In the steepled house, down town on Commercial street,
we congregate, lost sheep with no shepherd,
waiting expectantly for the promise to come.

From the opening of the tomb to the parting of the clouds,
that parallel universe, yet unseen, is to be revealed
by fire that will burn the scales from our eyes.

Fifty days have passed since the angel of death
and the field of blood; the new grain replaced
by new wine poured out, an offering of grace.

The Master, the shepherd, is here no more
but we come together, with each other,
to wait for what he said would come.  

Anticipation grips our hearts and eyes,
what of heaven’s glory will be seen here,
descending upon this gathering and town.

Now comes the thunder of the violent wind’s roar,
one hundred and twenty of us rocked to our core.
Then the fire, the flickering flame.

It splits and it spits and burns on our lips,
the Holy Spirit, that third chord of God,
fills our hearts until they can hold no more.

We see the fire, hear the rushing sound,
in foreign tongues of every land, we speak,
languages and words we have never learned.

Lifted high in mind, spirit and power
we traverse to that transcendental height,
a moment, in the twinkling of an eye.

As the fullness of this divine spirit
unleashes awareness, intuition and worship,
the natural order is left behind.

Such things are above all explanation,
minds illuminated, transformed, captured,
all our hearts declaring the wonders of God.

The words flow free, a torrent of power,
God is on fire and the noise runs down
the cobblestones of the streets of this town.

A cry for an encounter of Spirit howls
outside of the customs we have known,
outside the respectable cut of cloth we wear.

From all places to this town they have come,
the feast of Pentecost has drawn each one,
the cacophony of praise their hearts has won.

They hear their own tongue, their native language,
giving thanks and praise and glory to God, some jeer,
but most marvel at the words that fall upon them.

This, my Spirit, poured out on all people,
this is the time to dream and prophesy,
this, the time of the black sun and blood moon.

This, the time of the great and bold witness,
the four corners of the earth will cry out,
‘Jesus of Nazareth here, among us.’

And this Holy Spirit, his parting gift
to redeem these corrupt times, will declare
the truth of His presence and power.

And we, refined by the fire, seeing more clearly
the Shepherd among us, speak of that parallel
world, speak of what we have seen and known;
this fiftieth day is upon us.