“And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered,

because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each.”

–Acts 1:6

During my seminary years, I once had some free time between the end of a semester and the start of a summer job. So before leaving New Jersey for West Virginia I made a quick trip north. I began with a few stops in Vermont and then, realizing how close Canada was, went on a day-trip to Montreal.  

On arriving, I stopped in a convenience store to get supplies for lunch. When it was my turn at check-out, the clerk said “le pain n’est pas frais.” Having taken four years of French in high school, I understood she was telling me the bread was not fresh, but wasn’t comfortable enough to respond in kind and thus replied “Oh, it’s not?”  From that point, she spoke to me in English guiding me toward a better choice.

I went outside and was standing on a corner waiting for the light to change when the man next to me said, “quelle heure est-il?”  Again, I understood he was asking for the time, but still wasn’t confident enough to reply in French so I merely showed him my watch. With two successful interactions in a row, though, I began to feel confident my language skills were re-surfacing. Too confident.  

Walking toward the stadium where the 1976 Summer Olympics had been held I went to the ticket counter and asked about the next tour.  The agent informed me the earliest English-speaking one would be in a couple of hours, but added “There’s a French tour beginning now.” Emboldened by my early success I purchased a ticket, thus beginning two of the longest hours of my life!

From the guide’s opening sentence, I realized my mistake. To hide my complete lack of comprehension I started to parrot the reactions of my fellow tourists. When they would react to the guide’s words by looking in a particular direction I did the same. When they laughed, I did as well. I looked away when he spoke directly to me fearful I was supposed to respond. While I understood an occasional word, the only concept I clearly grasped came when he pointed toward all the seats and said “baseball.” When the tour finally ended, I murmured a quiet  “merci beaucoup” and quickly left.  

Given that experience, there’s a certain amount of envy in how Acts 1 describes the Day of Pentecost.  When the Holy Spirit descended upon the Apostles, tongues of fire appeared above them and the men began to speak in other languages. Unlike my Montreal mis-adventure, though, the Spirit allowed witnesses to understand everything that was being said. “At this sound,” Luke writes, “the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each.” It’s like the United Nations General Assembly when ambassadors have their own translator for speeches. At Pentecost, God’s very Spirit provided that gift.     

One doesn’t have to sign up for the wrong tour to experience the challenge of language. Walk beside a group of American teenagers and you will hear shorthand expressions that are confusing. Start work at a new company and for the first week or so you will hear co-workers use industry-specific terms that make no sense. Look around the waiting room of any therapist’s office and you will see couples who are likely dealing with communication issues. In all kinds of settings, we can speak the same language only to find we do not understand or that others fail to get our intent.

Yet just as God provided the tools needed for some first-century bystanders to grasp the message so have we been created to grow in that capacity, too. It starts with focused listening, asking questions when we don’t get the point. And when we still don’t understand, to do both things again.

Holy Spirit, how we need your gift each day.  Help us once again to truly listen and understand. Amen.