Pentecost Morning

While other parts of the country are having a bit of a cool stretch, we are waking to a hot Pentecost morning.  It's the kind of shimmery heat where I wouldn't be surprised to see flames.  But they probably wouldn't be the flames of the spirit so much as the flames of wildfire.  It's that season in Florida.  We share many things with California--I wonder if our fire seasons are the same.

I think of other Christian holidays where mythical creatures appear and leave presents in the dark overnight hours.  I see no gifts yet.

What gift would I like to receive from the Holy Spirit?  I have no desire to speak in tongues.  I know what Western societies have done to their prophets.

Only profits get attention in our culture, rarely God's prophets. 

And the attention that comes to prophets usually comes with a bullet attached--and sure, one might get beatified 35 years later (I'm thinking of Archbishop Romero), but social justice doesn't happen quickly or easily or at all.

I would like to be gifted with patience.  I would like to be less judgmental.  I would like to accept that others get to make their own choices, and they're not likely to look to me for advice.

I want the rushing wind to scour me out, but I don't want it to hurt.

I want to be startled into new appreciation.  I want to say, "Hello, Holy Spirit.  It's good to see you again.  What have you been up to?"

I want the answer to fill me with longing not fear.

I want to be ready to be rekindled, to burn with a flame that does not destroy but transforms.