Pentecost meet Woodstock

“When the day of Pentecost came, all the believers were gathered together in on place. Suddenly there was a noise from the sky which sounded like a strong wind blowing, and it filled the whole house where they were sitting. They they saw what looked like tongues of fire which spread out and touched each person there. They were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to talk in other languages, as the Spirit enabled the to speak” (Acts 2:1-4)

When we had first planned the trip to Taize and I had discovered that we would be there for Pentecost — my favorite church holiday— I was overwhelmed with anticipation! Oh the new depths of meaning and divine experience that awaited! Then I stepped outside my door and quickly realized that there was a significant downside to seeking the gift of the Holy Spirit with 6000 other people. My aunt and I linked arms and slogged our way towards the Church of Reconciliation for the very last time. Remarkably, we were able to get a spot near the front, and just inches away from a praise band from the Congo that were there to enliven the celebration. Their skin was black, their native garb orange and yellow and bark brown, with chunky beads and hand carved drums. They sang praises to God in their native language, dancing and swaying and beaming with their perfect, white teeth. Beautiful! I looked around at the European faces seated all around us and found their expressions surprisingly restrained; was it possible that they didn’t enjoy this music in the same way, or merely that they were unaccustomed to expressing pleasure at the sight of such earthy movement.

And then the Brothers began to arrive, and I watched as, one by one, they entered the space and spotted the Congolese troupe and smiles of every size and shape peeled across their faces; delight, is what it was, on the faces of the wrinkled, hunched-over Brothers and the sharp, middle-aged Brothers and the newest Brother, now 12 hours into his lifelong vow, who took his seat in front of the small electronic keyboard. Evidently it was his turn to lead the Taize chants. And then Brother Alois entered and took his seat and we, the choir of angels, burst forth with the first song! We sang and sang as if tongues of fire filled the sanctuary, a robust sound with so many voices, so many pilgrims who had come a great distance just to be in this space on this day.

In the end, it was not my favorite service, or the best service, or the most meaningful service, but, like each and every service of prayers we attended in Taize, it was, simply, perfect.