I’ve been sitting with a number lately. Over 3,400 languages still don’t have a complete Bible. That’s not a statistic I can just move past.
Think about what it means to have the Scriptures in your own language. To hear God speak in the words your mother used, in the rhythms you grew up with, in the sounds that feel like home. For most of us that’s something we’ve never had to think about. We have shelves full of translations. We have apps. We have options. And somewhere right now there is an entire people group who has never once heard the story of Jesus in the language of their heart.
Nehemiah wept over broken walls. I think about weeping over this.
There’s a moment in Acts 2 that I find stunning. The Holy Spirit falls and suddenly everyone hears in their own language. Not a common language. Not a trade language. Their language. God didn’t ask them to meet Him halfway. He came all the way. That feels important. That feels like it tells us something about how God thinks about the diversity of human language and culture, not as a barrier to overcome but as something worth honoring, worth entering into.
Revelation shows us the destination. Every nation, tribe, people and language standing before the throne. That future is certain. But between here and there is a lot of translation work, a lot of patient linguistic study, a lot of years spent learning tones and grammar and the particular way a people express love or shame or hope or God.
I believe that work is holy. I believe the people doing it are some of the most faithful servants in the kingdom, often unseen, rarely celebrated, sitting in villages with notebooks and recordings trying to find the right word for grace.
And I believe that every person deserves to hear God whisper to them in their mother tongue.
Will you pray for that? Will you be part of making it happen?