On our way into the church parking lot this morning, I remarked on how happy I was to see that the wooden crosses from Easter were still up in their prominent place by the street. When Preston said he thought they might be leaving them up for The Day of Pentecost, I, in my infinite lack of knowledge on what is important, said, rather ashamedly, “What is The Day of Pentecost?”
I credit my husband with being supremely patient with my ignorance on matters of faith.
“When The Holy Spirit came...” he started to answer.
“Oh. Yeah,” I replied dully, feeling, well, quite dull, to be honest.
How is it that I know so little about the Bible? About biblical history? About my own faith? About what really matters?
After church, in an attempt to actually deepen my knowledge instead of remaining content with ignorance, I checked Wikipedia and re-read Acts chapter 2. It is humbling to admit this is the first time I ever gave the term ‘Pentecost’ any real thought. Here is what I learned:
The Day of Pentecost is 50 days after Easter, and is celebrated on the 8th Sunday, counting Easter Sunday, to commemorate the Holy Spirit descending upon the apostles and other followers of Jesus who were present that day. This is the first appearance of the Holy Spirit, and is what enabled the disciples to go out and preach to all, and to be understood by those who spoke different languages. It was this event from which the Pentecostal Christian movement took its name.
I have not yet been baptized in the Holy Spirit, and I question whether maybe it has not happened because I do not truly want it to happen. This, too, is humbling.
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