Man, you could build a whole brand around this thing
Handle the snakes
And orchestrate all kinds of glittery manifestations
Jittery hands and holy demonstrations
Slippery tongues and wordless intonations
Oh you don’t speak em?
Just take some words and tweak em
That’s right, that’s the ticket
Show it to the man at the door
And he’ll tell you where to stick it
But just between you and me?
Forget it
It’s not a brand
It’s a story
It’s the story I tell myself in order to avoid feeling
In order to avoid the pain that brings forth a better man
It’s the story I need us all to believe
So that I can go on living if not entirely pain free
Then at least free of the pain that is truly me
It’s the story that’s not a story at all
It’s more of a wall
For protection
To avoid rejection
Or just a preemptive strike
Sometimes I call it my ego
Sometimes I call it my life
But today I call it “Pentecost”
I know who I am
Fifty days ago it had a different name
That was the night I called it Death
And invited it to my house for a romantic candlelight dinner
And I knew who I am
Before that I called it The River
Where I held my breath and opened my eyes
And counted fish until I ran out of numbers
And traded them all for one single dove
And I knew who I am
But long, long ago I called it The Tree
And I chewed upon its poison
Until my lips began to bleed
And my love learned to hate me
And I took from it’s leaves
To hide my serpent
To hide my trunk
To hide myself from me
And for the first time in my life I forgot who I am
Entirely
But just seven days before that I called it Formless and Void
When words hovered like an albatross
And their meaning gave birth to my body
A vessel carved in ice
Holding nothing but dust
Sitting too close to the flame
I knew who I am
And I knew who I was
And I knew I’d soon melt away
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
But I knew who I am
Today
I am the image of God
And I am accepted
I am the fallen one
And I am accepted
I am the baptism
And I am accepted
I am the last supper
And I am expected
But today?
My name is Pentecost
And today is the day
When the story I tell myself is finally true
And it’s full of pain
And it’s full of shame
The story I tell
And the truth of this hell
Are finally one and the same
So I stand before you
A silent thief
My name written
Across my chest
With scarlet letters
And a voice that whispers
In my head
That says
Behold you are my son
And with you I am pleased
I know who I am
And I am accepted
My name is Pentecost
Here’s the raw material cost
A breakdown
One body held to the fire
Melted down drop by drop
Ice water dripping into wine
The dust blowing away
Right on time
But fifty days late
At least a dollar short
Over a hundred sat there and silently waited
Till their heads burst into flames
And their tongues were freed from their cages
Built into the top of their toppling wooden towers
Burning man effigies speaking
Truth to power
Speaking words long lost
Words made of smoke
The words of Pentecost
We look back at these events
And focus on the verbs
Their actions in the past tense
But take a minute
Let’s not rush past this
Sit quietly now on the tongue
In the mouth of a burning child
Why don’t the flames reduce you to char
Is it because of what you do?
Or because of who you are?
I know you
Your name is Pentecost
So let’s quit counting the cost
And confusing the vision given
For the price of admission
The gifts of the spirit
Do you really want to hear it
Behold you are my child
And with you I am pleased
Let that be your story
You are loved
You are holy
Even when you’re broken
Even when you’re lost
Repeat after me
My name is Pentecost
