Summary: The Day of Pentecost: Whitsunday Sunday, May 12, 2013 Acts 2:1-21 I needed a translator. Badly. There I was in an old beat up Volkswagen bus in some dingy back corner of the Dominican Republic. We bumped down the road full of pot holes, blasting merengue music. The driver yelling at pedestrians and beating on the side of the door, trying to drum up business, and not even slowing down for stop signs or red lights, but driving like a man possessed. And there was this young girl sitting next to me. Pawing me. Making suggestive glances. Speaking in blazing fast Spanish. This was public transportation in the Dominican Republic. I needed a translator. Badly. Then there was this guy in the front row, flashing his pistola. Making menacing glances at me. Speaking in blazing fast Spanish. I needed a translator. Badly. To make a long story short, as you can see, I escaped that VW bus unscathed. With my heart in my throat, I nearly jumped out of that VW bus when I saw the Episcopal Church to which I was headed, and ducked inside. All this happened during seminary, when I went to go study in the Dominican Republic. See, seminary was more than just praying in a quiet chapel and learning ancient Greek. Seminary was about getting hit on by Dominican girls. Seminary was about almost getting mugged. In a sense, what I learned at seminary, was that everybody needs a translator. Now, God’s native language is love. But love is a hard language to learn. It’s much harder to understand God’s all-encompassing forgiveness, than it is to conjugate irregular Spanish verbs. It’s much harder to realize that God loves you, yes, really, you, than it is to realize that Dominican girls want American husbands. So, like students, we have to learn how to speak God’s language of love. And learning a new language is really, really hard. Because when you learn a new language, you have to actually re-wire your brain. The way you learned how to speak English has to be un-learned, and then re-learned for Spanish. And when you’re learning a new language, you’re going to sound like an moron. I can’t tell you how many times I made a fool of myself in the Dominican Republic. Once I mixed up the words “slavery” and “goodness.” That was awkward. And I called one of the Dominican men a “very good looking girl.” That was even more awkward. But that’s alright - I was learning a new language. When you are learning the language of love - God’s language - sometimes you’re going to make a fool of yourself. You won’t get it right. Your prayers may be self-serving and shallow. But that’s alright, you have to start somewhere. You may not think that Jesus really meant the whole “forgive your neighbor thing”- but that’s okay, you’ll get there. You’re still learning the language of love. Nobody becomes fluent overnight. But just because you are not fluent in God’s language of love, doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t try to speak it. Because the world so desperately needs to hear of God’s love. You don’t need me to tell you that. Our families, friends, neighbors, and those who are alone are thirsting for a language, they want to hear that sweet language of God’s love. If only somebody will translate for them. The world needs a translator. Badly. This is exactly what the disciples did on Pentecost. They took God’s native language of love and translated it to the peoples gathered in Jerusalem. The disciples took what they had received from God - this all-encompassing love - and told anyone that would listen. Parthians, Medes, Elamites, Mesopotamians, Judeans, Cappadocians, Asians, Phyrgians, Pamphylians, Egyptians, Libyans, Romans, Cretans, Arabs. The disciples translated the love of God that they felt in their own hearts, to the people gathered there. The disciples made fools of themselves. They didn’t conjugate all their verbs correctly. They spoke with funny accents. The disciples weren’t fluent in God’s language of love,
