Learning to speak the languages of the Holy Spirit
During the feast of Pentecost, we hear about the Apostles being gifted the ability to speak many languages. Not gibberish, but actual languages that people, who previously couldn't comprehend due to different nationalities, were suddenly able to grasp the deeper meaning of Christ.
When we imagine that scene from the Acts of the Apostles, there's a sort of magical quality to it, as if the Holy Spirit implanted a translation device into the minds of the Apostles. Few of us, if any, anticipate we'll ever speak in tongues in a way that makes everything around us suddenly make sense.
This still happens today, but we must set aside our expectations of something "magical" and instead listen for how the Holy Spirit is instructing us. The languages are not always spoken. Poverty, pain, and exhaustion are the languages of the 21st century. Suffering is the language of the crucifixion. And by getting close to these realities that we often turn a blind eye to, the Holy Spirit will gift us the ability to speak his languages: consolation and unity.
As mentioned on the podcast and elsewhere on this blog, in a world where isolation, loneliness, and communicating screen-to-screen define our new theological landscape, we must understand virtue and vice through a relational lens.
Virtues are those abilities that allow us to see the unique dignity, gifts, and talents of others, and to understand how our presence can help create harmony with them. On the other hand, vice focuses on the self. It takes the gifts of others and indulges the self without regard for their full dignity.
While on a visit to Rome, I had to literally step over a homeless person who was blocking the entrance to a beautiful Renaissance basilica where I wanted to pray. Thinking I was being righteous, I asked the parish priest, "What am I supposed to say to a homeless person?"
He said sternly to me, "Sit down." I thought I was being a delightful Christian by asking him my duty. The look on his face, however, made me realize my approach was totally wrong.
He didn’t answer my question. Instead, he challenged my entire framework and approach to being Catholic.
"You must understand that each one of these persons is made in the image and likeness of God. The Father desires to see them in heaven. Jesus died equally for them on the cross as he did for you. And Mary sees them as her beloved children."
After several more minutes of the lecture, he concluded, "Now say your act of contrition!"
It’s so funny. I thought I was speaking the language of Christ, but my approach clearly showed no indication that I recognized their dignity, despite my desire to know what to say to a homeless person.
That stern lesson has stuck with me for many years. To foster virtue, I have to get really close to the suffering of others.
Now, when I pass by a homeless person sprawled out on the hot sidewalk, I try to remind myself, "That is the language of the crucifixion." Only then am I open to the Holy Spirit’s wisdom, which allows me to speak consolation and unity with others.
