The Crown of Babel: It's A Wanderful Life

One of my first bouts of travel was to Managua, Nicaragua with my church on a "mission" to visit our sister church and help them physically develop their property. This trip was pivotal in my spiritual and social life - it created much torque on my linguistic boundaries. It was my first time in a country whose primary language was not my own, it was the first time worshiping in a church with a language it did not know, and it was the first experience I had being keenly and seemingly unconditionally loved by people who could not communicate their love in English, but rather by gesture, play, and Spanish attempts that they knew that I couldn't understand. Yet, even beyond the confusion, the silent observation, and even the prideful bitterness, I was loved by a community that did not need my speech and by a God who would speak any language in order to enter the discourse of my heart.

There in that place so foreign, I was honored. Our time spent in Nicaragua was over Christmas break, during which my 18th birthday passed. Sure, it was a "big deal" for me because I was becoming "legal" abroad, but for the Nicaraguans, this was a huge deal. I would become a Nicaraguan "man" that birthday in Managua. While our group leader Jarles could prepare me for a celebration by letting me know that for Nicaraguans it was also a "big deal," nothing prepared me for the congregational chorus of three different birthday songs (sung to me in church as I stood alone and in awe on stage, mind you), the army of hugs and kisses I received (at least one hug from every member of the congregation), bountiful knick-knack and sentimental gifts, and, the biggest honor of all - the duty of cutting the cake with one hefty knife. I was now a man.

I revisit this story now, four and half years later, realizing that it made complete sense to become a "man" in Nicaragua. Now knowing maybe ten more words of Spanish than I did then (bringing me to a grand total of about 27 or so), I remain the Nicaraguan man. How so? Well, I am a man whose feet feel comfortable on land that they've never tread. I count it an amazing and infinite blessing that I have had the gift of wandering. Whether it be by conversation or by spatial displacement, I love the sing-song snapping of a branch from an unfamiliar tree under my unsure feet while traversing a trail newly discovered. If wandering be our lot in life, why not enjoy it?

But, wandering has not always been our lot, according to the Biblical narrative. After the Fall, humankind, because of its selfishness, was cursed to work the land and labor in their procreation. Life was not without joy, however it did not come without great pain. Humankind could glory in its innovation, they thought. If it was to till the land, then from it, humankind would raise a tower to envy the glory of the heavens. The Tower of Babel it is called in the biblical text. The pinnacle of innovation, a center of creativity. We were of one tongue, and crafty as ever; we were excited to see what we could make for ourselves. Yet it seems humankind had learned nothing from the Curse, for the lot was not for man to overcome and glory in, but to transcend for the glory of God, the first and last King. As it was no throne for the one true King, the Tower's construction halted, its prideful makers scattered, and their language confused from unity to community - unity to be achieved by only through that which was held in common:  their God. Like a prism, God's purpose split the unity of humankind to become the colorful palette that it is today.

Furthermore, God placed the the Crown of Babel upon His beloved's head, the head that already bore the cursed mark of Cain, of mortality, of strife. Under the weight of this crown and confused by their new task, God scattered humanity and asked them again to glorify Him alone. So now, we wander. But also, we build. We've built time and again, seeking to scrape that sky whose height and expanse we will ever envy and never overcome, not with our rockets, our satellites, or wishes on falling stars. Rather than taking the Crown of Babel as a reminder of where we've come from, we reckon it a trophy of what we can become. However, the unity of humankind will never suffice unless, like the first prism, our community reunites these chromatic beams of diverse languages (and cultures), refracting back to unity the pure Light from whence our notion to centralize and catalyze once came.

So, what do we do with this wanderful life? We keep our communities from building towers and teach them to build tables. Diversity doesn't exist at a distance, that's called diaspora. Yet, it will only be with diversity that the original palette can be redeemed, only when all forms of light refract back through truth will He be glorified. Let us, then, come around the table and taste truth. And then, out of curiosity, come back for more. And then, out of love, come back to be fulfilled. And then, out of compassion, invite others. Be hospitable.

And then, in that day when all who are hungry have gathered around the table, the Crown of Babel the Host will remove from our heads and replace it with the Crown of Jerusalem - the mark of unity, of redemption, of love, of the shared Kingdom. We will be given crowns on that day not because we deserve them, and not because we will then become kings and queens, but because in the day our lust for power will have been laundered to be a yearning for glory, that we might glorify. Like stones set in the beauty of His crown, we'll gather around the throne of grace, no memory of Towers present, no striving, no strife, no longer a need to repent.

Fellow wanderers, we've much to do. First, let us stop stacking stories, and start constructing stools - all His people gotta sit somewhere. And once we've a notion of home, let us be hospitable. Go out, bearers of Babel, borne by the burden of yesteryear, our own sin, and in humility collect the broken sticks of trails travailed and make for yourself and your beloved neighbors a nest. Build honestly and work humbly and always invite passers-by inside. We've no time for fear, judgement, self-consciousness, pride, or immaturity, we've got invitations to deliver, the Feast has commenced.