Well, friends, here’s to our second, and hopefully last, pandemic Pentecost! How do you find yourself now at this feast of Spirit, this birthday of the Church?

I can’t think of this feast without remembering my most spirit-filled, energized Pentecost, which was the year I made my first vows on the Vigil of Pentecost. I was in my twenties, and I could feel the Spirit pulsing through me. I was so intoxicated on joy and Spirit that I was ready to take to the streets to proclaim the love of God. The future was full of hope and possibility, a blank slate, and I was young enough to be naïve enough to expect all good things. I felt like I was right there at Pentecost with the disciples, as described so dramatically in Acts, with the noise like a “strong driving wind,” flames, and the Holy Spirit filling the disciples so full that they seemed drunk.

This Pentecost, eighteen years after my first profession, with the lingering effects of the pandemic and a more realistic sense of life, I’m a little more low-key. I’m blessed in many ways, but I’m not ready to take to the streets in joy and zeal like I was then. I am where I am – tired, a still a little anxious, hopeful that the pandemic is on its way out, and so glad to be able to be with people again. I have a little joy, but it’s quieter than it was before.

A quieter joy calls for a gentler Pentecost account, so I gravitated to the Gospel reading from Pentecost Sunday. In this version, the disciples are still locked in their room afraid, and Jesus comes and meets them where they are. He doesn’t judge them for being afraid and locked in a room, and he doesn’t send them out before they’re ready. Instead, he gives them what they need: peace. He shows his wounds, which not only proves that it’s him but also acknowledges the reality of the situation. He has undergone torture and violence. That’s real. He also rose, and that’s real too. As he appears to his loved ones, he doesn’t sugarcoat anything. Neither does he deny it. But he also doesn’t allow the disciples to stay locked in their fear. He offers them real peace, and once they can receive it, he sends them out. He breathes the Holy Spirit on them and tells them to forgive.

This puts me in mind of a podcast I heard recently, an episode of the Dare to Lead podcast called, “The Dangers of Toxic Positivity.” In it, Dr. Brené Brown and Dr. Susan David, an author and psychologist, challenge the notion that’s so widely promoted today, that no matter what pain or difficulty happens, we should all just think positively. Like, even if I’m really suffering or grieving, I should just think good thoughts or focus on gratitude. I do think being intentional about gratitude is helpful, but not when it denies real feelings and experiences. It’s essential to be in touch with my feelings, even the difficult ones. Feelings aren’t facts, and they’re not directions, but they are guideposts that show me what I need and what I value. Once I notice and name my emotions, I can decide how to respond. Eventually, I can move toward genuine gratitude, gratitude grounded in reality and not insincere platitudes or denial.

Pretending that this has been an easy year is a little ridiculous, don’t you think? Keeping a brave face when we have to is one thing, but denying the trauma and drama of this year is pretty outlandish and maybe impossible, like it would be if Jesus had denied his suffering and death. When Jesus popped into that locked room, he didn’t say to his followers, “Cheer up. You might feel sad and afraid, but what are you grateful for instead?” He didn’t say, “Turn those frowns upside-down,” or, “What crucifixion? These wounds are just a scratch.” No. He got real. He acknowledged his wounds and, really, the wounds of the disciples too. And he didn’t leave it there. He offered them peace in the face of those wounds. And in that spirit of peace, they were finally able to go forth.

This Pentecost, I‘m in touch with some of the wounds of the past year, but I also feel the Spirit moving, calling me forth, and releasing some of what I’ve been holding onto. The Spirit shows me what I need and what I value. Missing community so much during this time shows me how much I love people. My frustration with injustice lets me know that I value human dignity and calls me to work for it. Loneliness tugs at me to move toward deeper intimacy and calls me to connect with friends, family, and community. As I move toward love and relationship and community, I experience a genuine sense of peace, even when I struggle.

So, how are you feeling this Pentecost? What are your feelings telling you about what you need? How is the Spirit moving in your life – gently, dramatically, some other way, all of it?   

Sister Leslie Keener, CDP is the director of God Space, a community-building spirituality ministry in Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky. She’s a Sister of Divine Providence with a Masters in Ministry and a Certificate in Spiritual Direction and Retreats from Creighton University. She directs retreats, meets with people for spiritual direction, and serves as the vocation director for her community. She also serves on the Coordinating Council of Spiritual Directors International. She enjoys music, dancing, meaningful conversations, and this present moment.