Reflections on Contemplative Evangelism

The Gift of Tongues:
A New Awakening in Church Membership
and Evangelism

The Rev. Stuart Craig Higginbotham



Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good to another various kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues.
I Corinthians 12:4-7, 10b

As we all sat around the room, we listened to the reading of St. Paul’s admonition to the church in Corinth. Our entire staff had come together to share the day in a short but long-anticipated retreat. After the reading, we shared a time of silence as we reflected on this question: What gifts and strengths do I have that are embodied in my particular ministry at St. Benedict’s?

The silence was, for me, a deeply pregnant space full of excitement and anticipation of moving forward in a new understanding of my particular role and ministry at the parish, one who was called to focus on spiritual formation and membership integration.

What are my gifts and strengths? The question was a very familiar one to me from many retreats and workshops. I “spoke the language” of vocational discernment and development quite well. I entered into the silence comfortably, ready to hear what God might be saying to me.

My ease soon ended when I found myself surprised at being hooked by two phrases I had never really considered before: to another various kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues. I was surprised that I was caught by this particular phrase. What was it about these two aspects, these two spiritual gifts, that God seemed to want to show me? More to the point, how, in a meditation on spiritual gifts, was an Episcopal priest being invited to explore speaking and interpreting tongues?

My own spiritual and religious journey had brought me into contact with the gift of tongues on many occasions. During undergraduate studies, I would go with a group of friends to the local Pentecostal Church on Sunday nights—after attending Roman Mass on Saturday evening and a Sunday morning service at the Presbyterian Church. We would go to be with another friend of ours who was their music director. She had a wonderful voice, and we loved the music. We were welcomed, although it was obvious that this was not my “spiritual niche.”

Every time I attended, I was surprised when the entire congregation would suddenly enter into the charismatic waving of hands and speaking in tongues. Some folks would go forward to the front. Others would lie on the ground. Many would begin speaking with strange words—gibberish to me. I would observe them with equal portions curiosity and spiritual sophistication: I could never let myself go there. After a time, with much singing and crying and praying and gathering together, the charismatic space would come to a close. People would return to their pews and we would all give thanks to God for the space we had shared. Then, often, there were refreshments in the fellowship hall.

I had these memories close at hand when I found myself hooked by these phrases from St. Paul’s letter. Having experienced what I did in college, why was I being drawn into a reflection on speaking and interpreting tongues? I wondered, “What does this have to do with my own particular gifts and strengths for ministry?”

Over the past four years in the parish, I have found myself constantly drawn to the rich, pregnant spaces surrounding new members and visitors. Our parish has grown quite rapidly over these four years, and I have never been at a loss for new people to welcome—something which I realize is not the norm in many parish contexts and about which I am constantly curious.

When I was ordained a priest, someone gave me a small plaque that had a quote from St. Benedict himself:
All are to be welcomed as Christ.

I took this as my personal mandate regarding my own vocation within this parish. I realized early on that I could be a person who intentionally welcomed others into this community. It didn’t take long to recognize that I had gifts for listening and embracing people from different religious backgrounds. Even before my time in parish ministry, I had ministered as a hospice chaplain. I had always been drawn to the deep conversations found in times of transition and deep wonder. All are to be welcomed as Christ. This was foundational to my ministry.

Realizing that I have gifts for welcoming, for listening and for embracing, I have cherished my ministry at St. Benedict’s. To return to the question, why then was I hooked by the images of speaking in tongues and interpreting tongues?

II

How do we understand the dynamic of membership trends within The Episcopal Church right now? A recent report came out of The Episcopal Church Center noting that some 55,000 people had left the church during the past year. As Bishop Neil Alexander said in a recent Diocesan Council, that is, roughly, like losing the Diocese of Atlanta itself in the past year. Much could be said about reasons behind these loss, but we should always keep in mind that we have not lost numbers. We have “lost” people. We have lost members, communicants, individuals with unique spiritual narratives and histories. As well, the basic understandings of what “membership” means seems to have changed. In a recent article in Christian Century, there was a great discussion of the changing paradigm in how people understand membership within the broader Church. It seems that paying attention to the details of transferring one’s “letter” and making sure that the registry of the parish is kept up to date are no longer absolutely vital aspects of parish ministry.

We have noticed this trend already within St. Benedict’s parish. We have our St. Benedict’s Episcopal Day School, and that particular ministry has a combined community of over 500 students, parents, friends, grandparents and other supporters. In addition to that, we have our thriving AA groups and Al-Anon groups, communities that may not consider themselves actual parts of the ministry of the community but who also share, however loosely, in the common life of the parish community. In addition, we have our mission and outreach programs such as Path to Shine, a framework for supporting, educating, and nurturing at-risk children through tutoring and mentoring. And we have recently welcomed our new Hispanic ministry, embracing some 200 individuals who are full members of St. Benedict’s parish and who also retain much of their cultural distinctiveness.

What does this say about the “traditional” parish identity in terms of membership? What is the core identity of the parish? Maybe the better question is Who is the core identity of the parish?

Questions on our identity are absolutely vital to discussions in membership growth and integration within The Episcopal Church (as indeed they are in any religious community). Who am I? Who are we as a Church? Who are we as a parish community? My experience is, when we keep the focus on the what instead of the who, we lose sight of our mandate that All are to be welcomed as Christ. When we focus on the what, we are focusing on the externals, the broader frameworks that we feel best carry our sense of what we are as a church. We think of all the associations: traditional, liturgical, sacramental, Eucharistic, Baptismal, etc. These are wonderful, to be sure, and vitally important for us; however, these frameworks also lend themselves quite easily to a sense of control. If we can better identify what “Baptismal” means, then it is a slippery slope to “us” telling “you” what “you need to do to become Baptismal.” See what I mean? When we focus on the externals, we lose sight of the spiritual richness and wonder that each individual brings.

In this way, it becomes more spiritually nurturing—and exciting—to focus on the dynamic of identity in terms of who rather than what. Who am I is integrally linked to Who are you, and vice versa. I think here of Archbishop Tutu’s wonderful reflection on the African understanding of ubuntu, and we don’t have to look far to see the enriching paradigm within Buddhism of interbeing and dependent arising. My identity is intimately connected with yours. We are mutually dependent upon one another, and in this way we experience the deep richness of compassion: to suffer with.

All this said, how do we cultivate a space that truly, deeply welcomes anyone into the life of the church community? How do we live into our mandate that All are to be welcomed as Christ?

III

We need a new framework for an understanding of membership that is resonant with the richness of this image of interbeing. We need a fresh language. And, we don’t have to look far to find one; we just need to broaden our understanding and look beyond any longstanding perceptions of how we have understood certain spiritual gifts.

I offer to you that we can reclaim the richness of the gift of tongues in our understanding of membership and identity. The gift of tongues can become a new paradigm or lens for how we can understand one another and our mandate to welcome all as Christ. The image of the gift of tongues offers us an wonderful opportunity to meditate on how we understand one another.

For many of us, the language of the gift of tongues has been relegated to the fringes of the charismatic, a space in which I myself have too often entered with a judging sense of “spiritual sophistication.” As well, the charismatic tradition itself has sometimes seemed to claim an almost monopoly on the gift of tongues. I remember many discussions on how Baptism by the Spirit is often the hallmark of one’s salvation rather than any sense of what we might call the catholic sense of Baptism in the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The ecumenical dialogues on this tension are still ongoing.

All this said, we should not be afraid to reclaim this language, this image, this framework of the gift of tongues. We should reclaim it because of the fresh language it offers us in terms of how we understand membership and discipleship, of how we embody our call to evangelism.

There are two aspects to the gift of tongues: the speaking in tongues and the interpretation of tongues. Both are vital for us. How would our perspective be broadened if we saw the new member, the visitor, the curious, the wonderer has having the gift of speaking in tongues? Instead of thinking that “they don’t get it yet,” that they don’t understand what it means, (with all the deep associations of what “it” is), what would happen if we understood them as speaking in tongues? They are speaking in a tongue that is particular to them on their spiritual journey. They are speaking in a tongue that comes from a lifetime of their own religious experience. And—here’s a crucial point—they are speaking in a language that comes from their own relationship with God—however they have understood and experienced this relationship. And, since we can give claim that the Spirit has led them to explore their practice of faith within the particular religious community in which we all find ourselves, this should give even more emphasis to the reality that God is very much already at work in their life.

They are, in effect, spiritually, speaking in tongues. Even if we may reach this point in our evangelical embodiment, the problem remains that, while God may understand them, we do not. Our impulse, then, is to objectify them or at a minimum impose our understanding of “what they must mean.” To this end, we as a Church need to reclaim the second aspect of the gift of tongues: the gift of interpreting tongues. The Church needs to invite the wonderer into a space where they can claim and be affirmed in their own spiritual language.

We would do well to remember that St. Paul wrote his letter to the Corinthians because that community had become quite elitist with some seeing themselves as being, somehow, more spiritually sophisticated. They wouldn’t wait for everyone to arrive before they partook of the feast. Some had only the leftovers.

The Church—not as an institution but as the community of the Body of Christ who is sacramentally drawn together by the Holy Spirit—is called to interpret the tongues of those who have been brought by God into the life of the community. The spiritual gift of interpreting tongues becomes, then, an embodiment of hospitality. It is a sacramental embodiment of the welcoming grace of God—a most Anglican understanding of our common life together.

As well, we should recognize that the Church itself, speaks in a tongue while those who are wondering are, themselves, seeking to interpret the tongue of the Church. So, the relationship is even more resonant with a sense of interbeing than we may even recognize at first glance.

How are we listening? How are we welcoming the challenge that is brought by the tongues of those whom we meet? How do we hear those whom God is guiding into a deeper more intentional expression of community?