Fr. David Convertino, OFM
Executive Director of Development
Pentecost. The day the Holy Spirit rushed in like wind, flared up like fire, and turned a scared group of disciples into bold messengers of God’s love. It’s a powerful moment—one that feels almost like a super power movie.
Here’s a question: if Pentecost happened today, would we even notice?
Imagine the modern, crowded, upper room of a 60-story building with everyone checking their phones. Notifications are buzzing. News alerts flying. Group chats lighting up. And suddenly—wind! Fire! Tongues! But instead of being amazed and awe struck – someone posts:
“lol what is going on here? #HolyWind, # Wild Party with Effects!”
And yet… that’s exactly where the Spirit shows up.
Not just in a quiet chapel with perfect lighting and Gregorian chant. No, not always.
The Holy Spirit also arrives in the middle of fear, uncertainty, confusion, and a tightly packed room full of flawed but faithful people. People distracted by the worries, pain, losses, and the joys and laughter in our lives.
Sounds a lot like our world, doesn’t it? A lot like your daily life? It sounds like mine.
The twist of Pentecost is this: the Spirit doesn’t wait for things to be neat, polished, or calm. The Spirit blows right through our locked personal doors, cuts through our digital noise, and sets hearts on fire anyway.
The Spirit doesn’t whisper from a distance—it interrupts and often charges into life with brightness and insight.
Francis of Assisi prayed, “Enlighten the darkness of my heart.” That’s a Pentecost prayer if there ever was one.
This Pentecost feast isn’t a past event to remember—it’s a forceful invitation:
- To wake up.
- To speak truth.
- To listen better.
- To be the ones who carry peace into a fractured world and hope into noisy, distracted spaces.
So, this Pentecost, may the fire fall again— even on Zoom calls, subway platforms, country roads,
TIK TOK, You Tube, and in the middle of email chains.
And may we welcome it.
Come, Holy Spirit, come on in!
Many Blessings,
Fr. David, OFM
Fr. David Convertino, OFM
Executive Director of Development
Franciscus.
One word.
That’s all Pope Francis asked to be carved on his tombstone: Franciscus.
Not “Supreme Pontiff.” Not “Holy Father.” Not even “Pope.”
Just his name.
But in that one name lies a vision of the Church.
A whole way of life.
A whole echo of the little poor man of Assisi whose name he dared to take.
When Jorge Bergoglio stepped out onto the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica and chose the name Francis, it was more than a tribute. It was a declaration of his intentions. He chose a saint who spoke to the heart of the Gospel message—poverty, humility, peace, mercy, and a deep love of creation.
He captured the relational core of the man from Assisi who saw all as brother and sister. The first pope ever to take that name, and he lived it with amazing simplicity and radical tenderness.
Like the original Francis, he embraced the leper of our society. He kissed the broken. He crossed boundaries of nation, class, and creed. He chose the smell of the sheep over the perfume of the palace. He spoke uncomfortable truths to the powerful and consoled the forgotten with gentle words and quiet, powerful gestures.
Franciscus.
It is a name that calls the Church back to its roots.
It is a name that says less pomp, more prayer; less judgment, more joy.
It is a name that reminds us that faith is not about dominance or control, but about washing feet and welcoming strangers.
And when that single word is etched in stone marker at St. Mary Major—Franciscus—it will not just mark a grave.
It will proclaim a legacy.
May we remember him not just by his name, but by how he lived it.
Many Blessings,
Fr. David, OFM
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