Pentecost Prayer

Spirit, very soul and breath of God,

Wind who swept across the deep darkness

of earth’s primordial waters,

Voice who whispered to prophets of Old,

Blazing Tongues of Fire that descended

in a rush of multi-lingual ecstacy

on the day of Pentecost,

 where are you today?

*

Come again, O Holy One,

sweep and whisper,

breathe and blaze again  

your fiery wisdom, power,

comfort and hope

in the deep, deep darkness of our time,

as the waters of chaos swirl,

menace, and threaten to drown

all that we hold dear.

Farewell to a Beloved Dogwood

 

Last night the thwack of the axe,

the whine of the power saw;

I knew the end had come.

The wind of winter storms,

the weight of sodden snows of March

had broken her back, shredded her limbs,

numbered her days. Yet, one limb

somehow still intact, she sang her final hours,

her stubborn blossoms licked

the good air one last time,

tongues of white Pentecost flames

radiating life in the face of dangling death.

Well done, you dear, sweet, faithful tree.

Autumn Pentecost

(a few bright red leaves amidst the more subdued mauves of our red maple)

Soon the quiet mauves that dangle on my lovely

tree will glow a brilliant red, fling out

their solemn joy across the plummeting

of brown and yellow leaves; for now the brightness

flickers only here and there, a kind of autumn

Pentecost, fiery tongues a-blaze amidst

the winding down of days, crimson

weight of glory, blush of hovering

presence in all the fadings, all the fallings

of the leaves and of our lives.

 

Pentecost on My Deck

I was saddened not to be able to be in church to celebrate Pentecost a few weeks ago.  But as it was a warm day, I decided to spend some quiet time on my deck, simply looking, listening, and being open to all the wonders of my back yard.  What I experienced was truly a gift. 

***

Our resident mocking-bird trills her

song in a myriad of tongues—in sparrow,

wren, in chickadee and finch; red maple

sways in gentle breeze, a-blush with crimson

leaves of fire, prophesying summer sun

and raindrops dancing down from stars

that will forever sing their gladness in

the darkest of dark nights.

*

Two sparrows flit around their nest,

sheltering, feeding their tiny young,

all unaware of God’s heart beating,

God’s breath stirring in those fragile

fresh-born birds, mouths open wide

to take in all they can of life’s

abundant grace.

*

And yes, I say, yes, Pentecost

is here.  Right here.  Spirit whispering

in those flaming leaves, Spirit twittering

in the tongues of birds, Spirit caressing

tiny lives, even my own, as I sit lost

in wonder at this tender, holy

kiss of God.

Rhododendron Prophets

I listen with my eyes as

rhododendron prophets sing glad

fuchsia songs of summer days;

call me to prepare the way, to

level mounds of wintry gloom,

raise up dark valleys of my nights;

bask once again in life reborn beneath the

fingered rays of nearer sun, brushing

hope across my skin, burning faith into my

bones—for every now, for all that is to be

beyond the short-lived radiance of these blooms so

raucous in their joy.

*

Their life so short, but still they blaze and sing the

bliss of what’s to come; each rhodo-globe a cluster,

chorus bright of tiny flames of Pentecostal fire,

dreaming dreams and visioning renewal of the

earth, of me, of every creature, wave, and cloud;

vivid tongues that join as one to paint the world with

ecstasy that takes my breath away.

 

written in gratitude for Pastor John Havrilla

who has so colorfully sung to us of God’s love and renewal

on the occasion of his retirement

 

Pentecost

I looked out my window this morning and saw this magnificent view.

This Pentecost poem followed.

Fiery tongues ablaze amidst

the green of springtime life,

deep-rooted in an ancient soil of

sagas tawdry, bold, triumphant, worn;

drooping, lifting, swaying with the

steady winds of change; ever

new though ever old; each leaf so

fragile in its shining, so feeble all

alone, but coupled, linked along the

branch with other bright red leaves,

a whispered shout of presence and of

power from beyond that shines through all our

broken limbs, blesses every greening of our lives,

infuses all monotonies.

Come Spirit Wind–eternal, tender, fierce.