It was January 1989; I had saved up my dollars to come to England to take my advanced course in linguistics. We were at the Wycliffe Centre in Horsleys Green. I was the only American; there were several Germans, Swiss, and many Brits. Among them was Mary Jean Gardner, from Scotland, with that red sweatshirt we often wore to keep warm.

When I first heard the name of the latest victim of hatred and bitterness in Jerusalem, I’m sad to say, I only vaguely recognized it.

But that was Mary.

When we were in class together, she was not the one who stood out among the crowd; in fact, she blended in so well in the classroom, dining hall or the outing, you may not have remembered whether she was there.

More likely than not, she was taking her studies seriously, preparing to do what God had given her to do: help a people enjoy the same encouragement she experienced from reading the Bible in their heart language.

Remembering Mary Jean

The newspaper articles are right: She was soft-spoken, gentle, unimposing, yet passionate.

We all finished our studies at the same time; it was as if the starting gun went off, and we all left the starting line. However, we were not racing against each other; in this race, if one of us won, we were all winners.

Somehow, she found herself in Togo, working among the Ife people to translate the Bible for them. She worked at it like a flame works at consuming a candle: slowly, gently, almost imperceptibly. By the time she reached Jerusalem waiting at a bus stop, she had finished translating the New Testament for her people group and was preparing to translate the Old Testament by learning the Hebrew language.

Then, on these hills where Jesus walked, the bus stopped, and, in a moment of flurrying activity, she went Home.

In a moment, we realized that she was the best among us, by her consistent faithfulness to a task worth dying for.

This quiet, gentle soul has left a worldwide gap, in Togo, in Scotland, in England, in Senegal, in Germany, in Switzerland, in Israel, in Chad… wherever her fellow runners of the “class of 1989” find themselves today, and where her life has touched and affected others.

We rejoice in the joy that is hers today in the presence of Yeshua… We are thankful that the Ife have the end of the Story in their language. But, at the same time, our hearts feel a twinge of sadness.

Now that she is gone, who will finish the task she left, to bring the Ife the Beginning of the Story?

You may be the loudest person in the class.  Or you may be quiet, like Mary Jean.

No matter who you are, God can use you, just like that.