Speaking in Tongues

Found here

Mother visited a church yesterday because it was medical and dental school graduation weekend, which mean barely controlled mayhem at the church. So she went off to the Indonesian congregation because they were to have a special choir give a concert for the main service. She was excited to go to a new place.

I had some reservations but didn't want to discourage her from branching out and trying new things. I told her that I thought perhaps the singing group would use microphones and it would be quite loud. Since she has a hearing problem and has difficulty understanding accented speech, would she really want to go there? She was undeterred. "George will pick us up and take us home at 1:00 after we've had lunch at the church potluck." She was quite eager to hear the choir and then try Indonesian food.


So at the appointed hour she, Evelyn and Molly boarded the Villa van and off they went to the Indonesian church. They were greeted warmly at the door and invited to attend the English class in the back of the sanctuary. Problem was, Mother couldn't tell if it was English or not--it was so difficult to understand the speaker. But as she said, "I caught a word here and there so I knew what they were talking about, more or less. What I was really interested in was hearing the choir."


When it was time for church, they moved closer to the front of the sanctuary and sat off to the side.

"Gibberish, it was all gibberish!" she later told me last night. She couldn't understand the extemporaneous comments from the pulpit that preceded the sermon. "I looked at Evelyn and asked if she could understand and she couldn't, either." And the choir only sang two songs--and yes, every member had a microphone. "It was blazing loud!" she cackled last night. "I covered one ear and turned my head so I didn't go completely deaf. I didn't want to be offensive, but it was so loud!"


Mother was in hysterics as she explained what happened after the singing. Apparently, the pastor spoke in his native language and used an interpreter whose accent was so thick that the message was almost incomprehensible. So the three visitors sat there, befuddled, for the entire time. Even louder than the choir, the pastor held the microphone right up to his mouth and shouted into it. Shouted. I know the kind of preaching this is for I've seen many foreign born pastors do this. It must fall under the category of "exhorting" that so many old school and foreign pastors adhere to. Mother was completely exhorted by the end of it, which she said, never really came. But she slipped out at 1:00. "He was screaming at us that we need to pray and read our Bibles and he scared the bejeepers out of us with all that shouting. And as if it wasn't enough to have him shout all that gibberish at us, his sidekick would then yell it all in English, so-called, full tilt!" Mother wheezed off into laughter at that point, remembering how shocked she had been. "I didn't dare look at Evelyn because we would have forgotten ourselves right there. That guy went on and on--I didn't know there was so much that we were doing wrong that needed to be corrected. He kept finding things to tell us off about and could have gone until supper if people stayed there to listen!"


George was to pick them up at 1:00 after the potluck. So they slipped out at 1:00. Two deacons intercepted them at the back door. "The potluck! You have to eat. Stay and we will take you back to the Villa."


Mother then uttered one of her famous Motherisms: "I don't care if I never eat, I won't go back into that place!" The three muskateers got into the Villa van and went back home. On the way, the three of them shared their experience while at the church. All of them had been shocked by the volume, couldn't understand what was said, and were disappointed that the entire service wasn't the choir. The man who had invited them told them it would be all choral. So much for truth in advertising.


There were two good things about this adventure that really warmed my heart, as a daughter who has been holding my breath about Mother's wellbeing: first, she got out and did something different--took a risk, was excited about going off on an adventure with her friends. Second, I have seldom heard Mother laugh so hard as she did last night when she was telling me about this. She was absolutely hysterical, repeating the funny moments, describing her internal reactions, and telling me about the church itself. She had to keep putting down the phone because she couldn't stop laughing. She was not politically correct in her opinions and observations, but she was the most energized I have seen her since my father died. Our conversation was probably about 40 minutes and she laughed the whole time.


So life moves on. Mother has a new story that she participated in with her friends, and in a new place. She, Evelyn, and Molly now have new inside comments ("Wanna go over to the Indonesian church next week? I hear they have a choir going to sing there...")

Interesting, what things make for a happy day.