Sharing the burden of language disorientation

I practiced the word over and over, a vosotros form of beber that looms over the Spanish version of the words of institution. Despite my preparation, when I hold up the cup I stumble over this form, rarely used in Spanish conversation: “Haced esto todas las veces que la bebáis.” Laura smiles at me, a shared look of amusement and compassion. She is learning English as I am relearning Spanish, and in our church, we gently hold each other in this tenuous and sometimes embarrassing world of language learning.

We are knitting together a congregation of Spanish and English speakers, weaving the experiences of migrants and refugees, people who came to this country with money and jobs and others who came with nothing. Other Spanish speakers in our congregation learned the language through diligent study, led by curiosity and solidarity.

By 2045, the people in my congregation who trace their ancestry to Mexico, Argentina, and Colombia, along with those whose heritage is multiracial and multiethnic, will represent the largest population in the United States. Language diversity accompanies this racial and ethnic diversity. Our church now includes people who grew up in homes speaking Russian, Mandarin, Swedish, and Spanish—languages that held the tenderness of their parents’ care and in which they heard the stories of our common faith.