Lost in Translation
I want to tell you a story.
Would you mind if I took you back in time with me to three weeks ago?
To that open-doored sanctuary with the temperate near-ocean breeze dancing over the dancing congregation?
To the sound of faintly familiar hymns sung in another tongue populating the air molecules with an air of expectancy and the startling yips and sequels of the women echoing a joyous noise unto the Lord?
To the weighty hum of lengthy translated sermons and the little ones sitting
near, squirming with the restless impatience of a usual 4-year-old?
To that distinct smell wafting in – the combination of gathered people in close quarters and fresh mangos and bananas growing on the trees just outside the tin-roofed building?
“Because of the too much love you have for us,” I hear the pastor say.
Some things just don’t translate.
Some things just don’t translate.
He continues, “you left home and your families,” pause for translation
you flew here to Africa,”
pause for translation
just to be with us.”
pause for translation
He considered it a sacrifice. A sacrifice? To witness the Spirit of God active and moving amongst a
people I had often not considered? A sacrifice?
To embrace the freedom that accompanies the Holy Spirit? A sacrifice to escape my selfish motives, intentions, and prisons and be altogether embraced and loved by the very Bride
of Christ, active and alive, moving and seeking, among a people who call me “daughter” and “sister”?
people I had often not considered? A sacrifice?
To embrace the freedom that accompanies the Holy Spirit? A sacrifice to escape my selfish motives, intentions, and prisons and be altogether embraced and loved by the very Bride
of Christ, active and alive, moving and seeking, among a people who call me “daughter” and “sister”?
I’ve never witnessed such joy – such thankfulness. Then I remember how the two are intertwined. Joy in the heart of thanksgiving. Chara at the heart of Eucharist. I learned that before I boarded the plane for Entebbe. Then I got to see it.
I’ve spoken to a few of you since I’ve been back and I admit, it probably hasn’t made any sense. I’ve been attempting to speak with the language of the heart and I’m utterly dumbfounded. I have no words. It’s as though I know there is a language with which to describe this fire in my bones, this awakening in my very being, but it must be the language of the angels.
And some things just don't translate.
Comments