Today, for the first time in many years, I chose to not attend a Pentecost service. This choice to not be in attendance on a special Sunday seemed unusual for me, however after some contemplation it came to make more sense.
Pentecost has always been about different cultures, different languages, and communication. This morning, I realized that in the course of the last week my family and I had been so busy we were speaking different “languages” and not discerning what each other was saying. This of course brought much tension into our lives, lives that I would add, we passionately lead. From our independent toddler, to our exploring crawler, to my involved and social justice oriented partner and myself, we care deeply about many things for specific reasons. We have different means and languages of conveying our passion about those things that are held dear to us. After a week of jumble where it seemed all we were doing were talking in our own languages, it was time to listen and interpret, to work together, and to just be. Pentecost this year for me was about listening and working together, to hearing and finding the holy spirit within us all and not just the one in my head.