If you have ever spent time in a place where people didn’t speak your native language, you know how confusing it is to not have a clue what is going on. My annual work camp trips to Mexico sometimes felt uncomfortable when our hosts were laughing and talking in Spanish. But there usually came a time in each week long trip when I could pick up enough words to catch the drift of things. Most amazing was the year we worshiped with our host church the first day. I didn’t understand the songs, because they were in Spanish. But I could understand the sermon—and it was in Spanish. That was a miracle all right, because I don’t speak Spanish. I understood what the pastor said, and it made me wonder if it was because of Pentecost. Not a gift of tongues, more a gift of ears.

You might agree about ears, if you have ever witnessed a conversation in which the two parties are convinced that the other does not understand. Two people explaining to each other their points of view, becoming less patient as the conversation continues, clinging fiercely to the notion that the other does not understand them. To the baffled outsider, it is obvious that they are saying the same thing, not disagreeing at all, just explaining it in different ways. You may have seen this with married people. That would be a case where, rather than a miracle of “tongues,” one would pray for a miracle of “ears.” Sometimes in construction my job was to be the gift of tongues to others. I could usually understand architect-speak well enough to explain it to construction workers, and I could understand trade talk well enough to help the owner get it. It’s harder than it sounds. Terms get used so differently. “Ballast” means one thing to a sailor and something entirely different to a roofing contractor. Not all owners understand that toenailing has nothing to do with anatomy, nor that “critical path” is not a shortcut.

Maybe that was what was going on in Jerusalem that Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit came in flaming tongues of fire and, either made everyone think they were drunk, or it enabled people to hear the gospel of Jesus Christ. “Hear” in such a way that 3,000 of them were baptized after hearing Peter’s sermon. That had to have been a miracle! Read the rest when you get home. Where are the three points? Where are the real-life examples? Where is the inspirational poem and the humorous anecdote? I think seminaries aren’t teaching us how to really preach, if Peter’s sermon is accurately recorded here.

But that’s another sermon. I was wondering about tongue and ear miracles today, because I just read an article about multi-cultural faith communities. It’s something that fascinates me because I grew up with a Chinese aunt and uncle. They weren’t blood relatives, but they were members of our family. I knew they were Christians, because their church used our church Sunday afternoons. But my aunt and uncle spoke a different language, ate really different food, and had exotic customs and strange social manners. Their children spoke Chinese at home and English to their friends. I knew I was an adult when the children spoke to me in Chinese. So I was interested in this article by a Chinese Christian, writing on the challenges of being one body of faith with different cultural view points. He wrote about the practice of “nesting” congregations from one culture in that of another—like the Chinese congregation in my Swedish Baptist church. Portland has several Korean congregations sharing facilities with aging Anglo Presbyterian congregations. The Presbyterian church in Woodburn is sharing its building with a Mexican Pentecostal group, as is the one in Gresham.

The author of the article says these nesting congregations have a great deal to learn from each other. For those new to this country, who come from places where they did not have the authority or power to speak, Pentecost is appropriately a miracle of tongues. It is about acting, instead of passively accepting whatever comes their way. For those who are used to being in charge and taking the lead, Pentecost is appropriately a miracle of ears—hearing and understanding instead of controlling and commanding. That’s what was going on in Jerusalem, he said. The miracle of tongues came to disciples who were not powerful members of society, who had been dominated by the Romans and bossed by their own religious authorities. Their leader had been killed and they cowered in locked rooms. It was nothing short of miracle that they had the courage to stand in public and speak with authority even to the educated elite. Their audience experienced a miracle of ears. Those folks used to being in control, telling others how high and when to jump, heard what their social and religious inferiors had to say. If you aren’t used to it, speaking is terrifying. If you are used to being dominant, to doing and talking, being asked to take direction and to listen is a threatening thing. The author suggested that the lesson of Pentecost was that those who are used to being in charge should stop fixing. Try silence, listening, repenting where appropriate, accepting responsibility.

Both hearers and speakers can take another lesson from this story today. Notice that the writer says that the disciples were all together. To 21st century Americans, that is the most amazing part of the story from Acts. They were together. Have you tried scheduling a meeting recently? It is one of the most frustrating things about being a pastor. People are too busy to get together. Trying to pull together more than two individuals—either socially or for church business—is deeply frustrating. We have so many things going on, so many commitments. A couple of the presbytery committees have given up trying to get together in face time and have fallen back on email, because the planning often goes four months out if six people need to get together. Last week when the confirmands met with session to be examined, one of the elders asked the young people about what they anticipated their faith life would be like after confirmation. “Will you make time to be a Christian?” was the question. Because that’s it. It takes time to be a Christian. Face time with God, face time with fellow Christians, time in worship, time in prayer, time in study. Even “all together in one place.”

You’ve heard me ask this before, and I’ll challenge you with it again. Take a look at your calendar. What’s on it? What is non-negotiable in how you spend your time? How committed are you—and to what? Those early Christians were gathered in one place together. And then the Holy Spirit came upon them. It’s not virtual meeting, friends. It’s not “have your machine talk to my machine.” Community and commitment take flesh and blood. They take time.

I wouldn’t blame you if you asked, “What’s in it for me?” Commitment has its implications. Paul tells the church in Rome what they are. He has been ragging on them about their faith commitment—to walk the talk. And now this. Listen to this from The Message paraphrase of Romans: “So don’t you see that we don’t owe this old do-it-yourself life one red cent. There’s nothing in it for us, nothing at all. The best thing to do is give it a decent burial and get on with your new life. God’s Spirit beckons. There are things to do and places to go! “This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It’s adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike ‘What’s next, Papa?’ God’s Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children. And we know we are going to get what’s coming to us—an unbelievable inheritance!”

Friends, Jesus is dying to give you that inheritance. Make the time to receive it.