Sixth Sunday of Easter
There is a glory that breathes life back
in a corpse and brings strangers together
as friends. Call that one back who fills
the held-out robe of a thornbush with
flowers, who clears muddied minds, who
gives a two-day-old infant wisdom beyond
anyone’s learning. “What baby?” you ask.
There is a fountain, a passion circulating.
I’m not saying this well, because I’m too
much in the scatterbrain sweetness. Listen
anyway. It must be said. There are eyes
that see into eternity. A presence beyond
the power and magic of shamans. Let that
in. Sink to the floor, full prostration.
- Rumi (“Scatterbrain Sweetness” in The Soul of Rumi, Barks, Coleman, ed.)
Growing up in my small-town Midwestern church, we were, on the whole, conservative in our speech about the Holy Spirit. Being committed to the practice of baptism, we immersed in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, but baptisms are the only memories I have where the Spirit was spoken of among our church people, let alone invited as a presence into our worship or shared life together. Read more