Separation of Church and State School: “Where two or more are gathered in my name”

"There was no separation of church and state school on our first Sabbath day in Africa. After being lost on dirt roads with lean-to sheds with dirt floors, barefoot children walking aimlessly down the middle of the road and faces of poverty, we finally located the school surrounded with barbed wire fencing that housed several denominations of believers. We found an open gate and drove onto the rocky path that led up to access to the school. We attended a little Branch of the church in a dilapidated school with no running water and Mickey the mouse running across the floor – actually it was a rat. Other faiths met in adjacent rooms and outside on the dirt roads. Some had bright colored long robes and headwear. Shouts, songs, and “tel-evangelistic” preaching rang through the halls and windows and made focusing a challenge. It was like having several radios blasting - all turned to different stations. A powerful, dignified black man was the capable Branch President who conducted the meeting and later gave a combined class lesson on appropriate use of time.

Ninety-one members crowded into the makeshift chapel and sat on teetering, plastic chairs. I took a borrowed portable piano keyboard and provided the music for the Sacrament Meeting. I played for the choir without a conductor. She whispered in my ear to start without her because she was needed as an alto. The strains of music may have attracted the unwelcome rodent that ran across the floor during the singing. It also attracted a very sweet spirit. I sat near a former Relief Society sister that is currently serving as the Compassionate Service Leader. I thought of what an overwhelming job she must have for a congregation with such need. Two blind people sat in front of us and nodded and smiled during the songs and sermons. Two deacons arose from broken plastic chairs and passed the sacrament with dignity. Both wore pristine white shirts and neatly tied ties.

Sanitation at the school was so sub-standard that wet pants almost seemed more appealing than using the school toilets. Thankfully, I was warned to always carry compact camping rolls of toilet paper, a luxury item in depressed areas. The church members were grateful to have a gathering place and didn’t seem to notice the disheveled, unhealthy conditions of their surroundings. They were clean and happy and sang like angels. Their handshakes were warm and their gratitude for my music was grossly overstated. Their lessons and talks were inspiring. They prayed for humility and expressed such love. We wondered how they could be more humble. The faithful testimonies brought tears of joy and the little black faces melted our hearts. They stared at my white face in wonderment as if I had forgotten to put on my skin. God loves all His children regardless of what skin they wear. We love them, too!" - Sister Basso