Pentecost is my favourite feast! It is full of the assurances of new life. Its Spirit arrives as easily as my next breath or flares forth like a super nova. It is all too big for me, and that’s why I like it; it tastes of humility. Every Pentecost I am marked by this personal parable:

On May 21, 1988, the vigil of Pentecost, I professed my final vows before God, my community, my family and friends. I took the morning to prepare for my commitment ceremony by hiking off to the Brandon Hills to spend some quiet time with God in nature. I was full of joy and expectation as I walked among the newly-leafed trees with my bible in hand and a skip in my step.

I don’t know when the visitation happened. Was it at the beginning of the walk, or sometime mid-hike or perhaps at the very end? Time always blurs in such moments, as if it weren’t really needed in the first place. With all the resolve my little life could muster I longed to say my “fiat” to God that day. Then it hit me: a voice, an intuition, a rogue thought, a talking tree? It doesn’t really matter in the great scheme of things; I knew it was God: You are not making a commitment to me today, Sandy; I am making a commitment to you today for Life (not death!), for life (meaning, forever!). I remember stopping in my tracks and trying to listen a little harder. I heard right the first time! And then, as if to put an exclamation mark on the epiphany, I was surrounded by a kaleidoscope of tiny mauve/blue butterflies! As they fluttered around me, I was mesmerized by them, calmed by them, amazed and assured. I went home in an altered state of commitment: God is the initiator, and I have the joy of seconding the motion!

The whole notion of David, Nathan and God having that conversation about who was going to build whom a house was not lost on me (see 2 Samuel 7). Perhaps David’s need to prove to God he was a good and worthy servant was more than vaguely familiar to me. But when God spoke that day I did not feel one ounce of shame, guilt, reprimand or any sense of the big Creator setting the little creature straight. Actually I remember feeling great relief and a depth of joy I could not explain.

A line from Richard Rohr captures my learning then and reaffirms it now:

We all start out by thinking we are going to do something great for God, and by the end of our lives we know that God has done it all for us. We start with a willingness to enter into this bilateral covenant with God, and eventually we know that it is mostly unilateral, and grace has filled in all the gaps!¹

Since that visitation I have wrestled the reigns of my life back from God often enough, but every spring the presence of Spring Azure butterflies remind me of that Pentecost outpouring in the Brandon Hills—a grace that lives beyond time and space, and lingers still like the taste of a banquet.