Blessing of Tongues, Ears and Eyes
because the Spirit of Pentecost is for All Bodies
I am imagining a lost chapter from the Biblical book of Acts. Perhaps it is Chapter 29.
V.1 Translated from Spanish, Arabic, Mandarin, Haitian, Tagalog, Hindi, Nigerian, Vietnamese, Punjabi, Khmer, Persian/Farsi, Korean, Urdu, Chichewa, Malay, Kriol/Creole, Ilocano, Lao, Tamil, and . . . And. My family and I sit together and separately here in our little home in America, watching on one and many devices. Who are all of these people in the middle of the large street in the center of this large city? They look like my neighbor, employer, customer, parents from my children's schools, co-worker, church friend, and who's that lady with the leaf blower? Ah. She is blowing away the tear gas to protect the people. It is the as if she is blowing her love-breath to dry my tears, tears stuck in my cells, cells that have become extra wobbly and yet zip-zappy ever since they started to take people from their workplaces and schools and streets and . . . And. How is it that they are chanting in their language but I can understand it in my own? Or is it the large street itself that transforms the language leaving their thirsty mouths? Or is it the words themselves that make it all comprehensible? You are Loved. You are Sacred. You Belong. How is it I feel a hand on my lower back even though no hand is there? How is it restoring a steadiness to my cells and a spaciousness to my breath? They call this the City of Angels. This must be an angel's hand.
[The book of Acts in the Christian Scriptures/New Testament tells the story of what came to be called Pentecost, the descent of what came to be called The Holy Spirit, following the crucifixion/execution/lynching of Yeshua/Jesus Christ, son of the Goddess, incarnation of the Sacred Feminine. It happened in Jerusalem to where pilgrims from many lands came. When Yeshua’s followers were gathered in a house, a wind (Ruah, in Hebrew and Aramaic) so powerful that it was both this-worldly and otherworldly began to blow. As it did, the global pilgrims were drawn to the house. Those in the house couldn’t comprehend how they were speaking other languages. The pilgrims couldn’t comprehend how they were hearing the Galileans in their own languages. It was a portal of prophecy, visions and dreams. But mostly it was a phenomenon of togetherness and understanding. A miracle of mutuality.
Ruah translates from Hebrew and Aramaic as Wind. Breath. Spirit. Ruah is a Feminine noun. Pentecost is Her season. She Was There. She Is Here. She Is Always.]
V.2 They approach us here in Silwan, Occupied East Jerusalem. Visitors from all over the world. They come to Jerusalem to touch ancient artifact, make holy pilgrimage, find again that thing called faith. Here in Silwan, they are drawn in by the Eyes. The Eyes that our artists have painted on our dwelling walls--or what remains of them. We see the tourists coming toward us, their postures the shapes of intrigue, their eyes growing as wide as the sea. We hear their murmurations, "Malcolm X. Rachel Corrie. Che Guevara. Sigmund Freud. Alex Nieto. George Floyd . . ." And repeatedly as if they were rocking to and fro in prayer, naming the Eyes of our neighbor himself, "Nihad Siyam, Nihad, Nihad, Siyam, Siyam." A wind billows and briefly lifts our keffiyeh. The visitors grow silent and see. Now that they are closer-in, they see the demolition of our neighborhood, one dwelling at a time. We varyingly receive notices that it is our turn for demolition but sometimes no one shows up to punctuate our racing hearts; there are so many ways to make a people suffer. But the pilgrims. They see and are Seen. They cannot unsee our realities. We breathe our spirits upon our keffiyeh and give them to our visitors of the earthen rainbow. We hope they find in our many eyes what they came for.
V.3 Where is my shoe and what is this ringing in my head? Who is this grown-up woman in torn clothes trying to speak to me with eyes of sleeplessness and love, and hands of dirt and care? And where is her shoe, too? I was in the school and then there was no school and I thought it was a nightmare like the nightmare everywhere and now it was here. I was with my friends. Then something happened and I was crawling until I could stand. I stood until I could walk. I walked but my shoe. I walked and the woman met me. She is feeding me rice with pieces of things mixed in. She is sharing her salty water with me. It tastes like the ocean, or tears. I sleep, I think? I awaken, I think? She is watching a tablet that goes on and off and off again. She draws me to her side, points to the screen and says, Look. Our friends in the world care about us. Look. Soon we will have food. Look at how the wind blows the brave girl with our flag on that boat. Oh, and look here. In that country, look at the many different kinds of people wearing keffiyeh, see that man wearing both a star of David and a keffiyeh? Imagine! See how they walk for 22 miles, their feet saying, "We are remembering Rafah to Gaza City, we are praying and working for you to have food, to return home, to be safe. May we help to stop the ringing in your head, to find your other shoe, to return to a school of angels one day, to find family again--ancient, old and new." 
V4. There was another voice weaving itself through the multitudes of tongues, and it was the voice of Ruah herself: The Right to Remain. The Right to Migrate. The Right of Return. In all the ways, make the way. Come Home to Each Other. Come Home to Yourselves. Come Home to Me. Come Home.
Receiving the winds of Ruah with you,
Coke
Aaaaahhhhhhhh….
Coke, this is amazingly powerful! Quite the Pentecost vision. Preaching, Sista!