The Pentecost psalmist sings a masterful hymn to the Spirit of God, Creator of the Cosmos, taking hardly a breath, in the telling of the God-colors into the world, into humanity, into my own heart.
Meanwhile, back in the Upper room in the Cenacle, the apostles are hiding behind closed doors, confused by the Easter events, when a spiritual tsumani breaks upon them.
We have our own closed doors, don’t we, hiding our baptismal graces of faith, and charity? Am I tithing the time and energy entrusted to me as co-creator of the Spirit – feeding the hungry, helping feet that have gone astray into drugs?
Society has its own closed-up places that do not breathe Life – racism, trafficking. What am I doing on earth, for God’s sake? Or am I on auto-pilot?
What would it mean if I let the Spirit into my own heart, whether it be sparsely furnished or cluttered. God does not look over my thoughts and deeds as if they were odd items at a yard sale.
We are not here forever, but are travelers on our own path to eternal life, be it a quick sprint or a long-enough journey. My vehicle is a listening heart taking me to this unconditional, all-embracing God of my heart.