Yesterday was Pentecost Sunday—the celebration of the coming of the Holy Spirit. The day when the Spirit’s fire and wind blew through the closed doors where the disciples trembled in fear, and empowered them to get up, get out, and move on. To embrace their own resurrection and be transformed, and in so doing, transform the world around them.
The liturgical color for Pentecost is red—the color of celebration, yes, but also perhaps a signal to stop, to wait, to be still, to breathe in the Spirit. Immediately after Pentecost comes the command to “Go.”
It’s Monday morning. We move into Ordinary Time—the “long green season,” that seemingly endless time of the church year that leads us from Pentecost back to Advent, back to the beginning of the cycle, back to the place of Incarnation. Sometimes it feels as if we’ll never get there.
Whatever our sacred story, whatever faith we hold, it’s a metaphor worth considering, especially in a world where so many of our days seem…well, ordinary. Ordinary Time is where the Spirit continues to move—sometimes silently, invisibly, sometimes with obvious power and purpose. We can’t figure out where the Wind comes from or where it’s going, but somehow, miraculously, in the ordinariness of life, we are (or can be) resurrected, filled, transformed, empowered.
My good friend and former pastor, Joe, is fond of saying, “How do we know God is with us? We know because we will be led to places we never intended to go.”
This is no ordinary time. The Spirit, by whatever name we call Her, is moving among us. Pause for a moment and feel her breath on your face. Listen for her Voice in the wind. Feel her touch like the brush of a feather, like tongues of fire, like new insights opening inside a dream.
She is here, waiting. Waiting for us to notice, and be filled.
who hovered over the abyss
and birthed from the dark waters,
everything that is,
seen and unseen,
move unseen among us now
and raise us to new creation.
who gathered us under her wings
like a hen with chicks,
love us now
with the glory of your presence.
who breathes like a mighty wind
through the closed doors
of our ordinary lives,
break us out of staleness,
fling wide the shutters of our souls
and send us forth
to be and to become.
We are all flawed and fickle,
we are all wounded healers,
we are all half finished,
but by grace,
we are yours.
© 2016 Penelope J. Stokes