There is a wonderful old Kris Kristofferson song called Sunday Morning, Coming Down. Here at the Community Kitchen, where I live and work, the faces of the people here speak those lines:
" Well there's something in a Sunday
that makes a body feel alone,
on the empty Sunday sidewalks,
when you are so far from home.
And there's nothing short of dying,
quite as lonely as the sound
as the silent streets and buildings
and Sunday morning coming down."
The men and women...even the children...seem somehow chastised and subdued on Sundays. Perhaps it is a kind of subliminal nostalgia, a longing for home or mother or goodness that keeps us so quiet and thoughtful on this day of the Pentecost.
The Spirit has come.
Current Mood: contemplative