Presented by Vincent Cheung
It was a cold December evening when Dr. Gregor Estefan stepped into his cousin Peter’s modest church on the outskirts of a bustling American city. Dr. Estefan was a scholar of considerable renown, a theologian whose opinions carried weight in seminaries across Europe. The sanctuary was warm and brightly adorned with evergreen wreaths and twinkling lights, and a palpable joy filled the air as the congregation gathered for the Christmas service.
Dr. Estefan had accepted Peter’s invitation to attend with the same polite indifference he showed toward most things he deemed beneath his academic dignity. Peter, a humble and devoted member of the church, had often spoken of the vibrant worship there, including the occasional manifestation of spiritual gifts. Dr. Estefan, a staunch cessationist, dismissed such claims as emotionalism or outright delusion.
As the service began, the congregation sang carols with heartfelt fervor, and Dr. Estefan found himself suppressing a scoff. Then, during a quiet moment of prayer, a soft murmur began to ripple through the room. Some in the congregation were speaking in tongues, their faces radiant with joy. Dr. Estefan frowned, his discomfort evident. He leaned over to Peter and whispered, “I suppose this is what they call worship here.”
Peter’s gentle smile didn’t waver. “Perhaps, cousin, you might listen with an open heart.”
Dr. Estefan shook his head, muttering under his breath about “primitive ecstasies” and “superstitious nonsense.”
Suddenly, a man stepped onto the stage. His presence commanded attention, though he was unremarkable in appearance. He began to speak in a tongue that Dr. Estefan immediately recognized. It was his native language—a dialect so obscure that even in his home country, few spoke it fluently.
The words cut through the sanctuary with startling clarity:
“You mock what you do not understand, and you scorn the work of the Holy Spirit. Beware, for to speak against the Spirit is to commit the unpardonable. Your words are not merely careless; they are blasphemous. There will be no forgiveness for this, neither in this age nor in the age to come.”
The room fell silent. Dr. Estefan sat frozen in his seat, his face pale. He stammered to himself, “Who is this man? How does he know my language?”
Peter looked equally astonished. “I do not know, Gregor. This is a gift of the Spirit.”
The man who had spoken stepped back into the congregation, and the pastor stepped forward and asked, “Does anyone have the interpretation?” Silence stretched across the room as the congregation began to shift uneasily in their seats. They believed it was proper to seek an interpretation, as instructed in the Scriptures, and the absence of such clarity visibly unsettled them. Murmurs of uncertainty rippled through the group. Finally, Dr. Estefan rose to his feet, his voice trembling.
“There is no need for interpretation,” he said. “I understood every word.”
Without further comment, he turned and walked out of the church, leaving the congregation perplexed and murmuring amongst themselves about the startling declaration.
Dr. Estefan wandered the snowy streets, his mind racing. The rebuke had pierced him to the core. He, the scholar, the man of letters, had been silenced by a power he could neither explain nor deny. Yet, his heart wrestled with the implications, but the weight of his pride bore down on him. Dr. Estefan shook his head, attempting to rationalize what happened as a display of overwrought emotion that held no real substance.
As he reached the steps of his hotel, he hesitated, his gaze drawn upward to the darkened sky, where clouds shifted and faint stars peeked through the haze. The distant hum of the city seemed muffled by the thick snow, and the crisp air carried an almost tangible stillness. A fleeting chill crept through him, not from the winter air but from a sense of something left unresolved. The feeling lingered, nagging at the edges of his thoughts, but he forced himself to dismiss it, shaking it off as easily as the snow clinging to his coat.
Dr. Estefan muttered to himself, “What nonsense,” and entered the building.