WE THE AMAZED, THE ASTONISHED
A Poem for the Feast of Pentecost 2023
We are friends of One who loved and loved
Til the mountains shook and the sun turned dark,
And all was blood, and fire, and smoky mist;
And still he loved, and still he forgave, and still
He pleaded for the healing of injustices and hurts.
And the curtain of the temple was torn in two,
The sanctuary could not contain or confine such love,
Could not detain or delimit such mercy and grace.
And his last breaths were something like our first,
And his last words were something like a prayer.
I will be with you always. I will be with you always.
I will be with you always.
We are friends of One who spoke a thousand tongues,
Who learned the languages of pain and longing,
Who listened carefully to stories of shattered hope,
Who welcomed difference and risked sounding strange,
Risked seeming strange when he tried on new words
And reached out to take the hand
Of an unknown brother, an unknown sister, a stranger
Whose life, whose ache, whose dream
Was shaped by other sacred invocations.
And his last breaths were something like our first,
And his last words were something like a prayer.
I will be with you always. I will be with you always.
I will be with you always.
And now, on this Holy Pentecost,
This oft lost feast day of the church,
We are the amazed, we are the astonished;
We are the ones whose eyes are healed by tears,
Whose tears are released by love and grace;
Because this we know, because this he promised:
Love bears all things, and love believes all things,
And love weaves all peoples, all cultures and languages
Into a single rainbow tapestry of divine joy.
And we are the ones whose ears hear songs
Sung by angels; and not just on Christmas Eve,
But with every gust of summer wind,
With every cry of delicious delight
From every schoolyard, in every dance hall,
As every shackled prisoner is freed at last.
Their many songs are joyful hymns to hope,
Anthems to a future bright with friends
Liberated from tyranny and hate,
And reconciled in communities of celebration
And jubilation, and equity and abundance.
And this we know, because this he promised:
Love bears all things, and love believes all things,
And love weaves all peoples, all cultures and languages
Into a single rainbow tapestry of divine joy.
Maybe, maybe, church is no longer the word
For what happens when the Holy Spirit
Falls from above, or wells up from within,
Or awakens in our many hearts, all at once.
What is it She’s awakening in us now?
Maybe, maybe, church no longer describes
The weaving love does or the music faith makes,
Or the astonishment of sisters, brothers, siblings,
From China, Cameroon and Tennessee,
From Dover, Durham, Barrington and Lee.
Now the Christ bursts in, dismantles every wall,
Laughing in every imaginable language,
Shattering religious expectations, rearranging holy furniture,
And calling every single one of us to life, to life, to life.
And the curtain of the temple is torn in two,
And there is no church, no sanctuary that can
Contain all this love; and there is no creed that can
Control it, or manufacture it, or parcel it out like wafers.
Because this Christ is love, come again and again,
Released from our fears and misunderstanding,
To amaze and astonish us, and then to awaken
Throughout the whole wide world a Spirit
Of curiosity and peace, compassion and hope.
Bewildering Breath of God.
Sweet Stunning Spirit of God.
Wind of All Winds.
Hope of All Hopes,
Brother Jesus, who says to us again,
This Pentecost, in languages known and unknown:
I will be with you always.
I will be with you always.
I will be with you always.
A promise, a calling, and a dare.
The Feast of Pentecost,
5/28/23
David Grishaw-Jones
