About two months ago, I was driving to an appointment about half an hour from my house, and mistakenly listened to the news on the radio during some rare kid-free driving time. The stories really got to me. It was around the time that Hungary had decided to close its borders to refugees trying to get through to Germany. They enacted the policy a day or so earlier than they had announced, causing even more chaos at the checkpoints of those so desperate to get away from their war-torn homes. Another story was an interview with one of the leading presidential candidates. He was asked how many refugees he would take in if it were up to him. He wouldn't commit to a specific number, but reiterated that he would consider only those whom we needed (with skills and education that our country could use). The stories continued with the day's death tolls of refugees drowning in their efforts to escape to freedom. Stories of the war raging across multiple countries overrun by terrorists, and hostile and brutal treatment of the refugees trying to flee those terrorists. Countries enacting laws to not only refuse the refugees, but to punish any citizens who tried to help any refugees.
Finally I had to turn the radio off. I cried, driving down the freeway in silence. I almost had to pull over. I felt compelled to pray. As I cried, I felt the so ashamed before the Lord. Not like I was elected representative or anything, but I felt ashamed as a member of humanity approaching the Lord; I was so sorry that we were being so mean to each other. I was so sorry that His children had not listened to one of the few things He had asked us to do, to love each other. I hated that He had to watch us, even some of the very people who carried His name, doing this to each other. I wanted to do better, to be kinder, to be more loving.
I wanted to be like the woman in a story I heard later, who went to a train station in Hungary and bought tickets for a man and his two children so they could get to over the border safely and easily. This man's wife had been killed by ISIS. He fled Syria with his 4- and 6-year-old in a boat that capsized. He held them afloat in freezing water until they were rescued. This young father had given everything to protect his young children and had nothing left to give. A stranger had compassion and stepped in, giving help, safety, hope. I so wanted to go to a train station in Europe and buy a ticket for someone. That woman restored my faith in humanity that day.
After last week's terrorist attacks, especially those in Paris, people are skittish. Understandably so. But the ugliness against the refugees has heightened. A number of governors, including my own, have told the President that they will refuse to accept any refugees that come to the U.S., claiming they pose a danger to us all. They will refuse to accept anyone fleeing the same terrorist we all fear. (Never mind that any refugee entering the country will already have to go through extensive background checks and scrutiny, more than anyone else who travels to the U.S., as explained in this article written by the executive director of The Center for Victims of Torture, someone who has dealt with refugees of these atrocities plenty and knows the vetting process they go through rather well--please read this if you are feeling uneasy about safety and reugee resettlement.) Some politicians and presidential candidates are suggesting that we only accept Christian refugees. I understand that the Muslim jihadists and extremists are frightening. So do the Muslim and Christian refugees who are fleeing them.
It seems that we are replacing the anti-Semitic sentiments and policies that our country held in the early to mid-20th century with anti-Muslim sentiments. I recently attended a presentation by a Holocaust scholar. He talked about our country's refusal to accept Jewish refugees prior to WWII, along with most other countries approached at the time. He cited some numbers that are pretty sobering. 90% of the Jews in Germany were murdered during the Holocaust. If each country that turned refugees away had taken in just 17,000, all the Jews from Germany in WWII would have survived. 17,000. We didn't do it then, and many are hoping we won't do it now. Isn't it interesting that Germany is the country now that is so willing, so welcoming to the displaced right now?
When the Apostle Paul talked about having charity, he did not say "just for those we need," or, "just for Christians." He talked about those who need us. He said that charity, "seeketh not her own" (1 Corinthians 13:5). If we can only extend love and compassion for those who are like us, our own, I think maybe we have failed in our discipleship; as Paul says, without charity, we are "nothing" (2). How would Jesus answer the query, "Who is my neighbour?" today (Luke 10:29)? We don't know any Samaritans today. Would He use "Muslim," or "refugee," or "immigrant" in the role of the Good Samaritan? I think either way, the moral of the story would be the same. "Who was the neighbour . . . ? He that shewed mercy on him. Then said Jesus . . . Go, and do thou likewise" (36-37).
As one friend pointed out today, we are entering a season where many of us will celebrate a very special Middle Eastern family (one, I might add, who had to flee their homeland for a time, become refugees in a foreign land because of threat of mortal danger). The part of the story we never forget to tell, and that I think frequently gives us pause for introspection, is that for them, there was no room in the inn.
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