Say What Now?

After bell practice the other night, we got to talking about something that’s probably tripped up just about every non-native North Carolinian: how on earth do you pronounce the names of towns and counties around here?

It ended with Iredell. I said it how it looks—Eye-er-dell. A few choir members very kindly gave me that look that says, “Oh, sweet pastor.” Turns out it’s Arr-dale. Like a single syllable decided it wanted to go home early. I’ve lived in North Carolina for over seven years now, and I still get corrected (lovingly, of course) on names I thought I had down pat.

And don’t even get me started on Wingate. I served there for two full years—preaching, teaching, writing newsletters, making hospital visits—and confidently saying Win-gate the entire time. No one said a word. Not until I was packing up to leave did someone gently inform me, “It’s actually pronounced Win-git.” Well. I had been mispronouncing my own appointment out loud for twenty-four straight months.

Now, I’ve learned that folks in North Carolina are incredibly gracious—because I know they had to be sitting in the pews thinking, “Bless her heart,” every time I said it wrong. And maybe they figured as long as the sermons were decent, they’d let the syllables slide.

Then there’s Appalachia. I still avoid saying it if I can help it. Some say App-uh-LAY-cha,others App-uh-LATCH-uh. And whichever one you say, someone nearby is going to squint at you like you just misquoted Scripture.

We laughed about it in bells, and it got me thinking about Pentecost.

Pentecost is that glorious, mysterious day when the Holy Spirit showed up with wind and flame—and suddenly, people from all over the world, speaking different languages and coming from different backgrounds, could understand each other perfectly. Scripture says each person heard the message in their own language. I love that.

God didn’t erase their differences. The Holy Spirit didn’t flatten out their accents or standardize their grammar. Instead, the Spirit made space for understanding, just as they were.

It’s honestly kind of beautiful to think about—especially for those of us who are still figuring out how to pronounce most of the towns in NC.

The church, at its best, is a lot like that Pentecost moment. We come from different places, with different stories and different “accents”—spiritual, emotional, theological, and yes, even regional. We don’t always say things perfectly. We might stumble over words or misunderstand each other now and then. But the Holy Spirit? Is still moving, helping us hear what really matters.

And sometimes what really matters isn’t being “right”—it’s being real. It’s showing up. It’s listening, laughing, learning, and loving each other anyway.

So if you ever hear me say a town name wrong, feel free to (kindly) correct me. I promise I’ll try again. I may never get it perfect—but I’ll keep trying. Because that’s what grace looks like.

Whether you say Eye-er-dell or Arr-dale, whether you’re fluent in NC geography or still working on your mountain-to-coast cheat sheet, there’s room for you here. Because the Spirit doesn’t wait for us to get the words right—the Spirit comes when our hearts are open.

Come, Holy Spirit. With wind, and fire, and maybe just a little help with pronunciation.  See you Sunday!

Peace, Pastor Tracy