tongues

Recently, Pentecost has been on my mind.
Seated on a bench in the building as Slovak university students interact with a Slovak lecturer, my mind grapples with noises, styled by human tongues, that hold meaning for everyone there except me. Every now and then, a name will hit my consciousness and register. Schopenhauer! G.K. Chesterton! New Age! A glimmer of excitement, which gutters out in the relentless torrent of a foreign tongue.
I sit there and for the first time truly appreciate the power of Babel over humanity. My mind cannot surmount it. Imagining the horror and chaos of that ancient day entertains me as I resign myself to ignorance. Did God, in a moment, implant original systems of words and expressions in the minds of mankind that day? Did they each think that the other was speaking gibberish, or did they recognize that the words springing to their minds were not the ones they once used? The Bible is really close-lipped about the whole affair. “The LORD confused the language of all the earth. And from there the LORD dispersed them over the face of all the earth.” (Genesis 11:8,9) And, thousands of years later, here I sit: a true daughter of that dispersal.
Of course, I’ve also been taught that in Pentecost, the consequences of Babel were reversed. Acts 2 records that, heralded by a rushing wind and divided tongues of fire, the Holy Spirit “gave [the apostles] utterance” to speak in other tongues. Sometimes it seems to me that this event has only led to more confusion—hostility over the idea of speaking in tongues continues to divide the Christian community. And it had that effect at its occurrence: some marveled, some accused the apostles of drunkenness.
Even as I mused on how convenient a baptism with tongues of fire would’ve been that particular evening, I realized that it wouldn’t solve the real problem. The real problem existed even before Babel: it arrived along with a host of evils with the fall of mankind. Even those who understood the words of the lecture had to grapple with the import of the words, which, from the tone of the debate, was far from clear. If we all spoke the same language, we’d merely be better equipped to argue over concepts—the customary state of affairs for me in America. We speak the same language…and then again…we don’t.
And there is yet another reason heaven will surpass my imaginations. I cannot imagine a realm free of confusion, where every man fully understands every other man. And as I leave the Building, that Final Pentacost is on my mind.