we have been waiting for this Spirit ..."

"We have been waiting for this Spirit – somehow forgetting that the Spirit was given us a long time ago- in fact it was hovering over chaos in the first lines of the Bible.  We are waiting for one who has already come.  We are waiting for water that has already been poured fresh and sparkling into our cup.  We are waiting for a cool breeze in a desert of our own making.  We are waiting for a fire that has been burning incessantly within.  We are waiting for the life that we already have.

We are waiting, we say, and yet we have padlocked the door – out of fear.  We are afraid of this part of God that we cannot control or explain or merit, which is seductive and cannot be legislated, measured or mandated.  Let’s be honest.  We do not like this part of God which is dove, water and invisible wind.  We are threatened by this part of God “which blows where it will” and which our theologies cannot predict or inhibit.  We, like the disciples in the Upper Room, sit behind locked doors of fear, and still say that we are waiting and preparing for his Holy Spirit. 

Fortunately, God has grown used to our small and cowardly ways.  God knows that we settle for easy certitudes instead of gospel freedom.  And God is determined to break through.  The Spirit eventually overcomes the obstacles that we present and surrounds us with enough peace so that we can face the “wounds in his hands and his side.”  We meet the true Jesus, wounds and all, and we greet our true selves for perhaps the first time.  The two are almost the same.  “Peace be with you,” he says again."
http://www.laughingbird.net/ComingWeeks.html

El Greco, descent of the Holy Spirit

I have always loved this painting by Greco. It's light and colour, and its focus on Mary at the centre are quite unique.

Pentecost colouring

http://revtucher.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/b-61-pentecost-ac-2-1-21.png

Whitsunday

In high-modern times
the church in which I was nurtured
and searched for faith,
neatly packaged Pentecost
and placed her in a box
labelled Whitsunday.


Whitsunday was bleached crisp white,
ordered and safe;
free of surprises,
like the era through which we moved.
By the time Whitsunday arrived
the wonder of Easter
had long passed.
Whitsunday was orderly, polite, tidy,
and waited patiently
for her annual fifteen minutes;
some years we forgot her.


One day, unannounced,
Pentecost, gale-like, roaring;
burst from her quiet carton,
crimson, wild
and burning with divine indignation.
She sent Whitsunday packing.


We’re still not sure about Pentecost
and what she might do next;
we tremble a little
each time that we pray:
Come, Holy Spirit!


© Ken Rookes

Spirit

Spirit



Below the sun’s relentless rays
the red earth bakes hard,
loosens with the passing feet and hooves
of creatures, wild and domesticated;
becoming dust again. Human feet,
some clothed in boot and shoe for protection
from hot earth and its sharp and stony projections,
others toughened by their habitual nakedness,
add to the wear of the animals.
The soil holds life,
waiting patiently for water
from largely cloudless skies.
With rock and tree and hill it holds stories,
a spirit library waiting for the singing;
waiting for the voices.


The water, too, holds life.
Borne upon wind, sometimes gathering
in clouded configurations,
anticipating the moment
when the swirling eddies of pressured and rushing air
achieve the necessary imbalance
for the soil’s saturation.
Undreneath the dry sand of occasional river beds,
the ever-present but unseen waters
receive and welcome the probing roots of trees;
which gather moisture, mix it with sunlight,
and fashion it into life for leaf, insect, bird and lizard.
In the scorching sun the leaves release their own
fragrant life offering;
the sharp and cleansing eucalyptian scent
that tells of hope and renewal.


Majestic birds, darkened silhouettes
ascend and wheel. They ride heated currents,
created by the fiery sun
as it works upon rugged valleys and hills.
These were, in turn, wrought slowly
from layers of ancient rock by that same sun,
together with persistent wind
and occasional rain.
Mortal beings.
earth-bound, like the large birds that traverse
these sun-drenched plains,
observe the distant aerial manoeuvres with wonder,
and dream. A few,
kissed by this vision of freedom,
determine also to rise and to soar.


The oxide-red earth;
the unseen wind, sometimes gentle, sometimes wild;
fire from above and within;
water, cool and clear;
the human heart, dreaming and hopeful;
here creation and spirit meet
a necessary and joyous union,
for the fashioning of life and love.


© Ken Rookes 2013

Prison

Deep within the hidden recesses of the lockup
the two men could be excused
for nursing their recently inflicted wounds
in silence. Instead they sang their songs
like kids at a camp, unconcerned
about mere details such as melody.
Their loud and sometimes tuneful voices
sporadically stumbled upon a harmony;
(almost certainly by accident).
The other prisoners enjoyed the diversion
along with a rare laugh.
The newcomers were quite mad,
but you had to admire their spirit.
Some of their co-incarcerates were impressed,
joining in the prayers
and entreating, in their own way,
that their gods and perhaps even this new divinity
might deliver them.
When the earthquake came and the chains fell off
they thought that some deity or other
must have been listening, but the short one
called Paul, managed to get them all to stay.
They listened as he explained
that walls and chains are an illusion
and that the only real prisons
are the ones inside. They only half believed him,
but they stayed anyway,
and often argued about it afterwards.

© Ken Rookes

Sermon poem with theology, hopefully relevant

Can we say we believe in the resurrection
when we cling so tightly to earthly life?
Do we fully walk the paths of freedom
while sisters and brothers live in bondage?
When we are anxious about our possessions
are we truly worshipping
one who gave everything away?
If our focus remains narrow,
can we ever be captive to a vision of the kingdom?
Are not our creeds of the Triune God
anything but dry and dusty dogma
when we ignore Jesus’ call to be united?
If we trust in God’s transforming Spirit
can we fear that which is new?
While we resent generosity
shown to the undeserving,
can we be truly grateful
for the blessings that we have received?
If we fail to respect our neighbour,
can we claim to be truly grasped by divine love?
Can we say we serve the God
who enthusiastically befriends mortals,
and pretend that reconciliation is not our concern?
Suffering may demonstrate faithfulness
but does not prove it;
nor does prosperity.
If we claim that God is in our heart
God must also be in our clasping of another’s hand.
The gospel of grace, once it touches the soul,
must be sung, spoken and shouted
and danced through all of life.

© Ken Rookes