When the Spirit Comes

A Reflection on the First Reading for Sunday, June 8th, 2025::
Solemnity of Pentecost

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Acts
​2.1-11

When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in their own language. Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and converts, Cretans and Arabs — in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.”

Pause. Pray. Reflect.

As I sit with the First Reading, something stirs within me. I summon an image of the coming of the Holy Spirit: the rush of wind, the waver of flames and a sudden, bold outpouring of divine courage. It seems beautiful and deeply personal. The apostles huddled together, feeling fearful and uncertain, is familiar. I’ve had such moments, when I don’t know what comes next, when I feel overwhelmed or unqualified. And yet, for the apostles it was in such a moment that the Holy Spirit came to them — not when they were ready, but when they were open.

The more I reflect on Pentecost, the more I think of my own life. So many times I felt ready for so many things, but I was not fully open. My heart was closed; I only thought it was open. It took time to open my life fully to Jesus, even after countless times of saying I already had. I was overwhelmed with a feeling of unworthiness. Then, over time I learned that the Holy Spirit isn’t reserved for leaders or saints in stained glass windows. He comes to women like me, in ordinary places — kitchens, offices, rooms of quiet prayer and moments of worship.

The diversity of languages heard by the crowd symbolizes a universality of mission. As a wife, mother, daughter, friend and professional, I am part of that mission. Sometimes the “languages” I speak are silent acts of love — caring for my child, comforting the grieving, being strong for my family. In these small ways the Holy Spirit works through me.

Pentecost reminds me that I am not alone. The Holy Spirit is my guide, giving me courage when I feel weak and words when I feel uncertain.

Holy Spirit, come. Set my heart on fire with Your love.


​Shelly Fillmore

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