Repeat from last year:
Here is part of the poem, "Pentecost," offered by Jan L. Richardson:
and I am not persuaded
that if we look alike
God will love us more.
I believe God loves the languages
of those struggling to speak
the words embedded in our flesh
of every shape and hue.
And I believe God blesses
every space where we are welcomed
to speak with tongues of fire
and hear with hearts aflame.
I found the poem in her book, In Wisdom's Path: Discovering the Sacred in Every Season.
Her thoughts have forced me to rethink the Pentecost message. Have I been too restrictive in my definition of language?