What wind swept through the house that day –
what dawn arose,
what day became?
What life shone through the shuttered doors
and lit a dancing flame?
What trifold truth unloosened tongues –
what fractured past
now set aright?
What joy made sober men seem drunk
and woke the town to sight?
What destiny set feet to roads –
what Comforter
bound burdened soles?
What promise made the rough road smooth
and stretched from pole to pole?
What anguish sings in spirit songs –
what waiting now,
what hope to come.
What Pentecostal flame burns still,
bright vigil of the Son.
The Consolations of Writing 
A wonderful reflection of the promise of Pentecost — where troubling questions turn to joyous declarations.
Thanks very much, Tony. Pentecost certainly is a comforting time.