I had a bit of moment today at church. The YSA Sunday School teacher asked us, "Who had been raised in the church?" Five out of the six of us raised our hands.
In Gilbert ... or Utah ... this would be pretty common, I'm used to adults being raised in the church ... but there was something different about this scene.
The teacher of the class, Juan, from Chile, was raised in the church. Sariah, sitting next to me, from Hong Kong, was raised in the church. Erin, my Aussie roommate, raised in the church. Simin, German/Australian, raised in the church. The only convert there was my good friend Yina, from China.
A room of ADULTS from several different corners of the planet (only one from America). Adults, who were all once in nursery, primary, the youth program, took institute classes, a few even serving missions ... all of us raised within the warm arms of the gospel.
The sheer "international-ness" of the church has never hit me so deeply.
Juan sometimes struggles with English, as do Sariah and Yina sometimes ... but the language of the church is our common language. It is the common thread that connects our presumably completely divergent lives.
This Easter, my mind turns to the beautiful message of the gospel, and the opportunity that we have for eternal life because of an almost incomprehensible sacrifice that was performed on our behalf nearly two thousand years ago, by a loving Elder Brother. And for the bravery, and faith of a young boy in New York nearly two hundred years ago, that has made it possible, for six people ... from six different countries ... to jointly partake in the good news of the gospel, and for five of us, to have had the good fortune to be taught such beautiful truths, in different corners of the world, since infancy.
To all nations, kindred, and tongues, indeed.
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