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This past Sunday, Christians around the world celebrated the festival of Pentecost, which takes place fifty days after Easter and commemorates the Holy Spirit descending upon Christ’s disciples.

The familiar story is told by Luke in Acts Chapter 2 and includes what seems to be the disciples speaking in tongues, or, alternately, the people gathered there hearing the message in their native languages so that all could understand.

At my church, part of our celebration is hearing the scripture readings delivered in different languages. This year we listened to members read in Spanish, French, Italian, Hebrew, and German. I was reminded of my love of the sound of other tongues in addition to my own beloved English. Recently I have begun dusting off my Spanish skills via online courses. I have made small forays into Italian and French as well.

I’m amazed by folks who speak fluently in two or more languages. It shows not only how smart they are but also that they are citizens of the world who relish connecting with other cultures.

I’m by no means someone who can be called well-traveled, but I’ve had the privilege of visiting some life-changing places. It was during a six-week mission trip to southern Africa as a college student when I first realized that if every American had the opportunity to live even briefly in some far-flung place, how much more we would love our own country and understand those different from us.

The American Cemetery in Normandy brought me to tears as I considered the sacrifices of our service members in stopping a brutal, nationalistic dictator from bringing more misery to the world. I wept again in the welcome center when a small French boy, when asked by his mother if he would like a souvenir, decided on an American flag.

I had the most visceral reaction ever to a work of art upon viewing Michelangelo’s Pieta (a sculpture of Mary holding Jesus’s broken body after it was taken from the cross) in St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. I truly believe I was filled with the Holy Spirit myself as I stood in awe.

Of course I realize that many people cannot indulge in such travels. In Troup County, many children have never even visited our beautiful lake. At least the school system helps them expand their horizons by experiencing theater, the symphony, and boat rides on our backwaters for a natural science lesson.

I enjoy a bit of R&R on the beach or in the mountains as much as anyone, but if you never go anywhere else you are missing so much and limiting your own world view. And your trip needn’t be abroad; our own country has limitless possibilities for seeing and learning and growing and meeting people different from ourselves.

And if all else fails, read some books! I didn’t know I needed to know more about:  the recent history of Afghanistan until I read The Kite Runner; the history of the south side of Chicago until I read Native Son; life in London during the Blitz until I read The Splendid and the Vile; Japanese internment camps on our West coast until I read Snow Falling on Cedars; the treatment of Native Americans until I read Killers of the Flower Moon; the Black Lives Matter movement until I read The Hate You Give.

My hope is that, as citizens of this great country, we can resist a descent into xenophobia that will close our minds and isolate us from the rest of the world AND from each other. We need the world, and the world needs us. We need each other. You’ll find bad apples in every walk of life. But I truly believe they are the exceptions. Grow your empathy. Look for the good. It’s everywhere.