And when I was young I saw,
as a painting, the Spirit
at Pentecost, each man with a tongue
of fire over his head; they looked
awestruck but sad, mouths open and drawn
down and eyes cast up like the Catholic
agony of Jesus, crying
for deliverance and relief.
I thought they were in pain.
I had not heard of Pentecost
at the time, and the picture was tucked
away in my mind, completely
unassociated. Now I wonder why
they were not smiling,
celebrating! As though this new
Spirit within them
was a curse instead of a beautiful blessing.