Our Mother Tongue

1 Corinthians 12:3b-13    Acts 2:1-21

Mother's Day/Pentecost

         One of the more fascinating aspects of the account of Pentecost is the fact that as the Holy Spirit alighted on each of them, the disciples started speaking in languages they didn't know before.  And better yet, there were people in the crowd listening who heard their own language being spoken as a result of this.  It must have been such an amazing thing for the foreign folks to all of a sudden hear the familiar cadences of their mother tongue in that land that was so far from their home.  Maybe this is why MacDonald's and the Hard Rock Café have done so well worldwide?  Maybe people traveling in unfamiliar lands need the comfort of a sign from home every now and then?  I know when I am traveling, I love exploring new places, meeting new people and even hearing the lilt of a language that is different from my own.  But I also remember all too well how disoriented I felt a few years ago when we crossed into French-speaking Canada, and discovered that absolutely no one spoke English – not even enough to help us with directions.  We had foolishly forgotten our French-English dictionary at home.  When we finally heard someone speaking words we understood, it was an incredible relief to me.  I knew then that we could make ourselves understood, that we would receive some help and so we were no longer lost.  (Now, I know we had maps and we could probably have found our way to wherever it was we wanted to go that day, but there is much to be said for being able to make yourself known in a familiar language.)

         What is your mother tongue?  My guess is that most of us will answer "English."  Most of us grew up with the same language that we use even today, and this has made our lives a bit easier than it might have been had we had to translate ourselves into a new place, a new language, a new way of understanding the world and explaining ourselves.  But I also want us to think a little bit deeper here about our mother tongue.  I want us to go beyond the surface understanding of what this might be down to the place where language resonates in our souls.  Are there turns of phrase that give you a shot of nostalgia?  Are there certain words or the way they are used that bring memories rushing into your mind?  Do some words remind you of your Mom, or of your Dad, perhaps of a favorite uncle or aunt or a particularly special neighbor friend?  Each of us grows up into a particular way of using the language, and so even though most of us speak English, the English we speak may differ depending on who raised us, and when and where we were raised.  I remember enjoying the turns of phrase that stood out to me when I first moved here to Vermont.  Waiting for these special uses of words lent a wonderful anticipation to any conversation I had with someone who was a true Vermonter.  It still does, if I am completely honest about it. I love listening to the turns of phrase that give speech its delicious variety of flavors.

         I'd like to take us even deeper than this, though, deeper even than the language that stirs memories in our minds.  I'd like to take us further back than even the homes we lived in as children.  I believe that there is a language that predates the spoken language with which we are most familiar.  I believe there is a language that reaches deep into our souls.  It goes beyond the language that speaks of who we are in and of ourselves and within our families of origin.  This language speaks of who we are in terms of our relationship with the great Mystery and Source of life, in terms of who we are in relation to God.  It speaks to the part of us that is older than human years might count. 

Thinking back to the gathering that first Pentecost day, when people heard their own language spoken in a foreign land, I wonder what language they really heard?  I wonder if it was a human language or if it was a language of the heart and soul?  I wonder if this is also the feeling that we get when we hear God speaking to us?  Is there a certain sense of having "come home" when we find our way back to the Source of our being, when we hear that language again, or perhaps for the first time?

Newborn children recognize their mother's voice from hearing it while they are in the womb for those 9 long months of gestation.  Oftentimes families, when they are expecting the birth of a child, will conscientiously make sure that each member speaks to the unborn child on a regular basis.  The hope is that the baby, when born, will recognize the sound of his father's voice as well as his mother's.  That the baby when born will feel safe when she hears her sister's voice as well as the more familiar mother's voice. 

I think this might be a little of what it is like for us when we hear God's voice coming to us in the midst of the hustle and bustle of life.  I think this might have been what it was like for those people gathered on the very first Pentecost.  God's voice, reverberating in their souls and in our hearts.  God's own voice, calling us into closer relationship with all that exists.  William Wordsworth puts this into poetic perspective saying;

         Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,

     Hath had elsewhere its setting,

          And cometh from afar:

     Not in entire forgetfulness,

     And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

     From God, who is our home:

Heaven lies about us in our infancy!

Shades of the prison-house begin to close

     Upon the growing Boy,

But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,

     He sees it in his joy;

The Youth, who daily farther from the east

     Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,

     And by the vision splendid

     Is on his way attended;

At length the Man perceives it die away,

And fade into the light of common day.

         Is it possible that we are truly "pilgrims in a foreign land"?  Is our true home here on earth, in Vermont, with our families, or is it really in the heart of God?  However we may look at our metaphysical origins, many of us see life as a journey.  We see it as a journey through uncharted territory where we sometimes feel lost and confused.  We see it as a journey through foreign lands in which we know we do not belong.  We see it as a journey toward something important, for sure, but what? And when?  And how will we know when we have finally found it?

         Well, my sense is that we will know we have found it when we hear a voice that is familiar to us, when we hear our true "mother tongue" being spoken.  We will know that we have found our home when familiarity overcomes our every sense, and we realize that we are held in profound and amazing love, and not only are we held in this love when we find our way home, but we have been held in this love every moment of our existence.  We have never been left bereft, ever.  We have always had a home to which we could return when we were ready.  I know a lot of Moms who hold this kind of space in their hearts and their houses for their children.  I know Moms who pray for their children every single day, pray for their well-being, for their happiness, for them to find their way through life with some sense of peace.  I know a lot of Moms who shed tears for their children on a pretty regular basis, and some who want to pull their hair out because of their children as well.  All of these Moms show us a small glimpse of the love with which God holds us as children of the Holy.  We are all loved with a love so deep and strong that we may never plumb its depths.  We are blessed, truly blessed.

God of love, you created us, formed us out of nothing to be your children, your emissaries in a strange land.  We thank you for guiding us along the way.  We thank you for being with us each day and night, giving us encouragement, comfort and love.  We thank you also this day for the gift of mothers who so often are the embodiment of your love here on earth.  Bring us all safely home to you some day.  Amen.