Lost in Translation
Earlier this summer my wife and I – along with our 14 year old daughter – had the opportunity to visit a couple of long-time friends in Germany. They serve with a local seminary and help to lead a growing church planting network. It was part-mission trip, part-training trip, part-relaxation trip, and – for me at least – a full reminder of the importance of careful translation when it comes to our church’s first-time guests.
Exhibit A: Taufpatenschulung
I found out exactly two minutes ago – with the help of Google Translate – that this means “Godparent Training.” It was a word on an announcement slide in the service at Evangelische Freikirche in Cologne, where we worshipped the Sunday we were there.
And that pretty much summarizes my understanding of and participation in the service. I speak nein German, and the service had nein English. So Merriem, Haven, and I did as you do when you’re an outsider: we stood when others stood, sat when others sat, and laughed when others laughed. And occasionally, I snapped photos of worship slides, assuming I was going to head to a website later to figure out – I don’t know … their membership process? First-time guest gift? Nein. Godparent training.
But here’s what’s beautiful: as we entered the service, our friend Russell walked us over to the sound booth and outfitted us with small over-the ear headphones and a tiny receiver. As the pastor walked onto the platform and opened the service, Russell’s voice crackled into our ears, transmitting from somewhere up and behind us in the balcony, and translated the entire service word for word. We understood the announcements. We could follow along with the sermon. We clearly heard the gospel.
What would have been an insurmountable barrier to an outsider became an accessible bridge that drew us in, made us feel a part of the family, and helped us know that Evangelische Freikirche had planned the day with us in mind.
Exhibit B: the universal language of hospitality
The following evening I had the opportunity to meet with a group of German pastors and church leaders and train them in the area of Guest Services. As I was preparing for that session, Russell told me three things:
- The training that I created and crafted in the Tarheel State of North Carolina would easily pass inspection in Deutschland. The principles were transferable, even if an application here and there had to be tweaked.
- I would not be translated. The audience’s understanding of English was far better than my sudden gift of German tongues. However…
- I had to speak slow. Sometimes painfully slow. Often when I teach, my southern drawl morphs into an overcaffeinated barrage of words, and those two factors don’t play well together.
And so, a normally 30 minute presentation stretched to 50. I cut a joke here and over-explained another there. I only had to get help with one American slang translation. But my German hosts were gracious, and we muddled through it together. They metaphorically cheered me on as I encouraged them to dream bigger about their hospitality practices. We walked in the room as strangers, but departed the evening as friends.
(Side note here: when presenting in Germany, it’s best to double check your quotes before standing up. Otherwise one might say something like “That’s either Dallas Willard or Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and … uhh … since I want to honor my audience we’re just gonna go Bonhoeffer.” Not that that actually happened. But it absolutely did.)
The big takeaways
I’m a firm believer that anytime we’re in a new environment – a new restaurant, a new retail establishment, a new vacation spot – it’s an opportunity for us to remember what it’s like to be new. And especially when you’re in a new-to-you country where you don’t understand the language, you’re unfamiliar with the customs, and you can’t even figure out the currency, it can serve as a stark reminder that outsiders don’t know what they don’t know.
Without the little over-the-ear headsets, I would’ve had enough context clues that I didn’t completely stand out. I would’ve stood when others stood and laughed when others laughed. On all but one of the worship songs, the tune was familiar even though the words were foreign. Even though it was a mind-bender to sing What a Beautiful Name in English as the worship leaders sang German, and suddenly I forgot all the English words I thought I knew, I could’ve limped through.
But our experience as outsiders reminded us of the stewardship we own each weekend: as those on the inside, we have a responsibility to care for those on the outside: to absorb the awkwardness on their behalf. To explain ourselves. To intentionally choose inconvenience. To remove all barriers so that current strangers can take a step towards a family of faith.
