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by Phyllis Thompson

Pentecost’s imagery is powerful: wind, fire and tongues of fire. Late poet, Madeleine L’Engle, in a reflection on Pentecost, leaves no doubt that the following words are true: “Indeed, our God is a consuming fire.” (Heb.12:29) Her poem, in The Irrational Season, is worth citing:  

 Go away! You can’t come in. I’m shutting the door.
I’m afraid of you. I’m not sure who you are anymore.
I’m closing the door. I’m staying safe and alone.
Batter against it all you like. This house is built on stone …
I wish you’d stop blowing. My whole house is shaken.
I’ll hide under the covers. Be gone when I waken …
What’s that light at the window? That blast at the door?
The shutters are burning; there’s fire on the floor.
Go away. I don’t know you. My clothes are aflame.
My tongue is on fire; you are crying my name.
I hear your wild voice through the holocaust’s din.
My house is burned up.
What?
Oh, welcome! Come in!

After the Ascension, the disciples are anxious and fearful of being without Christ’s presence as friend, teacher, consoler. But Christ has promised to send “an Advocate” who will be with them forever. (Jn.14:16) He has told them they will “be clothed with power from on high.” (Lk.24:49) Imagine how they feel, though, when on Pentecost “a sound like the rush of a violent wind” suddenly “fills the entire house.” Further, imagine how disconcerting it is to the disciples to have “divided tongues, as of fire,” appearing and resting over them. (Acts 2:1-2) Christ’s loving gesture of advocacy isn’t gift-wrapped quite as they expect.

The rushing wind they experience isn’t the “sound of sheer silence” that Elijah hears after the wind, earthquake, and fire pass by (1 Kgs.19:11-12); nor is this the gentle overshadowing of “the power of the Most High” that Mary experiences when Jesus is conceived. (Lk.1:35) But ironically, it is creative and empowering. This is the same “mighty wind from God [that sweeps] over the face of the waters” and brings forth life and order from the chaos of the “formless void.” (Gen.1:1-2)  

And the divided tongues? I have yet to discover an artistic rendering that does not leave them looking like little red raindrops, suspended and docile. Somehow the weird combustion—that consumes but does not destroy—evidenced in a biblical burning bush, seems more suitable to the power and drama of this post-Easter occasion. But tongues of fire do lick and burn, and with tongues of fire so will the disciples’ speech. At Lauds on Ascension, the monastic hymn speaks of Christ’s ascending to heaven to “prepare the Spirit’s feast who bears the seeds to divinize.” At Pentecost, the disciples are divinized: those tongues of fire permit them to go forth to speak boldly “of God’s deeds of power.” (Acts 2:11) Further, they witness courageously to the faith and healing power of Christ.

The speaker in L’Engle’s poem is being pursued by a force that brings new learning, new capabilities, and the courage to witness to both—this despite the speaker’s faulty, fear-filled perception that this force exists only to destroy. Like the poem’s speaker, we are pursued each day since our baptism. Each day we must choose if we want to shut ourselves away from that force—to wither and die--or be consumed, immolated, divinized by it in order to live.  

If we choose the latter, we still must admit that the force of the Spirit, that gift of love and advocacy Christ promised, is overpowering; we will be shaken as the Spirit takes up residence in the depth of our being. Our clothes will seem to be seared, as will our tongues as we sense how deeply the Spirit cares. Cares enough to “cry our name” in a “wild voice” so the Spirit can be the source of all our prayers and speech, the source of all our activity. This is not subtle advocacy. This is really what it means to “put on Christ” at our baptism, to be attired in a garment set ablaze by God’s love, and so witness to what Christ asks of us.

 Phyllis Thompson taught English at the University of Saskatchewan and is the proofreader for the Diocesan Post. She is also a frequent contributor—covering important events and meetings on the lower and mid-island. She is a member of St. Mary, Nanoose Bay.

 

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