3 months ago


Shavuoth - Pentecost

Shavuoth - Pentecost Mary speaks The harvest feast of spring is here and yet my landscape lies bone dry. The Temple priests will read the Book of Ruth today; Famine comes before plenty, exile before return : yes, I believe. But when I gather with his friends inside the upper room, what gleanings will I pluck from memories of bread and wine? Unless the wind should penetrate the walls, unless a flame should sear my very soul, I’ll never understand what happened. O that love might arise like a pillar of fire scorching dead growth!

Then would I blossom like hyssop, then would my boughs become shade for the weary . . . never to thirst again. Perhaps the advocate he promised will appear today, bringing new words for a hymn of praise: “The one who was lost has been found; the one who was dead has arisen.” I will hold that hope deep within my heart and then I’ll wait until another angel interrupts my life. (I must be dreaming. Now to get dressed and find my veil.)

Spring Ezine_02_20