Not Orphaned

Some fresh wind reflections

It starts with a wind.
Not a breeze, but something wild, disruptive, and holy.
Fire, breath, voices, and languages the disciples didn’t study, but suddenly spoke.

This is the moment the Church is born. Not through strategy or structure, but through Spirit. Through presence.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus says:
“I will not leave you orphaned” (vs 18)”
“the Holy Spirit will teach you everything and will remind you of everything I have told you.” (vs 26)

I spent the past weekend with some candidates discerning a vocation and call to be priests in the Anglican Church. I heard many people’s stories and their hearts for others and their communities.

That word, orphaned, hits differently when you’ve spent time with people trying to figure out if God’s calling them into the priesthood.

Because discernment, at its core, is often a fear of being left alone.
Left without clarity.
Left without a voice telling you what to do next.

Pentecost reminds us that God doesn’t ghost us.
God moves into us.

The Spirit doesn’t drop a memo from heaven. (Not everything is stored in the ‘cloud’).
The Spirit comes close. Breath-close. Heartbeat-close.
And calls us forward. Not with certainty, but with courage.

This weekend, I watched people lean into that breath.
People who aren’t perfect, but who are listening.
People who aren’t totally sure, but who showed up.

And maybe that’s how Pentecost works.
Not with fire falling on the fearless.
But with Spirit settling on the uncertain.

Because the Spirit calls people who are still figuring it out.
People like Peter, who denied Jesus, then preached resurrection.
People like us.

And when that call comes, whether to priesthood or to parenthood or to just being a better neighbour, or to [insert that burden on your heart]. The Spirit doesn’t say, “Here’s the five-year plan.”

The Spirit says:
“Peace. I’m here. Let’s go.”

Cover image, “Pentecost” by Ruth Jarvis Coleman.