The Vernacular of My Heart
A Poem for Pentecost Sunday
The Vernacular of My Heart
After Acts 2:1-21
Spirit, I don’t understand you.
I don’t understand much
beyond the simple things
willing to be boxed and neatly
organized. What I can say is
the nature of my life, inwardly speaking,
feels buried, heavy, and far from you.
Somehow I need you to speak
the vernacular of my heart. I
need to know how much I matter
in this world that matters.
I need the force of your
gusts to blow away all the clutter
and dust and realize once
again you are the most faithful promise.
You are the most faithful promise
to all.→In this poem, I reflect on the significance of the people on Pentecost hearing the works of God proclaimed in their native languages. In my experience, and I think what we see across history, is that our faith is most enlivened when, amidst the millions of people in the world, we sense God speaking to us, and not just surface-level chatter—deep, intimate truths that shatter all illusions. God is completely over all, and at the same time, moves toward us with such specificity. We are called by name, spoken to in the vernacular of our hearts, and empowered to see all things through divine love and promise.