It’s Pentecost Sunday, also known as Whitsunday. I’ve a quote for you for the day, but it’s in Middle English, which is the same form of English that Geoffrey Chaucer spoke and wrote when he put The Canterbury Tales down on paper in the late 14th century, and if you’ve ever read those tales, perhaps in high school English classes or in British Lit in college, you’ll remember well that Middle English takes a bit of getting accustomed to –– much like it took a bit of getting accustomed to my Aunt Lil’s accent and speech patterns when we’d go visit her in Augusta, Georgia. The quote is from John Mirk, an Augustinian canon who lived and preached in Shropshire, England, between 1382 and 1414, so… a contemporary of our Geoffrey Chaucer.
I’ll admit that’s a lot of set up for a short sentence, but here it is: Goode men and woymen, as ye known wele all, thys day ys called Whitsonday, for bycause that thee Holy Gost as thys day broth wyt and wysdome ynto all Cristes dyscyples. Or, in our contemporary tongue: “Good men and women, as you all well know, this day is called Whitsunday, because the Holy Ghost on this day brought wit and wisdom to all Christ’s disciples.”
Wit and wisdom. Two things that are in short supply these days, along with kindness and empathy and respect. (How did we get here? I have my own theories (they begin, innocently enough, with the sitcom Seinfeld and reach their apex––let’s hope so, anyway––with the people currently in charge in Washington), but we’re not here today, on this beautiful day in May, to discuss this.) Wit and wisdom in the form of inspiration and the Holy Spirit: this is what’s behind Whitsunday: Pentecost Sunday celebrates the coming of the Holy Spirit to Christ’s disciples on the fiftieth and last day of the Easter season, which is where Pentecost takes its name, from a Greek word meaning “fiftieth.” And in the teachings of the Church, the Holy Spirit is the third person in the Holy Trinity, as in, “In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” as everyone in my family says when we cross ourselves, which, for some of us, can be several times each day.
John Mirk, as you may have noticed in the quote above––not to mention Geoffrey Chaucer, and everyone when I was a boy, and probably every English speaker in between (the Catholics, at least)––did not call this third person the Holy Spirit. We called it the Holy Ghost. The Latin languages use spirit (my Italian grandparents used to say, “Nel nome di Padre, del Figlio, e dello Spirito Santo”) and in recent decades there’s been a shift in that direction. But I rather miss the word ghost. Especially on Pentecost, when I always think of my most memorable Pentecost celebration, at the Sabbathday Lake Shaker Community in Maine. I won’t tell you about it here, because I feel like I tell you about it every Pentecost, every Whitsunday, and so I will pass today… but if you care to read about it, here is one of many chapters about this day where I describe it. It is very much a story of ghosts and spirits, of spiration: of gusts and ghosts and spirit and breath and respiration and inspiration. It is, I think, a beautiful story.
And with that, I will wish you a most inspiring day, and a most inspiring life, and a wish, for us all, for more wit and wisdom, more kindness and empathy, and more respect for each other.
SHOP HAPPENINGS
The shop is open today, Sunday, May 24. The first of our summer workshops, Botanical Monotypes, which is sold out, is happening this morning, but we’re open for eclectic shopping toward the end of the workshop and once it’s done, from 11 AM to 4 PM. Two weeks later, I’ll be teaching a Case Bound Journal bookbinding workshop on Sunday, June 7 (3 seats left) and our next Convivio Cookery workshop is my favorite pasta, Mambricoli, on Saturday, June 13 (5 seats left). And we’re making plans for our Midsummer Solstice Market… it’s planned for Friday June 19 through Sunday June 21. We’ll have some good Midsummer Magic in store for you!
Image: “Retabla of Holy Ghost” by E. Boyd. Woodcut with watercolor and colored pencil on paper, c. 1936 [Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons].
When I read your stories a quiet calm takes over. It’s sooo needed. Thank you for a slice of peace today.
Oh, gosh, Karen, thank you.
As I sit here near my mom, me in the kitchen, and Mom, just over the wall, in the living room, watching the Mass for Pentecost on the TV, I overheard the pastor tell the congregation that he’d soon be blessing the eucharist and using the same words that he says each and every time he does this, the same words over and over and over again… I realize this is how so many of our own stories go, no? My Shaker Pentecost story, the story of Grandpa joining my Uncle Joe at a fancy business dinner and Grandpa kept slurping his soup and each time he slurped, Uncle Joe would nudge him under the table, and so Grandpa kept moving over, while still slurping the soup he was enjoying with great enthusiasm. (Mom just told the story two nights ago while we ate dinner, as if she was telling it for the first time, which is something my dad would do, too.)
That enthusiasm is a thing of wonder. It’s good to tell the stories over and over again. We do this in memory of all these people, all these places, all these things.
Some post script thoughts for you all on this Whitsunday.
John
The stories keep people and events alive and present, even if they are at a great distance in time. And they don’t always need a lot of words. I recall visiting Old Sturbridge Village and my Italian grandmother was with us. We went into the general store and as we looked around she said, “When I was a little girl my father had a store like this in Quincy.” One sentence told a story about my great-grandfather who died when my grandmother was still a little girl. Some of the stories are longer, some shorter, but they all connect us with our ancestors and each other. And we’re constantly creating new stories. Some will be retold over and over; some will not. But they are all treasures.
A bright and happy Whitsun to all!
What a sweet story and memory of your grandma, Scott, and your great-grandpa. I love this. Thank you.