It’s been over a week since we celebrated Pentecost, and I find myself wondering what it must have been like for the disciples to have lived so intimately with Jesus, and then experience his loss.
The other day, I was hurrying through the Cloister, mentally rehearsing my “to-do list”, when I happened to actually look at one of the column stone sculptures — St. Scholastica in the posture of prayer. The amazing thing about this carving is the dove who actually embraces her. This is no delicate creature, but a strong, all- encompassing dove. There is such a sense of intimacy in this carving. It struck me that this is how near and how present the Holy Spirit is – every day – all the time. Before they call, I will answer.
The evening sun gave a fiery aspect to the church’s oculus window on the eve of the Feast of Pentecost. The next morning we celebrated the fire of the Spirit in our Eucharist worship: festival music from the choir and fanfare from brass, organ and bells. We heard the words of the Spirit: scripture and prophecy in song and story. The service closed with a “still small voice”: a solo cantor singing “Into thy hands I commend my spirit” accompanied by a chamber orchestra.
Sometimes when I cross the threshold of the atrium I feel the atmosphere around me shift. Time passing is not only “now,” and space is flung away beyond just “here.” So I say—hang onto your hat—the wind that kindles into fire just blew by.