Today at A Deeper Church, I’m doing something I haven’t done much of on the internet, not even around these parts, though I admit to doing it obliquely.
I’m talking about speaking in tongues and the like, about my past that others call pentecostal though that’s a name I learned much later–we only ever said charismatic, or Spirit-filled.
I’m only giving a snippet of story about something that is far more complicated than I could do in a much longer post, or even a series of them–so I’ll admit to you I’m nervous about it all.
I’m learning that there is still much of this to sort through.
Today, though, it’s the Holy Spirit who comes with fire, who descends like the wind of creation. Today, we plan to read the Gospel simultaneously aloud, in different languages, though no tongues dance above our heads.
It’s lovely and odd when the time comes, with a handful of myriad tongues loose with scripture, disparate paces making swells and lulls with an underlying hum, just like the cicadas that will take this place by force in the heat of the coming months.
When the last language stops speaking and we’ve bookended our reading with the bolded proclamation, Praise to you, Lord Christ, I look down to realize that I’ve been clenching the edge of the picnic table the entire time, the grooves leaving marks of anxiety in my fingers.
I’d love to talk through some of this with you.