holy spirit, come!
How do we know that the Holy Spirit is with us in our daily life?
Permit me to tell you of my own experience of his presence.
A year ago, we held a communal Anointing of the Sick in one of our barangays. It was a hot afternoon and I was sweating profusely after attending to so many sick and old persons in their homes in that particular barangay. Then we came upon a very small house in the squatters’ area. It was a house about to fall. We knocked, but nobody answered. We knocked again, and probably because of the force of our banging, the door opened by itself. We peeked inside and we saw an old woman in the little corner of the house (by the way the house was so small it was all “corners”). She was on her bed, covered with a blanket that looked like torn rags sewn together. She was alone not just for that day but for most of her days, as I later came to know. The smell was terrible too. She could not walk and her bed served as bed, her comfort room, and dining table, that is, if you can call what she ate, dining. Her only companion was an old radio, which ran out of batteries that afternoon. There was deep loneliness in her eyes, and she was so happy we were there, she immediately struggled to sit up.
Sensing the need for a little companionship I got a chair intending to entertain her for a little while. Then I asked what would be my first and only question, “How are you, lola?” That was it, and that started her monologue where she narrated her story, starting just before World War Two and ending to where she was right then . . . in bed!
Could you just imagine how long that took us to sit there and listen? My companions became a bit uneasy, for there were others waiting for us. But I sat still and listened.
Nothing was really “done” in the true sense of the word. But I believe then that my act of listening was still part of the Sacrament of Anointing. I never healed that woman. I came to know that she died two weeks later. And neither did I give her medicines for I have none. But perhaps my presence there gave her the opportunity to be listened to once more, and being listened to at that time of great need brought her more than healing. Being listened to comforted her, consoled her, gave her even just a little experience of peace. It was such a little act to take notice of, but I believe it was in that little act that the Holy Spirit becomes the Paraclete – the comforter, the consoler, the companion, the advocate. We have done nothing extraordinary. In fact we may have done so little that afternoon, but we left somebody with a smile on her face and peace in her heart.
Our Christianity today is committing a heresy worse than the heresies the church had experienced centuries past.
It is a heresy where we could only recognize God and thereby look for him in the extraordinary events of our life.
It is a heresy where we would only recognize the Spirit’s presence in shrines and temples, in the Holy Land and in the highly and emotionally charged atmosphere of a charistmatic prayer meeting, where everybody is shouting loudly or speaking in tongues.
It is a heresy where we would beg God to give us a miracle so extraordinary as proof of his presence and as guarantee of our conversion and our faithfulness to him.
It is a heresy where we could not recognize the Spirit in the ordinariness of daily life.
In our first reading we saw the extraordinary work of the Spirit in us. He came as a mighty wind, in tongues of fire scattered around, and of poor fishermen being heard in different languages - mighty work, extraordinary work, miracle!
And yet on the other hand, in our second reading, we hear the ordinary workings of the Spirit. He is there even when we call out the name of Jesus. He is there in the form of service which we render to each other. In the Gospel we are made to know that the Spirit is at work even in the secrecy of a confession and in the experience of forgiving and being forgiven.
No the Holy Spirit is not the sole possession of charismatics and bishops. And no the Holy Spirit is not only there when we speak in tongues.
The Spirit is there, as real as the Spirit can be, when we give comfort to one who is alone, when we cheer those who weep, when we encourage those who mourn, and ease the burden of one so burdened with life. The Spirit is there in the peace which reconciliation offers, when one can say “I am sorry” and the other can say “I forgive.”
I have witnessed a lot of miracles of the Spirit at work in all of us in the ordinariness of daily life. I came to witness reconciliation among families, of parents struggling to ask forgiveness from their children, of people struggling to rid themselves of the hatred that has been there for years. I came to witness seemingly hard men brought to tears asking for pardon. I came to witness people, nurses, orderlies going the extra mile in their service. Joy despite the pain, humor in spite of the hopelessness, courage in spite of the horror . . . the Spirit is at work in the ordinariness and humdrum of life.
In the end there is no need to go the temple to experience God, for when your home abounds in love, you are in a temple. There is no need to go to a shrine to experience miracles, for in a place where forgiveness is freely given, that place is a shrine. There is no need to go to the Holy Land to see for oneself God’s abiding presence, for in a place where there is peace and joy, in a place where generosity and concern abounds, that place on which your feet stand is holy ground.
Pentecost is not just a feast we celebrate once a year, it is and it can be a daily occurrence.
Permit me to tell you of my own experience of his presence.
A year ago, we held a communal Anointing of the Sick in one of our barangays. It was a hot afternoon and I was sweating profusely after attending to so many sick and old persons in their homes in that particular barangay. Then we came upon a very small house in the squatters’ area. It was a house about to fall. We knocked, but nobody answered. We knocked again, and probably because of the force of our banging, the door opened by itself. We peeked inside and we saw an old woman in the little corner of the house (by the way the house was so small it was all “corners”). She was on her bed, covered with a blanket that looked like torn rags sewn together. She was alone not just for that day but for most of her days, as I later came to know. The smell was terrible too. She could not walk and her bed served as bed, her comfort room, and dining table, that is, if you can call what she ate, dining. Her only companion was an old radio, which ran out of batteries that afternoon. There was deep loneliness in her eyes, and she was so happy we were there, she immediately struggled to sit up.
Sensing the need for a little companionship I got a chair intending to entertain her for a little while. Then I asked what would be my first and only question, “How are you, lola?” That was it, and that started her monologue where she narrated her story, starting just before World War Two and ending to where she was right then . . . in bed!
Could you just imagine how long that took us to sit there and listen? My companions became a bit uneasy, for there were others waiting for us. But I sat still and listened.
Nothing was really “done” in the true sense of the word. But I believe then that my act of listening was still part of the Sacrament of Anointing. I never healed that woman. I came to know that she died two weeks later. And neither did I give her medicines for I have none. But perhaps my presence there gave her the opportunity to be listened to once more, and being listened to at that time of great need brought her more than healing. Being listened to comforted her, consoled her, gave her even just a little experience of peace. It was such a little act to take notice of, but I believe it was in that little act that the Holy Spirit becomes the Paraclete – the comforter, the consoler, the companion, the advocate. We have done nothing extraordinary. In fact we may have done so little that afternoon, but we left somebody with a smile on her face and peace in her heart.
Our Christianity today is committing a heresy worse than the heresies the church had experienced centuries past.
It is a heresy where we could only recognize God and thereby look for him in the extraordinary events of our life.
It is a heresy where we would only recognize the Spirit’s presence in shrines and temples, in the Holy Land and in the highly and emotionally charged atmosphere of a charistmatic prayer meeting, where everybody is shouting loudly or speaking in tongues.
It is a heresy where we would beg God to give us a miracle so extraordinary as proof of his presence and as guarantee of our conversion and our faithfulness to him.
It is a heresy where we could not recognize the Spirit in the ordinariness of daily life.
In our first reading we saw the extraordinary work of the Spirit in us. He came as a mighty wind, in tongues of fire scattered around, and of poor fishermen being heard in different languages - mighty work, extraordinary work, miracle!
And yet on the other hand, in our second reading, we hear the ordinary workings of the Spirit. He is there even when we call out the name of Jesus. He is there in the form of service which we render to each other. In the Gospel we are made to know that the Spirit is at work even in the secrecy of a confession and in the experience of forgiving and being forgiven.
No the Holy Spirit is not the sole possession of charismatics and bishops. And no the Holy Spirit is not only there when we speak in tongues.
The Spirit is there, as real as the Spirit can be, when we give comfort to one who is alone, when we cheer those who weep, when we encourage those who mourn, and ease the burden of one so burdened with life. The Spirit is there in the peace which reconciliation offers, when one can say “I am sorry” and the other can say “I forgive.”
I have witnessed a lot of miracles of the Spirit at work in all of us in the ordinariness of daily life. I came to witness reconciliation among families, of parents struggling to ask forgiveness from their children, of people struggling to rid themselves of the hatred that has been there for years. I came to witness seemingly hard men brought to tears asking for pardon. I came to witness people, nurses, orderlies going the extra mile in their service. Joy despite the pain, humor in spite of the hopelessness, courage in spite of the horror . . . the Spirit is at work in the ordinariness and humdrum of life.
In the end there is no need to go the temple to experience God, for when your home abounds in love, you are in a temple. There is no need to go to a shrine to experience miracles, for in a place where forgiveness is freely given, that place is a shrine. There is no need to go to the Holy Land to see for oneself God’s abiding presence, for in a place where there is peace and joy, in a place where generosity and concern abounds, that place on which your feet stand is holy ground.
Pentecost is not just a feast we celebrate once a year, it is and it can be a daily occurrence.
Comments