“Mommy? Where are the women and the daughters?” My ten-year-old’s question and visible consternation took me by surprise. Surveying the lyrics on the screen, I then understood. “Born that MAN no more may die…Born to raise the SONS of the earth.” Nodding, I whispered that man and sons mean humanity—all people. She nodded, appeased, but her question lingered in my heart past the final worship song and well into the sermon.
Fast forward a few weeks, and this same thoughtful little girl sat beside me reading from the book of Matthew. As she read aloud about the girl raised from the dead and the bleeding woman healed by a simple faith-filled touch, her eyes sparkled. Her mouth broke wide in a grin. She saw herself.
What is that thing that causes us to long to be represented in songs and stories?
Reflecting on these encounters reminded me of a documentary I watched. Less than a year ago, the people of Accra, Ghana received their first New Testament Bible translated into their heart language—Kaakyi. Amidst dancing and shouting, the pastor held up his newly translated Bible. “Jesus is no longer a stranger.” He shouted. “And he speaks our language.”
Over 3,500 people groups are without access to a Bible translated in their native tongue. And me? I sit with ESV, NIV, NLT, and NASB within arms’ reach. Lest I forget the countless versions available on my Bible App—all written in English.
God’s word doesn’t change but I wonder—how many could be changed by reading the Word of Life in their own language?
My ponderings led me farther down Alice’s rabbit hole when I considered the ways we often invite converts to “Come just as you are,” as long as they conform to our paradigm.
“You better not have too many big sins.”
“Oh, please don’t smell bad.”
“You know—if you’re a Christian—you ought to lean this way politically.”
Today, I learned about a man who attended the same church for seven years. He sat in the same row—two from the back. No one spoke to him. Ever.
Paul wrote to the Romans declaring that anyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved. But he followed it up with a question. In paraphrase—how can they call on someone they have not believed in if they have not heard his name—in their town, in their neighborhood, in their supermarket, in their own language?
What would it look like to see and hear and speak the language of our neighbors?
Does it look like:
My neighbor’s daughter who did a bake sale to raise funds for Ukraine relief?
My friend who opened a home for children who have aged out of foster care?
My colleague who sits across from international college students so they can practice their English and eat a warm meal?
Pulling in a neighbor’s trash bin?
Or following up on a friend’s tough news?
May we have eyes that see and ears that listen to those around us. And respond. May we be used by God to present the gospel in such a way that they say, “Jesus is no longer a stranger. And he speaks my language.”
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