Pentecost Poem

Pentecost is one of those times that really sets my mind to wondering, and my spirit yearning. As I wondered and yearned around the web today, reading what various interesting people had to say about this mysterious happening of cosmic import, I found this poem, by Milton Brasher-Cunningham, on his blog "Don't Eat Alone." Great stuff, Milton. Thanks!

linguistics

It’s not so
much what I say
but what you hear –

I can pick through
my words like fruit,
choosing what’s
ripe and ready –

I can order them
meticulously, like
mosaic tiles turning
tiny chips of meaning
into a shining image –

I can pack them
like pipe bombs, full
of all I know the world
needs to explode
what is wrong and leave
peace in the ruins –

I, too, can listen
and lay open my heart
to the brushfire
that burns, baptizes,
and leaves me looking
for you and a way to say,
“I love you” in your language.

Isn’t that the message
of Pentecost?