May 20th, 2018, Pentecost
Music: Bell Choir
Joyful Praise by Howard F. Starks
Elegy by Susan T. Nelson (violin–Jody Morrissette)
Cover Photo: Oya is a Holy Woman Icon who is the Orisha of change and power in Santeria. Nine is her holy number. Because she whirls and dances within tornadoes, the nine colored strands of her dress splay wildly. In Catholicism, she is associated with Our Lady of Candlemas or Saint Theresa. Created by Angela Yarber of the Holy Women Icons Project www.holywomenicons.com
The air, blowing everywhere, serves all creatures.
Hildegarde of Bingen
Blown By God Toward Newness, Walter Brueggemann
The news is that God’s wind is blowing.
It may be a breeze that
cools and comforts.
It may be a gust that
summons you to notice.
It may be storm that blows you where you have
never been before.
Whatever the wind is in your life,
Pay attention to it….
Acts 2:1-4; 43-47
When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability….
Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.
It is God Who sends the winds softly blowing, ahead of God’s mercy, until, when laden with heavy clouds, We drive them forth to a parched land, and cause water to come down, with which We bring forth all manner of fruit. Thus will We revive the dead: perhaps you will reflect.
Something opens our wings. Something
Makes boredom and hurt disappear.
Someone fills the cup in front of us.
We taste only sacredness.
Dance, when you’re broken open.
Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance, when you’re perfectly free.
On Traveling to Beautiful Places Mary Oliver
Every day I’m still looking for God
and I’m still finding him everywhere,
in the dust, in the flowerbeds.
Certainly in the oceans,
In the islands that lay in the distance
Continents of ice, countries of sand
Each with its own set of creatures
And God, by whatever name.
How perfect to be aboard a ship with
Maybe a hundred years still in my pocket.
But it’s late, for all of us,
And in truth the only ship there is
Is the ship we are all on
Burning the world as we go.
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