Today is Whit Monday, a legal holiday in most of Europe, which is kind of ironic considering some facts. Hungary is traditionally a Catholic country, but one of the statistics I have seen more than once show that less than 20% of the Catholics actually practice. Guess they perfected it and don’t need the practice anymore. Spain and Italy both run about 25-30%, which is kind of shocking since that German guy has a grandiose house by Rome. What happened to the Italian guilt I was raised with? Someone is slipping.
So, from my meager understanding, Whit Sunday and Whit Monday have something to do with the Holy Spirit, who we have come to know as that white bird. You would think that after all of these years, animal activists would have come to the bird’s defense. It only ever gets third billing: Father, son, and oh yea, the bird too. Obviously, the bird needs a better marketing agency. When you are always third in line, no one pays much attention to you. Ask any third child and they will confirm this. Maybe a press agent is what is needed; someone who can get the word out that the bird needs more attention than one big day a year.
Even the son gets Christmas, Good Friday, and Easter with a whole lot of other days tagged on for long weekends in many countries.
The story goes that as the apostles were praying, there was a great wind going through the room when great tongues of fire appeared over their heads. Since this was a festival, their first thoughts were of a BBQ, but alas they were only given the gift of tongues to preach in strange languages saying strange things, like I have here.
The color of Pentecost is red, so momentarily I will offer a reddish blush for irreverence, but just for a moment. After all, the devil made me do it.