Whew. You guys, these last few days on social media have been brutal. I broke some personal rules. I try really hard not to engage on FB. Like, I'm okay with posting a status that says something worthwhile, but I try not to let conversations flow from that. Because even though I write better than I speak, you lose some of the human aspect in a facebook comment flow. So after a few lengthy posts and a few long threads of comments, I decided a blog post was necessary for the sake of my aching heart.
There is so much I could say, but it all starts for me with a summer I spent in Chicago. I worked with a mission/church that primarily operated amongst refugees. I spent my entire summer surrounded by people who had run for their lives and wound up dropped off in a suburb of Chicago with refugee status attached to their name. Some of them were born in refugee camps where they received almost no education and where weekly fires that burned large portions of the camp were a regular event. Where food was scarce and disease was common and childhood was not really allowed. Some of them gave birth while running through the jungle, fleeing for their lives from people who bombed their villages and attacked their families. One man (a Christian) even spent years leaving the relative safety of the refugee camp to go back into the jungle and seek out other believers who were fleeing like him, and guide them to safety. Another man had to flee because he became such a threat to the religious leaders in his homeland, as he'd planted dozens upon dozens of churches who worshipped the true God. He's on a most wanted list, of sorts. All of them came to the US with little more than the clothes on their back. Some came not speaking English because they'd never had access to education. Some came with years of established careers as pastors, teachers, doctors, lawyers, and were forced to work here as custodians or long hours in factories, despite their old age and years of experience. All came here because they felt that it was their last hope of safety. Because all the trials they would face here paled in comparison to the place they could no longer call home. Because being poor and perhaps even unwanted is still better than being dead. While I got to know these people, a few shared their stories. On July 4th we gathered to watch fireworks and celebrate America, on the weekend that marked their 1-year anniversary of arrival. That night they shared what it was like living in the camps, and what it was like to be the 18 year old man of the family seeking out enough records for their family so they would be eligible to begin the process of applying for placement in the US or the EU. Many of them came here worshipping other gods. Some came having given up hope on any God. But little did they know that already there were churches in their context in Chicago, waiting to welcome them in with the love of Christ.
These same refugees, many of whom lived in we would consider to be the most impoverished communities in the USA, took this young ignorant college student in, without ever questioning my motives, and fed me. They invited me into their homes and offered food and laughs and stories. They hugged me and loved me and one night a young girl literally slept at my feet, holding onto my ankles, desperate to let me know that our friendship was real. They patiently taught me bits of their language and anxiously asked me to share more of mine. They practiced for citizenship tests and collected resources amongst themselves for a family whose apartment burned. They taught me the meaning of community and illustrated to me that my God was so much bigger than I'd ever imagined he was. I learned to pray like they prayed, and learned to sing like they sang, and learned to worship through dance and through chant and through feasting together.
So this week, when I heard so many Mississippians (and Americans) loudly cry, "we do not want them!" I was devastated. When I saw Christians rejoice as we turned away the needy, I mourned. When I saw many react in a spirit of fear rather than in a spirit of love and truth, I balked. And when I realized so many were ignorant of the plight of these humans seeking refuge, and the process they go through, I was saddened. And I could not remain silent.
I know there's a chance that members of ISIS might try to masquerade as refugees and infiltrate the US. I know that at least one man who perpetrated the attack on Paris did just that. I also know that a few months ago two young people at Mississippi State University were conspiring to join ISIS. And I know that the Lord is capable of saving the darkest of hearts. I know that one man responsible for penning a good portion of the Bible I read was a murderer. I know also that the man who wrote most of the New Testament was a Christian-murdering terrorist. I know also that Simon the Apostle was a member of an extremist group responsible for terrorist attacks. I know that God has saved Muslim friends of mine through dreams and visions with scandalous love and grace. I know that the God I now worship died a cruel death on a state-sanctioned instrument of torture while I was yet monstrously opposed to him and hated him. I know that if His love was not sacrificial, I would refuse him still. I know that I've read and quoted from Jim and Elizabeth Elliot, who had no sense of self-preservation. I know that the grandchildren of Nate Saint call the man who killed him "grandfather." I know that immense sacrifice was made in each of these circumstances.
Someone said something to me yesterday along the lines of "Why don't we pile all the Syrian refugees into camps and let the Christians put some action to their words and THEY can take care of them." And while I adamantly and vehemently oppose the idea of camps, I embrace the idea of the Church taking this challenge to heart.
This morning in the early hours before daylight, as my heart was burdened for these people, I had this vision of the Church doing just that. I imagined us taking in refugee families and housing them in our churches and homes. I imagined one person opening their home, or a church sacrificing their parsonage or extra building to house a family or two. But then I imagined others coming along side them and bearing the burden with them. Perhaps there are a few teachers in the congregation. One might take responsibility for taking the children of the family to school and watching over them there. One might spend some time studying the language and culture of the family and teach the congregation so that they'll be able to welcome them in a way that feels familiar. Another teacher might spend a few hours a week helping teach the family English. Each family in the church might take responsibility for providing a meal to them, and perhaps a stay-at-home-mom will bring the mother into her house and teach her about cooking and shopping in America. The men of the congregation will come alongside the father and teach him about finances in America, and how to manage a household. They'll provide tools and resources for him to eventually be independent. The children of the church know best how to make friends, as smiles transcend culture and language and race, and they will love with the encouragement of their parents. And in time, this family will realize that the love of Christ prompted complete strangers to take them in. Perhaps a Saul will become a Paul. Perhaps a family in the church will realize they're called to go minister to others in that context. Children who might have been washed up drowned on a foreign soil or recruited into a terrorist group will be loved and grow into thriving adults who also show love. I know it's idealistic. I know I'm still young and I'm sure you think me naive. But Jesus said the kingdom belongs to those with childlike faith. Jesus said that I had to take up my cross (state-sanctioned weapon of torture) in order to follow Him. Jesus said that the last are first in his Kingdom. He said that it was better if I stored up wealth in heaven instead of on Earth. He said if I wanted to gain life, I had to first lose it. He said that what I do for the poorest and neediest of people is actually done to Him. He didn't qualify those statements. He didn't give me an out for when I was scared or worried or feared consequences. He said that He had nowhere to lay his head on this earth, and if I want to follow Him, that's what I must be prepared for. He said some crazy things, and they make me uncomfortable. But I see life in those words. I see a love and grace bigger than I could have pictured without them. I see hope and promise of eternal life. I see a God who took me in when I hated Him. Who created me knowing I'd reject him. I see a Father who adopted the child who wanted to murder Him.
"Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all."
There is so much I could say, but it all starts for me with a summer I spent in Chicago. I worked with a mission/church that primarily operated amongst refugees. I spent my entire summer surrounded by people who had run for their lives and wound up dropped off in a suburb of Chicago with refugee status attached to their name. Some of them were born in refugee camps where they received almost no education and where weekly fires that burned large portions of the camp were a regular event. Where food was scarce and disease was common and childhood was not really allowed. Some of them gave birth while running through the jungle, fleeing for their lives from people who bombed their villages and attacked their families. One man (a Christian) even spent years leaving the relative safety of the refugee camp to go back into the jungle and seek out other believers who were fleeing like him, and guide them to safety. Another man had to flee because he became such a threat to the religious leaders in his homeland, as he'd planted dozens upon dozens of churches who worshipped the true God. He's on a most wanted list, of sorts. All of them came to the US with little more than the clothes on their back. Some came not speaking English because they'd never had access to education. Some came with years of established careers as pastors, teachers, doctors, lawyers, and were forced to work here as custodians or long hours in factories, despite their old age and years of experience. All came here because they felt that it was their last hope of safety. Because all the trials they would face here paled in comparison to the place they could no longer call home. Because being poor and perhaps even unwanted is still better than being dead. While I got to know these people, a few shared their stories. On July 4th we gathered to watch fireworks and celebrate America, on the weekend that marked their 1-year anniversary of arrival. That night they shared what it was like living in the camps, and what it was like to be the 18 year old man of the family seeking out enough records for their family so they would be eligible to begin the process of applying for placement in the US or the EU. Many of them came here worshipping other gods. Some came having given up hope on any God. But little did they know that already there were churches in their context in Chicago, waiting to welcome them in with the love of Christ.
These same refugees, many of whom lived in we would consider to be the most impoverished communities in the USA, took this young ignorant college student in, without ever questioning my motives, and fed me. They invited me into their homes and offered food and laughs and stories. They hugged me and loved me and one night a young girl literally slept at my feet, holding onto my ankles, desperate to let me know that our friendship was real. They patiently taught me bits of their language and anxiously asked me to share more of mine. They practiced for citizenship tests and collected resources amongst themselves for a family whose apartment burned. They taught me the meaning of community and illustrated to me that my God was so much bigger than I'd ever imagined he was. I learned to pray like they prayed, and learned to sing like they sang, and learned to worship through dance and through chant and through feasting together.
So this week, when I heard so many Mississippians (and Americans) loudly cry, "we do not want them!" I was devastated. When I saw Christians rejoice as we turned away the needy, I mourned. When I saw many react in a spirit of fear rather than in a spirit of love and truth, I balked. And when I realized so many were ignorant of the plight of these humans seeking refuge, and the process they go through, I was saddened. And I could not remain silent.
I know there's a chance that members of ISIS might try to masquerade as refugees and infiltrate the US. I know that at least one man who perpetrated the attack on Paris did just that. I also know that a few months ago two young people at Mississippi State University were conspiring to join ISIS. And I know that the Lord is capable of saving the darkest of hearts. I know that one man responsible for penning a good portion of the Bible I read was a murderer. I know also that the man who wrote most of the New Testament was a Christian-murdering terrorist. I know also that Simon the Apostle was a member of an extremist group responsible for terrorist attacks. I know that God has saved Muslim friends of mine through dreams and visions with scandalous love and grace. I know that the God I now worship died a cruel death on a state-sanctioned instrument of torture while I was yet monstrously opposed to him and hated him. I know that if His love was not sacrificial, I would refuse him still. I know that I've read and quoted from Jim and Elizabeth Elliot, who had no sense of self-preservation. I know that the grandchildren of Nate Saint call the man who killed him "grandfather." I know that immense sacrifice was made in each of these circumstances.
Someone said something to me yesterday along the lines of "Why don't we pile all the Syrian refugees into camps and let the Christians put some action to their words and THEY can take care of them." And while I adamantly and vehemently oppose the idea of camps, I embrace the idea of the Church taking this challenge to heart.
This morning in the early hours before daylight, as my heart was burdened for these people, I had this vision of the Church doing just that. I imagined us taking in refugee families and housing them in our churches and homes. I imagined one person opening their home, or a church sacrificing their parsonage or extra building to house a family or two. But then I imagined others coming along side them and bearing the burden with them. Perhaps there are a few teachers in the congregation. One might take responsibility for taking the children of the family to school and watching over them there. One might spend some time studying the language and culture of the family and teach the congregation so that they'll be able to welcome them in a way that feels familiar. Another teacher might spend a few hours a week helping teach the family English. Each family in the church might take responsibility for providing a meal to them, and perhaps a stay-at-home-mom will bring the mother into her house and teach her about cooking and shopping in America. The men of the congregation will come alongside the father and teach him about finances in America, and how to manage a household. They'll provide tools and resources for him to eventually be independent. The children of the church know best how to make friends, as smiles transcend culture and language and race, and they will love with the encouragement of their parents. And in time, this family will realize that the love of Christ prompted complete strangers to take them in. Perhaps a Saul will become a Paul. Perhaps a family in the church will realize they're called to go minister to others in that context. Children who might have been washed up drowned on a foreign soil or recruited into a terrorist group will be loved and grow into thriving adults who also show love. I know it's idealistic. I know I'm still young and I'm sure you think me naive. But Jesus said the kingdom belongs to those with childlike faith. Jesus said that I had to take up my cross (state-sanctioned weapon of torture) in order to follow Him. Jesus said that the last are first in his Kingdom. He said that it was better if I stored up wealth in heaven instead of on Earth. He said if I wanted to gain life, I had to first lose it. He said that what I do for the poorest and neediest of people is actually done to Him. He didn't qualify those statements. He didn't give me an out for when I was scared or worried or feared consequences. He said that He had nowhere to lay his head on this earth, and if I want to follow Him, that's what I must be prepared for. He said some crazy things, and they make me uncomfortable. But I see life in those words. I see a love and grace bigger than I could have pictured without them. I see hope and promise of eternal life. I see a God who took me in when I hated Him. Who created me knowing I'd reject him. I see a Father who adopted the child who wanted to murder Him.
"Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all."
