i’m meant to be writing deeply meaningful and moving words about pentecost for the flurry of worship moments i’m responsible for in the next few weeks. unfortunately, i can’t move beyond cynicism. perhaps i need a day of detoxing from prison statistics.
who would willingly pray for you to come, spirit?
if you could keep it to a minimum, perhaps:
those little flames are fine –
the fires that warm our hands,
the beautiful flames of a flickering candle
that cast just enough light on the dark places
for us to see our path through,
but not enough for us to see our surroundings.
but to pray for the flames that destroy the walls we have carefully built
in our churches and our lives,
that will change the landscape of the world
as we know it –
i don’t think so.
if you could keep the flames to a minimum
so we could put them out in time for morning tea
that would be helpful.
and if you could warn us about that great wind,
in time for us to take shelter inside
that would make this all much easier.