Tongues of Fire and the Unspeakable
Pentecost
Pentecost doesn’t arrive politely.
It doesn’t ask for permission.
It descends—with wind and flame and noise and astonishment—and it refuses to leave us untouched.
This is not the careful poetry of Chris…
Pentecost doesn’t arrive politely.
It doesn’t ask for permission.
It descends—with wind and flame and noise and astonishment—and it refuses to leave us untouched.
This is not the careful poetry of Chris…