Unity (163/365)

Pentecost Sunday

Brothers and sisters:

There are different kinds of spiritual gifts but the same Spirit; 
there are different forms of service but the same Lord;
there are different workings but the same God
who produces all of them in everyone.
To each individual the manifestation of the Spirit
is given for some benefit.

As a body is one though it has many parts,
and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body,
so also Christ.
For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body,
whether Jews or Greeks, slaves or free persons,
and we were all given to drink of one Spirit.

There were swarms of people at the first Christian Pentecost.  If ancient Jerusalem was anything like my modern-day City of Cacophonous Sounds, those swarms of people probably cut off one another's carts and donkeys in traffic, stepped (literally) on each other's toes, tripped over each other's small children as they careered unexpectedly around corners, pushed each other in line at the olive oil stand, and generally gave each other exasperated, annoyed looks.  The union of all of those people didn't necessarily lead to unity.  Hearing the Apostles speaking in each of their native languages, we are told, brought them together in amazement, stopped them in their tracks as they looked at each other in wonder.  The first Christian Pentecost delivered a message that they could all share.

Our homily today, this Pentecost, was about peace and unity.  Just as the events of Pentecost ended the division of the Tower of Babel, our faith has the power to unify, heal, and end division.  I was moved by the homily, and especially by the beauty of the second reading: we are all given life by the same Spirit; the same God moves within each of us. 

There are so many people moving in the City of Cacophonous Noises.  With all of the pushing and rushing and toe-stepping and tripping over small dogs, it's hard to remember our unity, our family.  Every now and then we share a moment of unity: something funny happens on the subway, someone drops his keys (or spews the contents of her backpack across the sidewalk, cough cough, I wonder who did that) and bystanders stop to help pick up; somebody asks you for directions and you're actually able to help, and proud.   With all these people crowding past you and around you, the opportunities for connection are greater, if you remember to be aware of them, and try not to be too grumpy.

The ironic thing is that, right after I took this picture, the train came, and out of nowhere five or six teenage girls shouted and giggled their way towards the door I was trying to enter.  "Oh no," I thought to myself, "I'm not getting in that car." I scolded myself to think back on this reflection and the warm fuzzy feelings I got in church this morning.