I was wondering what I might post today, on the Feast of Pentecost. It seemed like it should be something special, something worthy of the gift of the Holy Spirit. I always used to struggle with that gift, didn’t really get it. I remember when I was young and writing religious music, I composed a song for Pentecost Sunday, but it was a stretch for me, something I had to do to match up to the other feast days I’d celebrated in song. Now that I am older, the Spirit just seems to make more spiritual sense to me. I am more aware of the movement of the Spirit in my own life and in the lives of others. I am comforted by the fact that I am never alone, that God is always with me, surrounding me, blowing through me, hovering over me, whispering into my soul.
Last night, when I was at Mass listening to Father L. preach on Pentecost, he quoted a poem by Mexican poet and mystic Amado Nervo. When I heard it, I knew that this poem needed to be my Pentecost post, so here is the best translation I could find:
Alone we are only a spark,
But in the spirit we are a fire.
Alone we are only a string,
But in the spirit we are a lyre.
Alone we are only an anthill,
But in the spirit we are a mountain.
Alone we are only a drop,
But in the spirit we are a fountain.
Alone we are only a feather,
But in the spirit we are a wing.
Alone we are only a beggar,
But in the spirit we are a king.