By Elizabeth Pierre

The day before speaking in front of the church it was a whirlwind of preparation and anticipation. I spent hours rehearsing my speech, carefully choosing each word to convey my message with clarity and conviction. I sought comfort in the familiarity of speaking in Creole and English. Although completely different, the emotion and passion that is brought in a message is still the same. When I deliver a message I get my point across. Surrounded by family and friends, I felt their constant support boosting my confidence. Together, we prayed for guidance and strength, knowing that tomorrow held the promise of a significant milestone in my journey of language and cultural preservation.

As the early morning sun cast its golden light through the stained glass windows of the vibrant church, I felt a wave of nervous excitement wash over me. Today was the day I would step up to the pulpit and deliver my first mini sermon entirely in Creole, the language I grew up hearing and speaking for the most part. Growing up in a Haitian-American household, Creole was always spoken with warmth, familiarity and passion, but the thought of addressing the congregation in this complex and expressive tongue filled me with both pride and anxiety. Creole to me is a very intimate language that I use with close family members. I never thought I would see the day I got up and spoke my language.

I stood at the front of the sanctuary, the vibrant red soft carpet floor softly beneath my feet. The pews were filled with faces eagerly awaiting the message I was about to share. My heart raced as I grabbed the notes I had prepared, the words flowing effortlessly in Creole as I rehearsed them in my mind and a ton of times in my mirror, to my mom, and my dog. “Bon maten, kongregasyon. Jodi a, mwen kanpe devan ou ak yon kè plen rekonesans ak yon lespri ki debòde ak lajwa” which means “Good morning, congregation. Today, I stand before you with a heart full of gratitude and a spirit overflowing with joy!”. As I began to speak, the words danced off my tongue with such ease, each syllable infused with the passion that had been instilled in me from a young age. 

The congregation leaned in, their eyes bright with anticipation, hanging on every word as if I was an actual preacher. However that just could be because I was young and speaking about God especially in Creole, the adults love that kind of thing. In that moment, I felt a profound connection to Haiti, to the generations of Haitians who had come before me and who had passed down this beautiful language through the ages. Speaking in Creole wasn’t just a means of communication; it was a celebration of my cultural identity, a testament to the resilience and strength of my people. For context, Haiti was the country to gain their independence in 1804 and my mother instilled in me that I should always be proud to speak this beautiful language because of this.

  As I went through my sermon, recounting stories of struggle with having a connection with God, the lukewarm attitude christians have towards God and how to overcome struggles like these—even though I made hefty mistakes and took somewhat embarrassing pauses, I couldn’t help but marvel at the power of language to shape our experiences and define who we are.I was able to get my message across when I heard continuous expressions of clapping, verbal “mm” and “amen”,  Creole wasn’t just a tool for expression; it was a gateway to understanding, a bridge that connected me to my roots and to the vibrant tapestry of Haitian culture. In my sermon, I tackled the struggle in finding a connection with God similar to me finding my connection to Creole. With finding this connection I gained a sense of pride.

Being bilingual as a child and having a strong literacy and language foundation helped to shape my perspective on the world and my life’s course. From the time I was able to say my first words in both Creole and English, I was surrounded by an intricate mix of customs, values, and stories. I learned my cultural values and customs which were respecting the foundations of Haiti, always celebrating our independence, helping others, and etc. With being American as well, I learned values such as commitment to my work, positivity and respect. Language gave me a sense of belonging, a force that grounded me to my roots and reminded me of who I am and where I come from.

Speaking in front of the church in Creole wasn’t just a moment of personal triumph; it was a reaffirmation of my identity, a declaration of pride in my heritage and in the language that has shaped me into the person I am today. As I concluded my sermon, the congregation erupted into applause, their smiles warm and genuine. In that moment, I knew that I had succeeded in not only delivering a message of hope and inspiration but also in honoring the language and culture that have always been at the core of my being. Stepping down from the pulpit, I felt a sense of fulfillment wash over me, knowing that I had embraced my roots and shared a piece of my heritage with those around me. 

Language and literacy had not only impacted my life but had become connected with my very essence, shaping the way I see the world and the way I connect with others on a deeper, more meaningful level. And as I looked out at the faces of the congregation, I knew that this was only the beginning of a journey of self-discovery and exploration, guided by the power of language to light the path ahead.

https://www.evangelicalcrusade.org: Embracing My Roots