From Where I Sit Judith Lynch (Melbourne) Judith's previous articles Judith's website
Something
about Pentecost tugs at me, a feeling that suggests a swirly, floaty red dress,
lit candles and a birthday party. At Mass I listen to the lector read an account
of that initial Pentecost experience, all about winds and fire and open doors
and something of its breathless excitement creeps through to me. For a few
minutes I’ll feel a surge of joy and relief that in this business of being a
full time, every day follower of Jesus not all the following involves cross
carrying, that I don’t have to do it all on my own.
The
images of Pentecost tell us what words struggle to express. Who hasn’t longed
for the cool change that follows a spell of oppressive summer heat, followed by
the rush to open windows and doors to the refreshing breeze. It brings relief
mixed with a bit of euphoria. That’s a Pentecost feeling.
Then
there’s fire. We are familiar with paintings that show the disciples gathered
in a tidy circle, Mary in the middle, each topped with a hovering flame. Maybe
it happened like that, maybe it didn’t. What I do know is that moment or
experience when I feel fired up, nothing can stop me, I can take on the world.
That’s a Pentecost feeling.
It’s
difficult to capture that Pentecost feeling in the Church today. Cradle
catholics, those of us who were baptised as babies, can become very ho-hum about
the gift of faith that we have been given. We pare it down, limit it to
devotional practices that in themselves are perfectly acceptable. But, like
potato chips left in an open bowl, these devotions eventually lose their
crispness and flavour, become stale. Most of us slotted religion into our week
and left the Pentecost evangelisation to priests, religious and missionaries.
Catholics
don’t get very good press these days. Our Bishops are under fire, sometimes
rightfully so. The sins of a few have brushed against us all. Some use it as an
excuse to walk away, others bunker down and wait for the good old days to
return. They never will. And I wonder: where is the Spirit of God in all this
pain, confusion, anger and outright indifference. More correctly, I am
challenged to recognise the voice and the actions of the Spirit of God amongst
what is. Jesus promised the Spirit would be with us for ever. That promise is
why I get a kick out of Pentecost. I
know, from experience, that in my efforts to live out being Church, I am not
alone. I have the support, the encouragement, the get-up-and-go of the Spirit of
God.
The
spin put on matters religious by noisy media and doubtful practitioners of
so-called spirituality is not the whole picture. This week I led a day retreat
for a group of ten women. Every month I meet with other small groups who gather
to reflect on their faith journey. All these are ordinary people – women and
men, married, single, divorced, living out their faith in paid employment, in
volunteer work, in retirement. They are prayerful people, struggling to identify
the cool breeze voice of the Spirit amongst the babble of the twenty first
century voices. Amongst these people and others like them is where I find my