Glossolalia

In the documentary (series) The Beatles: Get Back, directed and produced by Peter Jackson—which to be honest, I’ve not watched in its entirety (nearly 8 hours in total, quite a commitment) there was insight given into the band members creative process.

The series covers the making of the Beatles’ 1970 album Let It Be and draws largely from unused footage and audio material captured while the Beatles were in the studio over the course of 21 days. So a LOT of boring stuff, you know, the part where one sits around and tries to come up with something. The part where we can easily feel blocked or like our left brain is letting us down. Often we just want it to “come”—like turning on a switch.

It only comes by butt in chair. Indeed, there’s John Lennon sitting in a chair with a guitar singing nonsense words to a familiar tune that would become “Get Back”. Sometimes Paul would just sing the alphabet, focusing more on chords/arrangements, and then come up with the lyrics later.

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My youngest grandson, age nearly 18 months, jibber jabbers. It sounds like language—just not any known one. He imitates us, using inflection and emphasis, and perhaps, he is trying to convey meaning. We just don’t have a clue. There are moments: Ah-oh! he says this a lot and appropriately, such as when we discovered him throwing his mother’s hair ties into the toilet or when we walk into the kitchen and find him standing on the kitchen table, or outside on the deck he’ll walk to the edge, look over at us, then down at the ground and say ah-oh, knowing full-well that if he stepped off it would hurt. The words are there, in his head, a growing lexicon, but ordering them into communication will take more time. Until then, he plays with sound, imitating and whining and using baby sign language. Grunting and pointing to the snack cupboard.

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When I became a Christian in 1973 it was during the Charismatic Movement, a movement concurrent with the Jesus Movement. Movements abounded in the late 60s/early 70s. Movements were their own subset language or code; they were about identity. It was a time of self-discovery, rejecting our parent’s religion and (sometimes) lifestyle, baby boomers finding their own way through tumultuous times. A little bit like the Beatles in their studio, with everyone fighting, threatening to break up/leave the band, and crazy deadlines and pressure to come up with something, anything!, combined with the desire to be great and live an authentic life. Movements supplied community and the affirmation one needed in order to step out, along with the promise of greatness. The one true way.

A unique component of the Charismatic Movement was speaking in tongues. For reference: In the Book of Acts on the day of Pentecost the Apostles received the gift of tongues given by the Holy Spirit. I know, I know, very convoluted, but a routine day for Christ’s disciples. It sounded like baby talk and the crowds, as usual, wanted to kill them, but some in the crowd also were convinced they were hearing distinct language. A cacophony of language, as within the crowd were multitudes of nationalities with their own tongue. Tongues of fire is how the event was described in Acts 2:3.

At The Rock, my church’s youth coffee house, between sets where long-haired musicians performed Christian rock, I was invited into the prayer room, located behind a hacienda dangly-beaded doorway, to receive the gift of tongues. I remember a nerve running through me of fear and excitement; I didn’t know how to pray. My mentor told me to speak, mutter, gurgle forth without paying attention to the words, a kind of disassociation, to let my emotions spill over. To let my heart speak.

(Comparing stories with other Christian friends from this era, some were told to repeat over and over the phrase, She came on a Honda, or the words Coca-Cola, faster and faster.)

It sounded like baby talk—but I figured so much of Christianity was about dying to self, rejecting norms, following Christ in humility that speaking in tongues was just another act of faith, putting it all out there. Indeed, letting go and letting God take over. If it required me to vacate my body and give God control of my mouth and tongue while feeling insecure and a bit embarrassed, then so be it. Glossolalia, defined as (Oxford Dictionary) the phenomenon of (apparently) speaking in an unknown language, especially in religious worship, was about separating the head from the heart.

Like how I write, the process of putting words down. Sometimes the narrative, the order, the meaning comes later. I can’t help feeling embarrassed, the worst possible person attempting whatever it is I'm trying to do.

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I’m supposed to be working on a workshop presentation for SCBWI. It’s all a bunch of crap. I’m no expert on how to write picture books. I have to draw parallels between writing flash and the picture book process. But you can’t just say it’s all intuitive. You have to give people 3, 5, 7 easy steps to success.

It’s all glossolalia, speaking in an unknown tongue. Just like my grandson, the Beatles, and those early converts, you just have to let go, let it be, and get back.