12/09/2021
The Christian Century magazine just published this poem "God's Own Language." It is set in a church you'll recognize as our own: Emmanuel Evanston UMC
by Steven Peterson
December 1, 2021
The Hindi service is at nine oโclock,
the Gujarati is at ten. I pick
the later one so when itโs done Iโll stick
around when people have the time to talk.
And sure enough, my presence in the church
this summer morning raises smiles and nods
from immigrants from India laying odds
this older, gray-haired strangerโs on a search.
Theyโre right. This church is where my fatherโs parents
had worshipped God with somber Nordic joy
in Methodist Evanston, Illinois.
Methodist still, this churchโs declarants
welcome me here excitedly, insist
I sit up front, and lead me to a pew.
Thereโs something in the angle of the view
and sixty years dissolve like morning mist . . .
I am a little boy. Itโs Christmas Eve.
Weโre in my grandparentsโ church, here to praise
the child they call Emmanuel. A blaze
of Advent candles beckons me: believe.
We sing an opening hymn, we all sit down,
but when the pastor speaks I start to laugh
because for all the elderlyโs behalf
tonightโs in Swedishโwhat a funny sound!
My giggles runneth over while, in anguish,
my father elbows me to hush and heed.
My grandma has a better plan, that Swede,
whispering, Hear that? That is Godโs own language . . .
Now I am back among South Asian saints.
The Gujarati done, itโs almost noon.
They say come backโtheyโre adding English soon
in answer to their childrenโs bold complaints.
I promise Iโll return. I hope I do.
I thought that all had changed, but what had changed?
Though Swedish, English, Hindi get exchanged,
Godโs language is whatever makes us new.
The Hindi service is at nine oโclock, the Gujarati is at ten. I pick the later one so when itโs done Iโll stick around when people have the time to talk. And sure enough, my presence in the church this summer morning raises smiles and nods from immigrants from India laying odds this older, gra...
