’s eyes” while shaming those who didn’t fit your ideal mould, and going after pastors who align with me?

What part of Christian is that? It is, frankly, demonic.

Do you understand what happens when people speak in tongues? It humbles the proud.

Prophecy? It exposes the rot.

You want Pentecost?

Then let the fire fall. But don’t you dare sanitise it and call it another Sunday.

Because in the upper room, no one was asking about how few viewers were on the YouTube video, or for Instagram handles, or offering a moment. No one was building programs.

They were building altars.

And that is the problem. You’ve tried to turn fire into a formula.

Now you’re facing silence from your people. The trickle of views. The cold glare of exposure. Because those around you are waking up. Because some read. Some listened. And the majority started to believe the Holy Spirit might actually care more about healing than stage presence.

Now, when you hear the line “maybe you speak in tongues… but,” it doesn’t sound like a caution.

It sounds like a warning.

This is a collapse of credibility. The flicker of conscience trying to peek through the lights. The sound of a pastor realising the congregation doesn’t believe it anymore.

Because deep down, if the leadership knew Pentecost was real, you wouldn’t have had to fake it this long.

You would have repented.

You would have listened.

You would have come down from the platform and said:

“I hurt people. I didn’t see it. Forgive me.”

That is Pentecost. That is what happens when fire falls.

But no.

You doubled down.

You changed nothing.

You wrapped it in more language. You pulled out Joel. You invoked Peter.

But let me tell you something:

Peter didn’t prop up the system that crucified Jesus.

Peter didn’t spend his Pentecost sermon inviting people to give money to the ministry that helped drive the nails.

Peter didn’t get up and preach marketplace fire. He preached repentance.

And if you can’t do that?

Then maybe you speak in tongues… but you’ve silenced the voice of the Spirit long ago.

I don’t care how polished the sermon is.

I care whether the abused are safe.

I care whether the vulnerable are heard.

I care whether the neurodivergent teen who came through your ministry and was told to “pray harder” is ever going to hear the word Pentecost again without flinching.

Maybe you speak in tongues.

But unless that tongue confesses, repents, and cries holy, you are nothing but a clanging cymbal.