Pastor Tom Johnson, May 27, 2012
No one warned me about the loneliness and isolation. Maybe they did, but I didn’t listen. I spoke a little Spanish but I was living in Barcelona where Catalan was the first language. Regionalism in Barcelona was very strong since the death of the dictator who tried to outlaw it. And no one wanted to hear a teenager speaking Spanish with an American accent. Catalan gave me a headache and I was exhausted. It had been weeks since I heard or spoke English. One day I was in the train station and I heard an older woman having a meltdown—cursing and ranting in American English. It was disturbing and it made me even more homesick for my native language.
William Cope Moyers, the son of journalist and TV personality Bill Moyers experienced his own kind of loneliness and isolation. In his case, it was alcohol and drug addiction. In his book, Broken, he tells the heartbreaking story of living decades of feeling like he was alone in his struggle. It seemed that no one understood him and no one struggled as he did. He felt so much shame and guilt that he kept his hidden thoughts and actions a secret.
People were in Jerusalem that day from all over the world. Some were Jews and others were proselytes—that is, converts to Judaism. Converts would have had to learn Hebrew—a dead language at the time—and probably Greek or Aramaic to understand the preaching in the synagogues. They were also encouraged and required to pilgrimage to the Holy Land and visit the Holy City, Jerusalem. For some, the journey was a homecoming with the familiar Hebrew and Aramaic. For the converts, however, it probably was very difficult and isolating to be in such a strange and unfamiliar place. They came from Africa, Europe, the Middle East, and the Far East. They spoke languages that were as diverse in their day as they are in ours with all the cultural differences and various shades of skin, hair color, and facial features. Their journey to Jerusalem did not begin at the airport in Tel-Aviv. They would have traveled for days and weeks through other strange and unfamiliar territory. They would have been exhausted and probably a bit homesick.
Everyone offered their prayers in Hebrew—some struggling with their diction than others. It’s no wonder many of those who heard the loud noise were trying to figure out what was going on. It was followed by people speaking in every language except for the prescribed Hebrew. Some blamed it on excessive alcohol. Some were perplexed but also profoundly moved. They heard about the mighty acts of God in their native tongue. They heard about the Son of God who became a human being in their heart language. They heard about the Messiah who died and rose again for their forgiveness and eternal life in the same words and accent as their parents who raised them and the kids the grew up playing with.
How much more clear could God have made it—that the Good News is for you—you personally and individually—the God who knows us intimately with all our unique backgrounds and experiences? —the good news—custom made and individually packaged for each precious soul so that you don’t just hear the Word of God but that the message penetrates deeply into the very core of our being with all of our particular joys and struggles. “In our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power,” they said. Amazed and perplexed they ask a good Lutheran question, “What does this mean?” The conversation has begun. God has listened to their multilingual prayers and has answered in the appropriate language and dialect by the Holy Spirit.
There were a handful of times I talked with other Americans during my time in Spain. But I’ll never forget the time I was boarding the plane on my way home. I heard the sweet music of English with all its regional American accents. It was like someone threw a warm blanket over me after shivering in the cold for months.
For William Moyers, the breakthrough came when he heard the voice of God calling him to healing and wholeness—to surround himself with people who could speak the language of recovery from the ravages of alcohol and cocaine addiction. People spoke to William in his native dialect of those who also knew the shame, guilt, and power of addiction. They spoke about a God who did not have all the answers to our questions, such as, “Why me? Why am I an addict and not others?” But they also spoke in the credible mother tongue of those who live each 24 hours under the power of forgiveness and the unconditional love of God. Like the day of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit spoke to William in a language he could understand.
That is the excitement and beauty of Pentecost—when we the people of God find a way to translate the old, old story—when we share the changeless good news of Jesus Christ in a way that speaks to people in their native language validating and affirming the individual while pointing to a gracious God. God the Holy Spirit gives us tongues of fire to speak his Word in a caring and understanding way. God is still doing a mighty deed among us and through us—giving forgiveness, life, hope, and assurance of his love to a wonderfully diverse world.
