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Pentecost Sunday – Cycle C


Send your fire, oh Spirit.
Not the rubbles of Bangladesh,
Ignited by sin and stirred by indifference.
Not the fires of Syria,
Incinerating the cradle of your church
And suffocating the heart of a people.
Not the fires fanned by drought,
Or a tear- gassed theatre, fire-armed.
Send your mighty winds, oh Spirit.
Not the winds of Sandy,
Collapsing and crippling.
Not the winds of Boston,
Pressure-cooked and cruel.
Not the winds of war,
Putrid and fetid.
No, send your FIRE, oh Spirit,
And like a mighty wind
Tear out the roots of our rage,
Kick out the doors of our bondage,
And plant, once and for all,
Peace that does justice,
And justice that brings peace.

In what ways have the events of this year affected you? What response do you make to the question, “Where was God?”

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.
I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Easter - Cycle C

One Comments to “Pentecost Sunday – Cycle C”

  1. Thanks for Pentecost Sequence. I always read your stories which are mine too. This time it hit me about the crosses we seem to avoid, the crosses which are so special for the walk together on Calvary. Below is my own reflection. Thanks for the space. Lito

    Sometimes and if only then,

    Receive the fire, O you, by the Spirit blest,
    Yes, of the rubbles of Bangladesh; why not,
    And the distended bellies of its children.
    And yes, of the rolled buri mats of Somalia,
    And the far away look upon its mothers’ faces,
    Maybe in thanksgiving for a death,
    Inevitable and sometimes hoped for.
    Don’t pray that I may live,
    Pray for my pious perseverance.

    I have lifted my Cross to heaven.

    Sometimes, if only then, we need to be reminded:
    “Take up your Cross and follow me.”
    Conveniently, we have forgotten.
    We are spoiled; we have un-remembered.
    Where there is no famine, we have been so fattened,
    Soon, like a lamb led to the slaughter.
    But by a stranger and not in obedience.
    Will we wonder then: “What happened?”
    Where is the rainbow of covenant, I am blinded?
    And we say, “If there is a God […].

    On the Cross, there are no satin pillows,
    No umbrellas, no crown of gold,
    No hiking boots on Calvary,
    No granola bar for a hunger, no bottled water for a thirst;
    Only vinegar and bitter wine for a numbing,
    Only the stone which the builders rejected;
    Only a bronze serpent to look at for the healing.

    Now, only a cockcrow to remember; if only.

    Send your consuming fire, O Spirit, the fires of Syria too,
    There is complacency in over sleep;
    Remind us of the consequences.
    Whisper to us in the small wind,
    Before the roar of other Bostons get too deafening;
    Before the big winds of war come blowing in.

    Send your mighty winds, o Spirit!
    In the Sandy winds, did we hear the cockcrow?
    Where were we before the storm?
    Were the street signs broken even then?
    Did we hear the loud speaker?
    “Before the cock crows,
    You would have denied me three times…”

    O Spirit of the fire by night,
    And of the cloud by day, lead us. Amen!

    Take Up Your Cross

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