Pentecost
is a Christian holy day 50 days after Easter commemorating the descent in wind
and fire of the Holy Spirit to the Apostles. This event (Acts 2:1–31, New Testament) marked the
beginning of their ministries and is sometimes called the birthday of the
Church.
After Jesus came and went, we
kept
Awhile to ourselves. We needed
time
To sort it out: the stories we
wanted to keep,
Those times with the fish, the
sense he made to women,
And who had claimed the body
from the grave;
When God let on he'd come again,
or someone
Next of kin. The brightness hurt
our eyes.
This time the house was shook – we
couldn't think.
He came in wind and flame so
hot, so fine,
We hardly needed words to say
what happened.
Our muscles took on shine, they
rose and moved
Like water moves that knows for
sure its way.
Our mouths relaxed, our tongues
were in our hair,
Shifting fire that made our
bodies talk,
And travelers from out of town
tuned in.
We climbed the roof still
glowing.
Some spirit Inside seemed his
because it itched to fly
And made us flirt with fear to
follow life.
But the ribs and legs were ours
this time, as if
God had finally learned to make
his home
In anyone who loved to stand the
heat.
Once we felt the light we had to
change,
To set aside the extras for the
real.
We'd save his stories, since he
was a friend,
And Christmas carols, because we
knew the words,
And honor each cathedral built
from love.
But some things had to go. With
living fire
To play with, who needs heavy
air and smoke,
Hidden talk, or dressing up like
kings?
Why stand in boredom looking at
the sky?
Why grope and mourn to please
offended gods?
We cry our own tears now –
there's living water;
The list of virtues we had only
learned
Have taken form in human eyes,
in angry
Lungs that stretch and tear the
air for justice,
In hands that know the art to
heal by touch,
Where trembling through the
joints of our own bodies
We feel the energy of holy
grace.
I tell you, these were changes,
this was living.
The house had hardly cooled when
we set out
To take the path the fire takes,
to let
The churning in our rib cage
show the way.
We went in twos and threes,
sometimes alone.
The road kept finding us, the
earth rose up
Against our feet to meet us like
a lover.
And who's surprised? Wherever
God leaves traces
The ground is hot: I test it
with my skin.
Sometimes he's fire above, or
blood within
Sunk way beneath the tissue of
my words,
Beyond where fear or answers can
intrude.
And "Breathe," he
says, as he's done from the start.
And "Let my fire through
your lungs and heart."
For all the ways to know him, I
insist
The only path is never to resist
His breath within your breath,
in who you are:
This gravity is lighter than the
stars.
He loves and burns and dances up
the spine.
I do not know his name, but he
knows mine.
Richard Bollman, SJ
