Upper room, warm womb
echoing with memories:
Passover wine-stains
still bloodying the grains
of the low wooden table;
resurrection day, when He
scarred them to death by
being so alive;
Thomas learning to doubt doubt;
trembling with echoes of
prayer, laughter, tears,
meals, silence, fears,
a place to reminisce, keeping yesterday alive.

But suddenly She came,
blowing from inside out:
curtains flapping,
furniture moving,
pots and plates and vases
crashing, smashing;
for a time it was difficult
to catch breath, even to stand,
bodies laying, swaying, praying everywhere.

Something was birthed there,
new, raw, edgy, undignified;
nothing could ever be the same.
Filled with this energy, driven by
this wind with attitude
they tumbled out,
turning their world upside down.

This wind still blows,
though no one really knows
where to.
Don’t control,
contain or curtail it, or
try and paint it in the colours
of your tribe.
Don’t fear or fight it;
pray for it, yearn for it,
prepare your sails to
receive it greedily,
learn to trust it:
wild wind,
heaven scent,
corpse raising,
angels’ surfing,
dust destroying,
dismantling caution,
kiss-of-life for dying churches;
filling lungs with life and
saturating our reality with the power of God’s love.

Tim Sumpter