Are we, perhaps, a little bit afraid of Pentecost? And what the spirit? A couple of weeks ago,
our neighbors invited us to attend worship with them at their church. Word of
deliverance. I'd been there a couple of
times before, but this was my first outing there with my children. The band was poppin, the speakers were
blaring. The choir was on fire. Little
Arlo instinctively covered his ears when entering the space.



It was loud.
Seriously, three organs, I'm not sure, could hit this decibel. We swayed our hips and waved our hands in the
air, and we sang as the soloist led us in a gospel tune called You Are
Worthy. When the preacher got up to preach,
he both sang and spoke rhythmically from one to the other, like it was just the
most natural thing he had ever done.



I looked over at my boys to gauge their reception of a
preaching style quite different from my own.
This man was incredibly passionate.
And just watching him made me wish I were a bolder preacher. And then, he started speaking in
tongues. I looked at my children,
wondering how they might react. Now,
because of my work in the interfaith community here in Cincinnati, my kids have
been to synagogues and mosques and Buddhist temples and Sikh Gurdwaras, but
never before have they heard someone speak in tongues.



I bent down to Arlo and whispered, Are you okay? Yeah, he replied nonchalantly. I don't know why, but then I asked, Do you
understand what he's saying? Yep! He affirmed with great clarity, not a hint of
hesitation in his voice. Something I
myself could not understand seemed so natural to this little child.