Here we are at Pentecost again. The liturgical year has zoomed by just as quickly as the calendar year is zipping along.
Some years, I'm in a more Pentecost frame of mind. This year, I feel a bit disconnected. I want to the tell the Holy Spirit, "It's not you, it's me."
I want to be ready to be infused and blessed and sent out to be a blessing. I fear I am more like Lot's wife, looking back. Or maybe there's some other Biblical person, the one who says, "This speaking in tongues is very nice, but who is going to fix the roof?"
I would be the snarky disciple, the one who says, "Speaking in tongues? We're not doing a very good job of listening, are we? Maybe instead of being gifted with different languages, the Holy Spirit could gift us with open ears."
I am hopeful though, because I know it's when we're feeling tired and disengaged and smug that the Holy Spirit can rush through and cleanse us with one big whoosh of Godly breath.
I know that a smelting fire can transform all sorts of drek.
I suppose an important question to some might be, "Do we want to be transformed?"
But I take heart from the stories that show that God doesn't always wait around for us. One minute we're the disciple saying, "That guy on trial? Nope, never seen him before." Fifty days later, we're transformed into someone who can speak the words that people need so desperately to hear.
feeling the feelings…
2 months ago