by Fr. Rich Andre, C.S.P.
June 1, 2020

Paulist Fr. Rich Andre preached this homily on Pentecost Sunday, May 31, 2020, at St. Austin Catholic Parish in Austin, TX. The homily is based on the day’s readings: Acts 2:1-11; Psalm 104; 1 Corinthians 12:3b-7, 12-13; and John 20:19-23.

Pentecost is one of three liturgical feasts that includes a text from the Middle Ages called a “sequence.” Here’s a translation of the awesome Pentecost sequence, a prayer expressing many qualities of the Holy Spirit that we don’t often think about:

Come, O Holy Spirit,
send forth the heavenly
radiance of your light.
Come, father of the poor,
come, giver of gifts,
come, light of the heart.

Greatest comforter,
sweet guest of the soul,
sweet consolation.
In labor, you bring rest,
in heat, temperance,
in tears, solace.

O most blessed light,
fill the inmost heart
of your faithful.

Without your spirit,
there is nothing in human beings,
nothing that is not harmful.

Cleanse in us that which is unclean,
water that which is dry,
heal that which is wounded.
Bend that which is inflexible,
fire that which is chilled,
correct what goes astray.

Give to your faithful,
those who trust in you,
the sevenfold gifts.
Grant the reward of virtue,
grant the deliverance of salvation,
grant eternal joy.

In our scripture readings today, we hear again two stories of the first Christian Pentecost, plus a psalm and an epistle about the Holy Spirit. May we pray for God to infuse of our lives again with light, flexibility, insight, warmth, passion, and joy!

Lord Jesus, you commended your Spirit into the Father’s hands. Lord, have mercy.

Lord Jesus, you continue to reveal yourself to us today. Christ, have mercy.

Lord Jesus, you will continue to send us your Spirit. Lord, have mercy.

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Usually, I feel that our celebrations of Pentecost are too subdued. We should be excited, trying to replicate the excitement of the first Christian Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit pushed the disciples out the doors to proclaim God’s mighty deeds to people from all over the known world!

Unfortunately, I don’t feel that that’s the right way to celebrate Pentecost this year. At the peak of this first wave of Covid-19 in the United States, the virus was killing more people than heart disease or cancer.^{1 2} Yet many people question if the number of Covid-19 deaths are accurate. Perhaps that’s because, in the words of Marc Fisher of The Washington Post, victims of Covid-19 are “disproportionally poor and black and Latino.” In Washington, DC, a city that is 46% black and 37% white, 76% of those who have died from Covid-19 were black and only 11% were white.³ Here in Travis County, approximately 1/3 of the population is Hispanic,⁴ but more than 3/4 of hospitalized Covid-19 patients are Hispanic.⁵ So it comes as no surprise that nationally, only 10% of white people know someone who has died from Covid-19, but 26% of Hispanics do.⁶

It’s easy to say that the disparities are due to more complex factors. People are more likely to contract Covid-19 if they live in densely-populated areas, if they live in multi-generational homes, if they work in jobs that do not allow for social distancing, if they have underlying health conditions, if they have inadequate health insurance, or if they live in homeless shelters or prisons. In this country, people of color are more likely to experience each of the conditions I just mentioned. But it’s not a coincidence. Many of the factors for the racial disparities between health outcomes today come from a 400-year legacy of racial discrimination in the United States, from slavery in the 17^th, 18^th, and 19^th centuries, from Jim Crow laws of the early 20^th century, and from housing policies of the mid-20^th century.

It can be hard for many of us who are white to recognize the privilege we have.⁷ Plenty of white people have no choice but to live in densely populated areas, to live in multi-generational homes, to work in jobs that do not allow for social distancing, and to go without adequate health insurance. Plenty of white people have underlying health conditions and live in homeless shelters and prisons. The 11 people I know who have contracted Covid-19 – including the two who have died?⁸ They have all been white. But that probably speaks more to my experiences as a white person in early 21^st-century America – the vast majority of the people I know are white.

On Memorial Day, we saw additional horrifying actions in our country with racist overtones. A white woman in Manhattan made a false claim that Christian Cooper, a black man, was assaulting her.⁹ A white police officer in Minneapolis knelt for nearly nine minutes on the neck of George Floyd, a black man accused of forgery.¹⁰ Floyd died about an hour later. I must be honest: if I only heard the phone call of the woman in Manhattan or only read the police report in Minneapolis, I would have reached a very different conclusion from what the video evidence clearly shows.

The fact is, as a white person, I will never fully comprehend the experience of being a person of color in the United States. I cannot fathom the consequences of living a lifetime of racial prejudice. My college classmate Aisha cannot forget when she learned about racism: she was 5 years old and was rounding the corner of an aisle in the grocery store. A white woman saw her, gasped, and clutched her purse in fear that the 5-year-old African-American Aisha would steal it.

Or listen to the prophetic voice of Cathy, a black woman who has worked in Catholic churches in Baltimore as a bridge builder for decades, not someone given to complaining. After midnight on Wednesday this week, she posted online,

White America, why are you afraid? … Will I live to see the day when I’m not afraid for my husband or my son or my brother or my nephews to leave the house? Will I get over the anger I feel when any Black man is killed for no reason? Will I ever be able to sleep soundly knowing one of the Black men I love is outside unarmed and potentially in danger though he is doing nothing wrong? Will we ever be really free???? I really need to know why you are afraid when we, the majority, have not been aggressive and are decent human beings.

I don’t mean to paint an overly simplistic picture that all white people are racist or that all people of color should be canonized. But this Pentecost, I ask myself: how am I supposed to help to reverse systemic racism in our country? The Holy Spirit compels me to act.

Many well-meaning white people often miss the point when we speak up against racism. We often start our statements with phrases such as, “I’m not a racist…” or “Most white people aren’t like the person who…” When we phrase things this way, it can sound as if we’re more interested in absolving ourselves than changing the future for others.

In the workshops I’ve attended over the years, I’ve learned four things:

• First, to be an ally to people who are persecuted, I must spend more time listening – and being open to learning – than speaking. When I hear stories of persecution, I must follow the promptings of the Holy Spirit. Perhaps I will need to get angry, to grieve, or to seek a conversion of my own heart.
• Second, it is rarely appropriate for me to respond to a persecuted person’s story by sharing an experience of my own. When I speak, I must do so in a way that magnifies the voices of those who are persecuted, rather than drawing the focus to me or to my discomfort.
• Third, every time I become aware of another racial injustice, I should not expect people of color to give me explicit directions on what to do.^{11 12 13} People of color have written countless books and blogs on how white people can be effective allies in the fight against racism. I can ask questions of people of color, but I need to commit to do some of the hard work myself. I could also attend the “Courageous Conversations” program held every month at Holy Cross Parish here in Austin.
• Fourth, I will surely make mistakes when I speak about issues of race. Nevertheless, it is far better for me to fumble in my attempts to bring about God’s justice than to stay silent. When I make mistakes, people of color can explain how I can better phrase things in the future. If I’m too scared to speak,¹⁴ my silence supports the evil.

On the first Christian Pentecost, people from all over the world were miraculously able to transcend cultural and language barriers to understand one another. Listening to our brothers and sisters of color is not a miracle, but a Christian obligation. However, if enough of us listen both to the stories of people of color and to the promptings of the Holy Spirit, the result could be miraculous indeed! With that in mind, let us pray once again:

Come, O Holy Spirit,
send forth the heavenly
radiance of your light.
Come, father of the poor,
come, giver of gifts,
come, light of the heart….

Cleanse in us that which is unclean,
water that which is dry,
heal that which is wounded.
Bend that which is inflexible,
fire that which is chilled,
correct what goes astray.

Come, Holy Spirit, enkindle in us the fire of your love. Fill the hearts of your faithful, and show us – and compel us – to renew the face of the earth!

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Notes: