You’ve seen the refugee crisis in the news.
The pictures, the video footage, the heartbreaking stories. You’ve read about the unthinkable choices, the danger, the suffering. And if you’re like me, you’ve found them hard to ignore.
It’s a helpless feeling–wanting to do something right here, right now, but not knowing how to help or even what to do. I get it because I feel it, too.
I feel the same urge to act when I read about what Planned Parenthood does with babies or when I hear about a teen girl who chooses survival prostitution because she really has no choice or mothers who offer their child dirt cookies to stop the hungry stomach pangs.
I don’t have a solution to solve all these issues; most are too complicated for me to understand. I’m not political and I don’t have the expertise or experience to offer sound answers on borders and boundaries or the persuasive ability to turn the pro abortion tide or enough money to give hopeless girls and mothers options.
But that doesn’t mean we don’t do anything. That’s not an option.
“Whatever you do will not be enough, but it matters enormously that you do it.” Gandhi
No, I don’t know always know what to do, but I do know I don’t want to stick my head in the sand, pull my family close and say just because it’s not happening to us, means it’s not happening.
I don’t want to turn away from the cry of the hurting.
I don’t want fear to govern what I do or don’t do.
I don’t want to be like the Christians that decided to sing louder to drown out the cries of the Jews stuffed into a cargo train passing by the church on their way to a concentration camp.
I don’t want to only surround myself with people like me because it’s safe and comfortable. I want to teach a hindu woman how to crochet, I want to meet a buddhist refugee at the airport. I want to be friends with people who don’t agree with me, who have a different color skin, serve different gods, who choose an abortion or a homosexual lifestyle.
I want to fill my life with people who need Jesus. Because I have Him and I want to share Him.
I was surprised by the amount of people who are questioning helping refugees because they might be Muslim. There is a danger in only wanting to help people who are like us. Christians aren’t just called to help Christians, we are called to help those who have a need, and maybe when we lend a cup in Jesus’ name, their need might be met and they might meet Him, too.
I can’t help but think of how Jesus stepped into crowds of people who were nothing like him. He sought out those who were unloved, unworthy and unsafe.
And the crazy thing is people walked miles in the desert sun to hear the inconvenient truth of The Son. Everything about the Gospel is uncomfortable. It is unattractive. Unappealing. Jesus asks us to risk our lives for it.
Maureen and her husband Oliver, who run Rehema House (the Kenyan partner to Mercy House) are staying in our home this month. It is Oliver’s first time in America and it’s humbling to introduce our great comfortable country to someone who has never been here or is new to comfort. When he saw our kitchen faucet that also detaches as a sprayer, he said, “This place is like Heaven.” It’s a convenience I’ve never even stopped to consider.
And when we stopped into one of the largest church’s in our town, his eyes grew wide at the enormous buildings, coffee shop and restaurant, bookstore and the huge children’s indoor playground. He paused to read the bulletin boards offering yoga classes, soccer teams and half a dozen other fun activities. And his question pierced me deeply, “Does this church preach the same Jesus?”
Because we’re so comfortable it’s hard for this Kenyan man who lived in a slum less than two year ago, sometimes wondering where his next meal would come from, to recognize the One who said it’s better to lose your life than find it.
When we look closely at the hard sayings of Jesus, He doesn’t say protect yourself. He says deny yourself. He doesn’t say get comfortable because this road is easy; He asks us to give up what we have. He doesn’t say love those who are like us, He tells us to love our enemies.
He doesn’t tell us to build this great, comfortable life filled with ease because we deserve the American dream. He doesn’t tell us to do what is easy, He says take up your instrument of torture (cross) and follow me.
God’s goal isn’t our comfort or convenience. It’s His glory and He often has to get us uncomfortable and inconvenienced to reveal it.
