By Rev. Matt Koerber
As we continue to develop this discussion, we are turning to a different topic. Admittedly, there are many aspects of immigration policy that we have not directly addressed. Topics such as “amnesty”, “deportation”, “sanctuary cities”, “services for undocumented immigrants” and “assimilation” have only been given cursory attention – if they have been referenced at all. As we said from the outset, there is more in this subject than we could possibly hope to cover in six weeks. It is not our intent to be exhaustive and it is not our goal to resolve every issue. Instead we want to explore a breadth of topics related to immigration and try to forge a dialogue that is balanced and biblical. There is room for Christians to draw different conclusions on these matters. This week we will discuss “Refugees.” It is important to note from the very beginning that refugees are different from other types of immigrants. While immigrants choose to relocate – usually for educational or economic reasons; refugees are forced from their homeland – usually from fear of violence or famine. This important distinction should have an impact on our policy considerations. Refugees are people who are in need and have little choice in the matter. Many readers of this blog may know that last summer, I spent two months with my family working with refugees in Athens Greece. Some of the people that we spent time with were from Afghanistan, but most were from the Middle East – especifically Syria, where a long civil war has driven millions out of their own country. Through our experience, we had a window into a huge worldwide problem. The United Nations Refugee Agency (UNHCR) estimates that there are 21.3 million refugees worldwide, over half of whom are under the age of 18. The largest numbers come from Somalia (1.1m), Afghanistan (2.7m), and Syria (4.9m). While Greece receives a great deal of visibility for their refugee care, they only host about 60,000, while Turkey has more than 2.5 million refugees (see statistics here). It has been challenging for many countries to know how to respond. Germany and France has wrestled with these issues publicly, and this past winter, the presidential travel ban put the US refugee resettlement program on hold. (The halt to the refugee program has since been delayed in the courts.) How should Christians think about this difficult issue?
By Rev. Matt Koerber
This is the final post of this blog. Throughout this week we have tried to both summarize the prior five weeks of the blog and also think about how we can apply the lessons moving forward. Thus far, we have not focused a great deal on the policy issues that surround our immigration debates. We have not spent a lot of time considering the details of questions about immigration policy, but have instead focused on the people involved. This seems like the necessary foundation for moving to policy. But perhaps it has seemed like there is an elephant in the room. The things that people are arguing about often relate to policy proposals. For example: Should we have amnesty for undocumented immigrants already in the country, should we seek to deport them, or something in between? We might also ask: How do we enforce border security? Or: How many refugees should we invite into our country? Freedom and Principle I want to begin by repeating what we have often said throughout the blog: these issues are very complex and there is freedom for Christians to disagree on many things. At the same time, there are biblical principles in play that we have to consider. On one hand, we should remember that many specific policies do not have a biblical proof text. For example, there is no bible passage that we can point to that will tell us exactly how to enforce border security. On the other hand, there are a large number of passages that speak to the way in which we treat refugees and immigrants in our midst. In fact, the category for “sojourner” becomes a biblical test case in the Old Testament for how we give justice to the marginalized. These are not a few isolated passages, but they are a substantial thread through the concept of societal justice in the Bible. A partial list of references includes: Ex. 22:21, 23:9; Lev. 19:10, 23:22, 24:22, 25:6; Num 9:14, 15:15; Dt. 10:19, 14:29, 24:19-22, 27:19; Jer. 7:5-7; Ez. 22:7,29; Zec. 7:10, Mal 3:5. Drawing out one of these texts, we can observe the seriousness with which God takes this issue: "You shall not pervert the justice due to the sojourner or to the fatherless, or take a widow's garment in pledge, but you shall remember that you were a slave in Egypt and the LORD your God redeemed you from there; therefore I command you to do this.” (Deuteronomy 24:17-18) Remembering the Big Story The passage above grounds the social ethic in the corporate experience of God’s people as former “sojourners”. Their people had been dependent and mistreated. Therefore, it was inexcusable for them to do the same. The same could be said of America. We are a nation of immigrants and we should be expected to keep that perspective when we think about this issue. But it is even more the case for Christians. We are called to think of ourselves as an exiled people (I Pet. 1:1, Heb. 13:12-14.) Therefore, we should be particularly aware of the challenges faced by immigrants and refugees. But most importantly, we need to ground all of our considerations in a reminder of the big story. Throughout the Bible, God is calling people to himself from every tongue, tribe, and nation. It is easy to see the way in which God is using the unprecedented people movements of the early 21st century as a means of achieving this goal. This does not resolve the challenging policy issues, but it should guide our hopes and dreams. I am not arguing for a policy of open borders, but I do believe that we can only think properly about this issue if we keep our eyes fixed on the big story. As people relocate around the world, God has a purpose. This purpose is found in many parts of the bible, but the grand vision of Isaiah expresses it very well: “It shall come to pass in the latter days that the mountain of the house of the LORD shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be lifted up above the hills; and all the nations shall flow to it, and many peoples shall come, and say: "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob, that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths." For out of Zion shall go the law, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.” (Isaiah 2:2-3) This is not a verse about people coming to America. It is a verse about people coming to faith in Christ and finding a common unity in their savior. It also shapes the way we think about people movements. God is shaking the nations and people are moving. We never fully know his purposes, but we do know that he is drawing people from every nation to himself through faith in Jesus Christ. You may have noticed that the themes of spiritual journeys were often interwoven into the physical journeys of immigrants and refugees in our blog posts. This is not an accident. This is what God is doing. We are mere witnesses. A Broken System One of the things that really stood out to me over the course of these last six weeks are the problems present in our current immigration situation. This should not be a surprise. There have been many legislative attempts at fixing this issue in the last two decades. All have ended in gridlock and as a result the broken system continues. Let me give a brief summary of what I see. Over the last couple of decades a large number of immigrants have entered the United States across the Mexican-American border. Again, this is not really a surprise. History is full of these sorts of movements, and they are often quite messy. It is estimated that there are as many as 11 million undocumented immigrants living in our country, many from Hispanic backgrounds. There are millions more that are living and working here as citizens or without proper documentation. Some people have entered the country legally but have overstayed their visa. Most immigrants are motivated by better economic opportunities. Many are willing to work for a lower wage. The influx of works has a downward effect of workers’ wages in many fields. Remember the interview with construction workers in North Carolina: immigrants are willing to work for less and they have displaced American workers in some fields. However, because immigrants are not able to compete in all occupations, the effect of this is not felt in all career fields. Manual labor and parts of the service industry are the hardest hit. “Loving our neighbor” requires that we show concern for the sojourner in our midst. But it also requires that we show concern for American workers who experience the suppression of wages associated with mass immigration. It can be easy for Americans who work in fields not affected by mass immigration to dismiss this to quickly. However, we can’t end our analysis there. Extricating ourselves from a difficult situation is not easy. We should remember that many other parties have been involved in this process and the benefits have also been felt unevenly. American employers save costs and underbid their competitors by hiring lower cost immigrant workers. American consumers also benefit because they pay less for services done by immigrants. Undocumented Immigrants gain economic opportunities, but also suffer. They are not afforded the full protection of the law and are often vulnerable to being taken advantage of. Although the system is broken, there are winners and losers. The following chart lays this out: The reason that the system remains broken is because the solutions are hard and our country is deeply polarized. But American employers and consumers are willing to tolerate the system mainly because we are not the ones who pay the costs. American workers and undocumented immigrants continue to bear the cost. Immigration Reform I am more convinced than ever that immigration reform is necessary. Allowing the current system to continue only perpetuates a bad situation. Undocumented immigrants are vulnerable. But while they are undocumented they are less able to bargain for competitive wages. This is turn contributes to suppression of wages and harms many types of American workers. Most attempts at immigration reform have three components. First, they attempt to deal with the millions of undocumented workers that are already here. Second, they deal with immigration controls going forward – such as border security. Third, they deal with enforcement in the work sector – pressuring employers to hire only documented workers. I will make a few brief comments on each section. i. Eleven million undocumented immigrants This is a very challenging issue and many of the previous attempts to “fix” the immigration issue floundered here. What do you do with the millions of people who already live in our country, but not currently documented? There is no answer that is simple and good. One simplistic, but extreme solution is to deport everyone who does not have documentation of legal entry into the country. However, like most simple solutions, it runs into many roadblocks. Deporting 11 million people is a massive operation and would seem unjust to many Americans. It is not a realistic solution. Beyond being unreasonable, I believe that it would be unjust. Consider the following. Even if we were to think of illegal immigration as a crime, nearly all crimes have a statute of limitations. Crimes also need to have intentional activity. Think through the challenges of these questions:
It seems to me that a just process of immigration reform would need to provide pathways to citizenship for immigrants who have lived in this country for a significant amount of time. That is not to suggest that this is a normal course, but a necessary corrective as we re-calibrate a system that has been out of whack for a long time. ii. Border Security Just as there are simplistic answers for dealing with undocumented workers currently here, there are also simplistic answers for border security. The president’s proposal to build a wall is often viewed as being unrealistic and overly harsh. It seems to me that the opposition is primarily to the symbolism of the action. (This is not to minimize the impact of symbolic actions, which can greatly impact the way policy is enforced and shape public opinion.) All walls have doors in them and even a wall on the entire border between the United States and Mexico would have places of entry and egress. In my view, border security is necessary as long as we have reasonable access to and from the country, whether there is an actual physical wall or not. On the other extreme, some people would profess that an “open border policy” would solve our immigration dilemma. But, insistence on open borders fails to offer any protection for American workers and fails to recognize real threats to national security. In his letter to the Romans, the apostle Paul reminds us that God’s purpose for the government of any nation is to protect its citizens (Rom. 13:4). There are real threats in the world and pretending that they don’t exist does not make our neighbors across this nation any safer. Given the turmoil in the world, it would seem to me that concern for border security is not only realistic but necessary. iii. Enforcement of employment laws Enforcing employment laws would create a more just work force for both American workers and immigrants. Currently, American consumers and employers have benefited from the services of undocumented workers. Justice requires that we hold employers accountable for who they hire. In the current system, there are large disincentives for doing this. Employers in certain fields (like construction and agriculture) cannot compete without hiring immigrants. Lack of enforcement in this area creates an uneven playing field. It penalizes American workers and documented immigrants. It also creates an environment in which undocumented workers exist outside of legal structures. They are not afforded the protections of the law and have reduced bargaining power. This situation is clearly viewed in the Bible as being unjust. Consider this biblical command: “For the assembly, there shall be one statute for you and for the stranger who sojourns with you, a statute forever throughout your generations. You and the sojourner shall be alike before the LORD.” (Numbers 15:15) Perpetuating our current system would have some benefits for employers and consumers, but it is not good for American workers and immigrants. It is clearly the type of system that the Bible would call “unjust.” It would seem to me that justice requires enforcing immigration laws in the market place. Refugees are Different As we have frequently said, the issues are complex. One area of complexity is the distinction between immigrants and refugees. Immigrants enter the country by choice, while refugees are driven from their homeland because of famine or violence. (When we were in Greece, this distinction was readily acknowledged by everyone in the society.) As a result, it is not reasonable to run the same cost-benefit analysis for refugees. Refugees may assume a measure of risk for a host country. Yet, we do this because we are called to be merciful to those in need. Many of the biblical commands about caring for sojourners assume this sort of situation. When we think of the story that Jesus told about the good Samaritan (Luke 10:29-37), we are reminded that stopping to care for a wounded stranger on the Jericho road would place the Samaritan at risk. It was also a financially costly endeavor for the Samaritan. But according to Jesus, it is the definitive expression of neighborly love. We ignore this to our own peril. Furthermore, it is helpful to distinguish the immigration system from the refugee system. Unlike the former, the refugee system is not broken. Refugees are thoroughly vetted before entering this country. This process is not nearly as thorough in other countries. In most cases it is a two year process to enter the United States. As was stated in an earlier article, there has never been a violent terrorist attack by someone who entered the United States through the refugee system in the four decades of its existence. That is not to say that there is no risk in welcoming refugees, but it does tell us that the risk is pretty negligible. We already have “extreme vetting” in our current refugee system. There are violent people in the world and we need systems that screen them out. But an indiscriminate halt to the refugee program punishes those that are fleeing violence. We cannot love our neighbor without assuming risk, but we want to be certain that our fears do not prevent us from extending refuge to those who are in need. More Discussions to Come If you are still reading this post… there are ways in which you can participate in the discussion. We are planning to have a Monday evening Agora Forum discussion which will focus on the topic of immigration policy. We are currently planning to do this on Monday, June 26, 7:00-9:00 pm at City Reformed’s office. If you want to contribute or push back to any of these ideas, please feel free to come and talk with me in person. I will present some of the things listed here and others will present proposals that may differ. We want to foster a place for reasonable discussion. Conclusion I will conclude with special thanks to Kevin and Evelyn for their partnership in the blog. Even if I could have pulled this off alone (not likely) it would have been an impoverished product without your many insights. I am deeply thankful for your participation. I would like to thank the many contributors who really made this blog special. By my rough estimate we have had over two dozen contributors during the course of this blog. What an amazing wealth of perspectives and insights! Many were from our congregation, but others from throughout the country and across the world. I am also thankful for my wife, who sacrificed time from our already busy schedule to let me write. Finally, I want to thank our many readers. Your comments and questions helped to stimulate the endeavor. Your “likes” and “reposts” spread the news. Your encouragements kept us going. Above all, we thank the living God. He is calling people from every place to himself. The nations are streaming to the temple of the Lord through faith in Christ Jesus, and we are all invited to “learn his ways” and to “walk in his paths!” By Kevin
In the last days the mountain of the LORD's temple will be established as chief among the mountains; it will be raised above the hills, and all nations will stream to it. Many peoples will come and say, "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob. He will teach us his ways, so that we may walk in his paths." (Isaiah 2:2–3) I love solitude and the outdoors. There’s no place I’d rather be than hiking a lesser-known trail up a mountain in a National Park, with no more than two companions with me. I try to avoid easier and more accessible trails that tend to be swarming with people who don’t respect silence and solitude – people unlike me and those I accept as my companions. I mentally give them two choices: learn to respect my way of hiking, or get off the trail. Don’t we all have preferences for the people we would like to share fellowship with? Don’t we find people with certain backgrounds/origins/beliefs easier to be in communion with? Don’t we wish they were less ___ and more ___? I have found that my own perspective is woefully inadequate for detecting my own prejudices, even as it is incredibly sensitive to the prejudices of others. I am pleased with my ability to accept and love others; I silently proclaim, “See how welcoming and inclusive I am, unlike [insert enemy here] who judge and exclude others”. I see how my beliefs and practices display justice, while the ignorance of my enemies displays injustice. Especially in today’s polarized political climate, we are all prone to excluding our enemies. God promises to teach his people how to transcend this bent to exclusion: by calling us to go up to God’s mountain together. Pentecost gives us a picture of what this looks like: a multitude of people of different tribes and tongues being brought into the same family. In the buzz of Pentecost, God does several things by forcing us to walk alongside the other. First, he reveals to us our tendency to either exclude the other or try to shape them into our image (the two choices I give people on hiking with me). Second, he gives us the means of overcoming that tendency by forcing us into communion with the other. Whether in our local church or the universal church, we worship alongside Christians with diverse experiences and backgrounds, resulting in diverse expressions of the same faith. Because my sister has gone through trials I know nothing of and was brought up in a culture that is foreign to me, her cares and fears will be different from mine. This is a gift, and is the reason we have filled this blog with stories by Christians with diverse ethnic, cultural and historical experiences. These stories enable us to transcend our own perspective. I have my own way of viewing myself, others, and the world. On my own, my perspective is not large enough to encompass all that God has revealed to me. We are called to practice what theologian Miroslav Volf calls double vision: seeing from the perspective of others, so that we might understand how they see us, themselves, and the world. He writes, “We use our imagination to see why their perspective about themselves, about us, and about our common history, can be so plausible to them whereas it is implausible, profoundly strange, or even offensive to us”. Here are questions I ask myself. How are my words being understood by the other? Am I assuming things about them and their beliefs? How does someone manage to say such a thing if they care about justice? (This last question invites us to imagine other conceptions of justice and good that we may not immediately see). I don’t always have the answers, and when I don’t, I have to seek out the ‘other’ to understand her. This is challenging and risky. If our perspectives are in conflict, must one be rejected? Can a compromise be found? Compromise may not be possible. But unless we are willing to see from the perspectives of others and let their perspectives stand next to ours – letting their voices, fears, and concerns resonate within us – we will not be able to properly reflect on whether one or the other is right, or more likely, where each is partly wrong and partly right. But we may be surprised. In some cases, seeing from others’ perspectives might reveal the blindness in our own perspective and open us up to new worlds of wisdom, truth, and hope. In other cases, it may allow us to see a shared concern for justice where before we only saw enemies perpetrating injustice. In yet other cases, a willingness to listen and understand (rather than argue against) an enemy’s perspective may help disarm conflict and bring peace. I have too often allowed myself to judge and form beliefs about others in isolation. Judgments need to be made (though probably way less often than we think), but they must be made against the backdrop of Pentecost: in communion with fellow believers who have different perspectives. It requires us to hear them speaking in “different tongues”, and still understand them. If they are fellow believers, I love them, and if I love them, I will want to hear their voice. Perhaps this sounds too dramatic. Maybe you don’t consider anyone an enemy the way I do. But might there be others to whom you have become an enemy? Seeing from the perspectives of others will open our eyes to this. Perhaps this sounds too unrealistic; maybe you feel that seeing from the perspectives of others merely opens us up to being controlled or manipulated by them, and tacitly gives legitimacy to wrong and unjust perspectives. Consider the example of Jesus, who suffered though he was innocent (1 Peter 2:21-25). Even though we were his enemies, he took on our perspective and sin in his body, that we might be reconciled to God and each other (2 Cor 5:18-21). At Pentecost, this same Jesus gave his spirit, that the diverse believers would each speak and be understood in their own tongues – across cultural and linguistic barriers. Jesus gives us his same spirit today, enabling us to be heard and understood across barriers. Against the backdrop of Pentecost, the cultural / national / ethnic / political ‘other’ is God’s means of saving us from our own prejudices. Without including their voices and perspectives in our own, the church will not reflect the fullness of God’s power at Pentecost. With them alongside us, we just might make it up to God’s mountain. By Evelyn
It’s hard to believe it is already the last week of the blog. To revisit some of the themes we covered, I talked to some people in the church who are doing bridge-building (and therefore Kingdom-building) work to hear what pricked their hearts to reach out to outsiders in our midst. It can be hard to know how to get started when all you feel is a heart tug, and so I have also asked today’s contributors to suggest helpful resources for those who are interested in the same groups of outsiders. You will notice that in all cases, there is some degree of intentionality required. It can be awkward interacting with a new person, regardless of their background. It can be difficult to know how to talk to someone from a different culture or religion. When Kevin first arrived in the US, long before we were interested in each other, he was suspicious of me greeting him at church. At the time, I was teaching ESL classes, and he assumed I was only befriending him so he would join my class. (English is his native language.) That was obviously not my intention, and we now laugh about how our signals were crossed. International adoption The Hommes Family shared their story about international and interracial adoption. Melanie told me more about what drew them to international adoption: When we decided to begin the adoption process we quickly decided on exploring adoption in China. We had a deep love for Japan and her people due, in large part, to Jim growing up there. It is now nearly impossible to adopt from Japan and so our thoughts turned to China. We knew that there were hundreds of children in China that needed homes and we had a home that was in need of children. After reading the book Lost Daughters of China by Karin Evans, we were more committed than ever to adopting our children from China. I would strongly recommend finding someone who has already walked this path to walk it with you. Having someone who has experienced it all can be so helpful in your journey through all of the paperwork, the interviews, the waiting, the changing rules of the country you are adopting from, the travel, and the welcoming of the adopted child into your family. I am willing to talk with anyone who is interested in this. I would also explore adoption websites and I highly recommend the agency that we used when adopting Jake: Chinese Children Adoption International (CCAI). After reading all of the online information, call and talk with people that work there. CCAI is so committed to assisting you with any question at any time. The owner also has an amazing testimony. Refugees in Pittsburgh Others are connecting with with refugees who have resettled in Pittsburgh. Mark and Emily Weaver are currently working to foster relationships with local refugee families. It is a process that can take some time due to how overwhelmed and understaffed many resettlement agencies currently are. Mark shares how they first started thinking about forming these relationships: We were both motivated to engage with local refugees after reading and listening to news stories that not only told the stories about the conflicts that are creating refugees but also how those refugees were integrating into the nation. I was particularly influenced by a story about how some Canadians were interacting and guiding refugees and some of the challenges that are included. We wanted to be a part of welcoming people to a new culture and nation; making that transition smoother. I think everyone should try to engage with the stories of refugees and feel that empathy for the stranger. There are many organizations, both Christian and otherwise, that people can seek out based upon their own passions. Employing refugees Daniel Essig owns a contracting business, Essig Renovation & Design, and has hired some refugees over the last year for fair wages. He describes his own experiences as a temporary sojourner, and how that changed his posture towards those who are permanently displaced from their homeland: My first interest in refugees/immigrants was sparked when I lived abroad for an extended period; I worked in Mexico for 3 months, and studied in Scotland for 4 months. Those experiences gave me at least a small glimpse of what it’s like to not know the language/customs of where you have set up home and what the implications are for earning a living and building community. Our community group attended a refugee informational panel discussion last year, which we found really helpful! After that meeting, Kate and I talked about what we could do to help these folks. It seemed clear to us we should consider what it could look like to hire refugees. Currently, I have 2 Somali refugees working for my company. I was able to do this by approaching the manager of a local refugee organization who was at that panel. He set up a meeting with a caseworker, who passed our name onto multiple caseworkers, who connected us directly with refugees who had construction backgrounds, or at least had a desire to learn construction. Mentoring refugees Joel Chan and Anna Yong have been connected to a refugee family as part of a mentorship program. Anna shares their motivations for getting involved: We became invested in getting involved with refugees because we felt broken about the global refugee crisis and we decided that we HAD to do something. We had been praying and donating money to organizations that serve refugees on the ground, but we wanted to do something more. Refugees were the subject of a lot of the discourse surrounding the past presidential election, and the debate over refugee policy is complex – and out of our hands since we cannot vote in the US. We felt that, regardless of policy, we were called to love those who are already here in Pittsburgh. Our family is volunteering with Hello Neighbor, a brand new mentorship program that matches people like you and me with refugees, in order to help them integrate and settle into their new lives here in Pittsburgh. People can also get involved (either by volunteering or donating goods) through one of the three resettlement agencies in Pittsburgh that are responsible for helping refugees in their first 90 days in the USA: Acculturation for Justice, Access and Peace Outreach (AJAPO), Jewish Family and Children's Services of Pittsburgh, and Northern Area Multi Service Center's Community Assistance and Refugee Resettlement (NAMS). There are countless ways to get involved. We are happy help you figure out where to start! These responses highlight some of the informal ways that members in our congregation have reached out to particular people groups. Some of the other blog contributors may not be able to publically share the group, organization, or NGO they are connected with for security reasons. I invite you to reach out to me, Kevin, or Matt, or even to the authors themselves to get more information on how to be involved in the work those contributors are doing. There are many more people in our church doing things like this than are listed here, and there are many more organizations in Pittsburgh connected to adoption, immigration, or refugee care than are listed here. For example, I spent a year volunteering with Greater Pittsburgh Literacy Council as an ESL tutor for a postdoc from Japan. One of City Reformed’s formal partnerships is with PRISM, a group that serves international students, visiting scholars, postdocs, and their families in a number of ways. Christa Saenz is the contact person for getting involved in that ministry. Some of our community groups serve at PRISM events once or twice a year. If you are feeling called to serve a people group, don’t let that interest fade in the face of uncertainty. If God is putting a call on your heart, have faith that He will also provide support for you to step out and serve. Pentecost Blog #35: What does true peacemaking look like? (Reflections from a naive journeyman)6/6/2017
By Joel Chan
I’ve always thought that I made a natural peacemaker. I enjoy thinking about things from different perspectives; it comes naturally to me. It also takes a lot to rattle me emotionally. I share these opinions about myself not to brag, but to give you a sense of (the naive) place from which I started in my thinking about peacemaking. I thought these qualities were sufficient for the job of a peacemaker. Critically, I thought peacemaking looked like people agreeing and compromising over differences of thought, and coming to a shared consensus of the world. I assumed that everyone recognized their limited perspectives, and were open to changing. I now know, in practice, how seldom these conditions are true, particularly for the kinds of contexts in which Christ calls us to be peacemakers. I’ve also (somewhat painfully) come to a deeper understanding of what true peacemaking looks like, what it demands of us, and how it actually happens. I’d like to share a bit more about these views, first by sharing the experiences that shaped them, then describing those views in a bit more detail, and finally reflecting a little on their implications for working together for God’s kingdom in the context of immigration policy. My experiences Over the last 6-8 months, I have in varying capacities attempted to bridge divisions between people with differing theological and political beliefs, specifically, gender roles and the issue of race-police relations. The divisions turned out to be painful: in some cases, it caused the people involved to lose respect for each other, and in other cases, it led to painful conversations about leaving the church over their differences. Both issues were enflamed by the events and conversations surrounding the recent Presidential election. I watched these divisions play out with a heavy heart, especially since I was very close to those most involved. So I set out to try and make peace. My goals were to 1) get each side to see their opponents as image-bearers, with views that were not as bad as they thought, and consequently 2) foster unity. My peacemaking attempts involved a range of activities, from extensive one-on-one conversations (online, in-person, and by email), group conversations, book discussions, and collaboratively planning and running an Agora Forum series on race and police relations. In the end, I wasn’t quite sure I had made a difference. I seemed to have achieved very little of my goals. For example, during the Agora series, I was heartened by the effort from both sides to attend and listen to each other. There were no blow-ups in person. However, I saw very little evidence that anyone had changed their positions, either intellectually or emotionally. Some of the people who were considering leaving the church ended up deciding to leave. Reflecting and praying over these experiences, and putting them in conversation with Scripture, I have come to see that peacemaking is harder and slower than I thought. True peacemaking is HARDER than I thought The phrase “the peace of God that passes all understanding” (Philippians 4:7) has taken on new meaning for me. I’ve come to believe that the church is a radical experiment in diversity that — by all accounts of what should be humanly possible — should fail. The only requirement for being in the church is a commitment to Christ: not cultural affiliation, socioeconomic status, or even denomination/theological tradition or political ideology. This means that Christians within the same church may (whether they know it or not) have very substantial differences on some of these dimensions. Sometimes these differences flare up into conflicts, and peacemaking becomes necessary. In these instances, the differences tend not to be simple differences of thought that are more easily resolved, or considered less essential to what it means to be a Christian (e.g., how much should we rely on liturgy in a worship service?). More often, the differences that divide us are theological and political beliefs that have deeper implications of values, for what we consider good vs. evil. Is it right that women are excluded from being elders? Should governments be able to decide that criminals should die? Is it right that there are racial disparities in treatment by the police? Are there any circumstances under which abortion is a morally acceptable action? Those are not beliefs that we hold lightly; and people who hold different beliefs are not just different, or even mistaken: we’re driven to see them as bad, as obstacles, or even outright threats to the Good. It was these sorts of differences that were at the root of the divisions in which I tried to make peace. In light of the nature of the differences at play, it’s not surprising that peace and unity in the church should be seen as a sign of God’s supernatural power at work. That’s why one of the key markers of true Christian community is that we actually love each other (John 13:34-35; 1 John 3:14). Yes, that includes the people we disagree with. The world will see our love and be amazed, asking “How can you be friends with him? How can you love her?” It’s not humanly possible: something Else must be going on. Blessed indeed, then, are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God (Matthew 5:9). It’s okay, then, perhaps even proper, that unity and peacemaking are experienced as hard. The gospel of Mark records how Jesus responded to James and John’s request to sit at his right hand with a gentle, yet sobering correction: “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or to be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?” (Mark 10:38). Jesus was referring to the cup that he asked to pass from him in the Garden of Gethsemane, overcome with a sense of the suffering that it contained. This tells us that the Way of the Cross is hard. It’s okay to experience it as hard; that doesn’t diminish it’s goodness, but may actually enhance it. If even Jesus was weighed down by the pain of servanthood, who are we to claim it is easy? That is comforting to me. It’s okay if I struggle with unity and peacemaking. It’s a sign I might be walking in the Way of the Cross. As a dear friend said to me when I was in the thick of trying to make peace, “If peacemaking feels really hard, that’s probably a sign that you’re aiming for the right kind of peacemaking”. True peacemaking is SLOWER than I thought I’ve also changed the way I think about what true peacemaking looks like. It’s slower. It may not look like much progress has been made. But if at the end of the day we walk away at least recognizing that the other is not to be completely shunned, maybe some progress has been made. The way God talks about his word bearing fruit is instructive: “For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it. (Isaiah 55:10-11) The imagery here is agricultural, and perhaps unfamiliar to many of us. There’s a reason people say that something is as boring as “watching grass grow”. Like other areas of spiritual growth, peacemaking is slow and often barely noticeable. We have to take the long view, and not prematurely declare victory or defeat. We must not despise small beginnings (Zechariah 4:10); His word will accomplish what He purposes. So what does “successful” peacemaking look like? As I mentioned, some of the people involved in the divisions ended up leaving the church. Were my peacemaking efforts a complete failure? I’m still reflecting on that one. How do we balance the reality of the depths of our differences and our brokenness, with the idealistic call to unity? Does unity mean we must remain in the same local church? Can we be in different local churches (like living in different neighborhoods), but still remain family, and work together for the Kingdom? Is that a cop-out? There is some Scriptural evidence that people separating into different local churches, but remaining in fellowship within the same Church universal is okay, or even part of God’s plan. I’m not 100% sure what the answers are, but I know this: the people who left could have left in a far more contentious manner than they did (and indeed many remain connected the people in our church in some form or another), and the relationships I formed and deepened during the process have been real, dear, and life-giving. I hold out hope that my peacemaking efforts may yet bear fruit that I cannot anticipate. And maybe there is goodness inherent in the act of peacemaking, regardless of end result. For example, were there fruits of the Spirit (e.g., peace, gentleness) that grew in me through this process? What does this mean for a Christian response to immigration (policy)?Let me close by trying to connect these thoughts to the main content of this blog series. I suppose this is what makes my experiences relevant to the current blog: as we reflect on the practical outworkings of Christian perspectives on immigration, we are faced with the hard task of not simply discussing and resolving differences in opinion, but differences in deeply held values of safety/prudence and sacrificial love. It seems impossible at times, but this task is an important prerequisite for shared action. Peacemaking, then, is an essential component of a practical response to our conversation about immigration policy. I hope that my thoughts about what true peacemaking looks like will be helpful to some of you as you press into these conversations with your fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, with whom you disagree. Let us “not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up” (Galatians 6:9). By Dr. Ken Woo
MK: This post is from Dr. Ken Woo. Ken is a Calvin scholar who teaches history at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. Ken is an ordained minister, affiliated with the RCA. He and his family attend City Reformed. I had the privilege of talking with Ken about the influence of Calvin’s refugee experience on his own writing. Ken was gracious to write this post as a contribution to the blog. During this final week we are considering how we may be called to respond to things discussed in this blog. In this post, Ken draws from the experience of John Calvin to show that his refugee experience produced deep theological reflections. This is something that we should all seek to emulate. “Earnest believers don’t always get what they want, but rather experience all kinds of pain because they left their country. Let such people be consoled with a single thought: 'Nevertheless, we are still in the house of God.'" Readers of this blog might be surprised to learn that these words of comfort for immigrants and refugees, so timely in our present context, were spoken nearly five hundred years ago by none other than John Calvin (1509-1564). In this 1549 sermon on Psalm 27, the Genevan reformer held forth the importance of gathering to receive spiritual provision available only through the church’s ministry of preaching and sacraments, even if this means leaving places where such worship according to God’s design is not possible. Evangelicals across Europe made this choice, fleeing harassment and even the threat of death for their faith commitments. Many sought refuge in Calvin’s Geneva. Some came with their families. Others left family behind, along with property, livelihood, and social standing. A good number came from Calvin’s native France. These included the wealthy, who quickly transformed Geneva’s social elite. A significant group also came in poverty, representing a different kind of burden for their new city. Calvin’s congregation was mixed, comprised of native Genevans and an expanding throng of outsiders whose presence was not always welcome. He addressed Christians experiencing a sense of loss and displacement as the result of persecution, as well as those whose lives had been disrupted by the mass influx of foreigners. Nobody felt at home. As their pastor, Calvin offered this shared consolation: Our true belonging is with Christ, who nurtures us during our lifelong pilgrimage through a world in which we reside as perpetual strangers and aliens. Gathering as a community of sojourners, the church in worship enters the “house of God” in exile, a foretaste of home for weary pilgrims. Calvin’s message was personal. He lived most of his adult life as a religious refugee, having left France for good in 1536 after embracing the Protestant faith considered heresy in his Catholic homeland. The Frenchman’s tenure in Geneva was an uneasy relationship for both. City officials banished him for three years over differences regarding church discipline and sacraments. Calvin clashed frequently with powerful members of the city’s native families who did not appreciate his reforms. That many of Geneva’s pastors were exiles from France did not assuage tensions. Calvin and his colleagues epitomized how foreigners were threatening old ways of life. Though he would gain increasing acceptance and influence over nearly three decades, one wonders if Calvin ever truly felt at home in a city that did not award him citizenship until 1559, just five years before his death. The reformer pastored immigrants and refugees as a fellow exile. The Reformation scholar Heiko Oberman has suggested that Calvin’s theology was influenced by his situation as a religious refugee writing for refugee communities across Europe shaped by persecution and flight. Read in light of this context, Calvin’s familiar reflections on topics such as divine providence and election, the church, and the Lord’s Supper exhibit dimensions easily overlooked. To pilgrims who often feel only the sting of displacement, the reformer supplies a robust account of the Christian’s lasting home. Word and sacrament are manna in the wilderness, extended to the spiritually hungry through the church’s ministry. In such means of grace, God “has ordained a way for us, though still far off, to come near to him” (Calvin, Institutes, I.4.1). Regardless of their present circumstances, the gospel invites believers into a deeper sense of belonging and hope in union with Christ: “Nevertheless, we are still in the house of God.” 2017 marks the 500th anniversary of Martin Luther’s Ninety-Five Theses, widely associated with the beginning of the Reformation. As the church considers the complexities of welcoming immigrants, refugees, and political exiles today, Calvin could become a valuable conversation partner from another era rife with religious violence and mass migration. Oberman observes, “The fast-food of the neo-Calvinist Geneva-burger could not have met the needs of Calvin’s contemporaries and fellow-trekkers nor could it have provided the power for Calvin’s movement to survive to our own day” (John Calvin and the Reformation of the Refugees, 2009). Have we risked a distorted view of Calvin’s theology detached from the realities that informed it? Reading Calvin with his original context in mind may open connections between his situation and ours that are both surprising and fruitful. Good places to begin include the following resources.
By Rev. Matt Koerber
We plan to conclude our blog by spending the final week thinking about application. We have addressed some challenging problems and we have heard some amazing stories. I hope that some readers are asking the question: “How do we respond?” Over this next week we will hear from people who have reflected on that question. At the end of the week I will try to present some ideas related to immigration policy. For today’s post, I am going to go slightly off topic and advertise an event that is happening Monday, June 6th, from 7:00-9:00pm at the City Reformed Church office. While it does not relate directly to immigration, it connects strongly to our theme verse. When we think about “all of the nations streaming to the mountain of the Lord,” it is impossible for Americans to ignore our own racial history. At this event – part of the “Agora Forum” series – we will watch and discuss one of the most intriguing documentaries that I have ever seen. “Accidental Courtesy” is a documentary from Independent Lens (PBS), which follows the story of a truly remarkable man. Subtitled “Daryl Davis, Race and America” it explores the life and mission of an African American musician who has a history of forming friendships with the most unlikely people. He forms friendships with members of the Ku Klux Klan. As a result of these relationships, dozens of people have left the Klan and other white supremacist groups. Daryl Davis was driven by a simple question: “How can you hate me, if you don’t even know me?” He had traveled the world as an adolescent and had learned to relate to people of many different cultural backgrounds. Returning to the United States, he was surprised by the overt racism that endured. His adventures started accidentally, when he was playing country music at a bar in the South. He met someone from the audience who liked his music and as they talked over a beer the man sheepishly revealed that he was a member of the Klan. Undeterred, Eric pressed in. He asked questions and refused to back away. Then something extraordinary happened. The Klansman asked to see him the next time he was in town. Something had changed. He began to see Daryl as a friend. When he left the Klan he gave his Klansman robes to Daryl. The story was repeated in different ways in different places. Not everyone that Daryl talked with changed their mind. Not everyone thought of him as a friend. But his pursuit of friendship with members of the Klan is one of the strongest depictions of “loving your enemy” that I have ever seen. I found his courage to be inspirational and I was moved by the power of his compassion. A trailer for the documentary can be viewed here: http://accidentalcourtesy.com/. The full documentary is available on Netflix. It can also be purchased through PBS (Independent Lens.) On Monday night, we will watch (part of) the documentary. I am delighted to say that my friend, Eddie Jones will help to lead the discussion. Eddie is a pastor at Eternal City Church in Wilkinsburg – an intentionally multiracial congregation affiliated with the Acts 29 network. Eddie has been a wonderful conversation partner for me. He is man of great spiritual insights who is deeply committed to building bridges across social divides. I hope that you can join us, but if not… please check out the documentary. Editor's note: the author's name has been removed from this post.
From a young age, I felt called to serve overseas in places where there is no Gospel witness. I grew up reading biographies of missionaries, and met many workers my church supported. As I grew in my faith, I learned that God made and loves all people. Scripture from beginning to end shows God’s heart for all nations, desiring that people from every people group would come to know Him and worship Him. God’s intent has always been for His people to be a city on a hill, a light shining in the darkness. He told Abraham that in him all the families of the earth would be blessed. The Psalms and Prophets are full of passages showing God’s love for the nations. Jesus commanded his disciples to go and make disciples of all nations. Revelation shows beautiful imagery of the throne of God surrounded by people from every tribe, tongue, and nation. As I looked at the places that seemed to have the greatest need, I was drawn toward Muslim areas. Millions of Muslims live and die having never met a Christian or hearing the Good News. Through college, God grew in me an interest in the Middle East, and following a trip to Jordan, I felt this confirmed. My mission I work for a Christian organization (I can't reveal the name for security purposes) that seeks to help Muslims follow Jesus. Its vision is to see the Gospel take root, grow, and multiply in Muslim communities, by coming alongside Muslims to share the Gospel, serve them in practical ways, and disciple them to follow Jesus. I am part of a team working to launch environmental businesses in places with little or no access to the Gospel and jobs, beginning in North Africa. With a holistic view of mission, we are seeking to live out the Biblical mandates given to us as followers of Jesus. Having a mandate to care for and be stewards of the earth, we believe that we all have a responsibility and a role to play. From the beginning of the Biblical narrative in Genesis all the way through to Jesus’ teachings, we see a clear theme of stewardship. The gifts God has given us are never for ourselves, but are always intended to flow outwards in blessing to others. We are commanded to love our neighbor as ourselves. Further, we see in Scripture that we are created to work. Our work has been subjected to the curse, and thus we experience frustration and futility, though work is good nonetheless. Being able to provide jobs for those without opportunities allows us to love and bless our Muslim neighbors and help restore dignity. Business also provides a natural way to enter countries and contexts in which Christians might not otherwise have access genuinely and without pretense. Once we have entered those contexts, we can start building relationships. We’re currently in the research phase of our project, and are looking to take an initial trip to the place we will be serving in early 2018, then launch our project and actually move overseas later that year. Concurrently, we continue our mission to our Muslim neighbors here in Pittsburgh, as we work with the Somali Bantu, coming alongside them as we seek to love them unconditionally and serve them practically. In the context of deep, authentic friendships that we have formed with them, we work closely with the leadership of their community to identify their real and felt needs, and assist them in meeting those needs. This plays out in a variety of ways, including assisting in the development of a non-profit community organization, connecting them with practical resources such as beds, furniture, and clothing, teaching conversational English in their homes, and helping them create a for-profit urban farming venture. They’ve come to trust us at a level that often can take years, and we’ve seen God open doors, provide, and answer our prayers. Muslims in the US & beyond In their journeys to Pittsburgh, my Somali Bantu friends have experienced deep hardship and pain beyond what I can imagine, and yet they maintain joy and show a resiliency that is an inspiration to me. In Pittsburgh, they still face bullying, misunderstanding, and persecution. Their kids have been bullied downtown on their way to school. I had a friend tell me about a man who verbally attacked her at a bus stop while she waited with her kids. After a member of their community was targeted and killed, one friend’s children begged her to take them back to Somalia, a country they have never known. My Muslim friends will tell you that terrorists are not real Muslims, often pointing to a verse in the Quran saying that killing one person is like killing all of humanity. We should not forget that today, all across the world, we see people of all creeds (both religious and secular) commit terrible acts in the name of their “beliefs”. We should also not forget that the vast majority of the victims of terrorist bombings are Muslims. While extremism exists in the Muslim community, the vast majority of Muslims are peaceful people. They’re our neighbors, classmates, coworkers, and friends. They’re trying to practice their faith and build a life for themselves and their families. Their faith looks different than Christian faith, and the women may have their heads covered, but we are more similar than you might imagine. For those in the US, they find themselves in a context where they often feel unwanted and unwelcome. For my Somali Bantu friends, the refugees trying to enter the US are people like them, and in many cases are their sons and daughters, brothers and sisters. Having had the opportunity to interact and befriend Muslims in different places throughout the years, I’ve found that Muslims tend to be some of the kindest and most hospitable people I’ve met, while being people like you and me with hopes and dreams for the future and their families. Just as most Christians have never met a Muslim, most Muslims have never met a Christian. MK: Originally from Pittsburgh, Sarah teaches English in Iraq through an NGO. Her Christian faith compels her to cross boundaries and serve the people of Northern Iraq. When the presidential travel ban prompted international outcries and anger against Americans abroad, Sarah wrote a particularly insightful post. I have republished it here with her permission. These three short posts offer a window into her world.
January 28: Christians, why do we idolize the illusion of safety for our temporal time on earth over the potential guarantee of eternal security for another person? Have we drifted so far from the legacy of Jim Elliot? January 30, 2017: Today, driving home from school, The World's Greatest Taxi Driver* got quiet for a minute and said, “Sarah. Please be careful today and this week. Things are very strange right now with America. If anything happens, I will call you and come get you and Susanna and take you to my village.” What he didn’t say, but what I know to be true, is that he would also drive us 5 hours to the Turkish border at great personal risk to himself, to get us out of the country. And if it came down to it, I know that he would actually die for us. He is a Muslim from Iraq. The last few days have communicated to the community that I love and have made a home in that they, as individuals and collectively, are inherently suspect because of who they inherently are. When our fears over possible outcomes that are never going to be 100% preventable rule our hearts and minds, not only do we not win, but everyone loses. Americans, Syrians, Iraqis, Somalis, Yemenis, Iranians, Sudanese, Libyans, and the whole wide world. The whole world loses when we turn whole people groups into the boogeyman. Christians, do we really have such a poverty of trust in our Lord? Iraqis are not all angels. But nor are they all devils. They are varied and a very complicated collection of individuals of numerous tribes, ethnicities and religions bound together by geography (and a fierce love of chicken and rice). And each individual is just as fallen as I am, and just as loved by God. So, please, when you are obsessed with your own illusion of keeping your country safe from Muslims, know that there is a Muslim who has told these Christians that he would keep us safe. And he is not the only one. (*Sarah introduced the “World’s Greatest Taxi Driver” in an earlier post.) April 6, 2017: For the last few years the mud swallows have returned to this nest outside our door each spring. Because it is messy and the birds are so loud, the nest was removed last week, just as the birds came back. But we were so sad about it. It seemed like one more small loss in a part of the world where there are so many large losses. A few days later, the swallows began to rebuild it in earnest. And an unknown neighbor left a note asking people to not destroy the nest. There are so many horrible and sad things that are happening in the world right now. And birds rebuilding nests do not give refugees homes or bring children dead in chemical attacks back from the grave. But there is a promise I am clinging to that there are no more tears at the end of all things. And that the Lord Christ is reigning over all. And sometimes I am reminded of that in birds and mud and notes from neighbors. Come, Lord Jesus. By Rev. Matt Koerber
I met Ashur* when I visited Iraq five years ago. He is friendly and quick to make newcomers feel welcome. We were almost complete strangers when he invited me to his house for dinner with his family. I am thankful that we could stay in touch (mostly through mutual friends). Ashur is part of a minority ethnic group in Iraq that is historically Christian. He lives in the United States now and hopes to work for the US Army. I initially interviewed him about what it was like to be a refugee, but we talked so much about the complexities of being a Christian in a Muslim majority country that it made sense to publish the interview this week. When I called Ashur to ask if I could interview him for the blog he responded with characteristic enthusiasm. He assured me, “I’m gonna answer with the only truth that I know. Be prepared!” He is quick to smile and invite you into his confidence. The outwardly friendly persona can initially hide the fact that he has had a very difficult life. “My family was born in Baghdad, but because of being Christian you cannot stay at the same place for all of your life. It depends on the political situation, and your religion can affect the place where you live. My father and mother grew up in Mosul, which is the ancient city of Nineveh. My father was an engineer and worked for a private company outside of Baghdad. After his work project ended, we moved back to Mosul where he lived with family. At that time the government started to harass people who were not part of Saddam’s Baath (political) party.” Ashur loves the history of Iraq and used the occasion to launch into a discussion about the social fabric of the region. He continued, “The thing that you need to understand is that in Iraq there are inhabitants from different ethnic groups: Arabs, Kurds, Assyrians, and Izidis. In all of the cities of Iraq, you can find Christians. They were there before the Arabs.” I knew from my brief visit to Iraq that in that part of the world there is no distinction between religion and ethnicity. To be Kurdish or Arabic is to be a Muslim. And to be Assyrian or Chaldean is to be a Christian. One Iraqi friend once told me that he spoke “the Christian language.” What he meant was that he spoke Assyrian. But that is how people talk about it. It is how they think about the entwined nature of religion and ethnicity. Most of the Assyrians have connections to the Orthodox Church. It is the part of the world close to where the Biblical adventures of Jonah and Daniel occurred, and where some of the earliest Christian monasteries and chapels were built. Not far from where Ashur lived, was the hometown of the prophet Nahum. For years, the local Jewish community had maintained what they believed to be his tomb. However, the Jewish inhabitants of Iraq have mostly been driven from the area and now the ancient synagogue housing Nahum’s grave lies in ruins. Ashur is proud of his people’s history and eager to share its importance. “The language of our people is called Assyrian, but it is – as far as I know – very similar to the Aramaic which Jesus would have spoken,” he told me. In a world dominated by Arabic, it is often hard to keep the language in use. He continued, “Growing up, the only place that I retained my language was in church. Some people go to church to be religious, but many go to retain their language.” I asked him what it was like to grow up as a Christian in Iraq. “I grew up in a Catholic school in Nineveh. It was a very good school, and at that time in the 80’s many rich and politically important families sent their kids to these schools. They believed it was the best education… But there were challenges for my family – my father couldn’t find a job. Being a Christian and not having family connections made it really hard. It is not like in America where you just apply for a job. You have to know someone. My uncle was part of an opposition party, which was under government investigation. That made it even harder for my father. They took him to the police station to be interrogated. They wanted him to be an informer, but he refused. The police told my father, ‘as long as Saddam lives you will go hungry.’ After that, the only jobs he could get were under the table.” But political and religious ties are not the only relationships which mattered in Iraq. Their Muslims neighbors felt a responsibility to help out. In spite of ethnic and religious differences, members of the community reached out. This is the complex web of life in the Middle East. “Our neighbors would help us to get a job (with under the table pay). The Arab neighbors had connections,” Ashur said. This is another difference between the Middle East and America; “In Iraq, neighbors see each other in their gardens and greet each other. We will invite each other to eat. Connections are more strong there.” But as the political situation grew more tense, life got even more difficult for Ashur’s family. “They took my father for 40 days in the late 1980’s. He was tortured and then released. After 1991 (and the First Gulf War), it started to get really dangerous for Christians of Syrian origin. (Other Christians from different tribes were not persecuted.) Then, my family moved to the Kurdish region, to the city of Zakho. After ‘91 they started to declare their own government in the Kurdish region. In those days there were only a couple of hundred families in Zakho. Now it is a bigger city.” I asked him how things were different in Zakho. He told me, “In Zakho, it was a very different story. These people were Kurds. They still live with a tribal mentality. They are not radical Muslims.” I know from experience that the Kurds have a strong sense of ethnic identity. They have been persecuted by many Arab groups over the years and are generally very tolerant. They had felt the heavy hand of Saddam. There are museums which enshrine the memory of Kurdish civilians killed in a gas attack by Saddam’s army. In my experience, the Kurds were delighted by the outcome of the Second Gulf War as it solidified their semi-autonomous position and further shielded them from the attacks of their neighbors. To this day, the question of Kurdish independence haunts all geopolitical debates in the region. Ashur told me how things again changed after the Second Gulf War. He said that Kurdistan (the informal name for the Kurdish region of Iraq) was quick to embrace the Americans and they began to see job growth. After finishing college, Ashur began to work for the US Army as a translator. He spent 2 years in Mosul and after the occupation returned to Kurdistan where he began to teach at an English language school. But while things were looking up for Kurdistan, things were getting harder for Ashur in his personal life. After his father died from cancer, Ashur felt the burden of caring for his family. He decided that his best opportunity for work was to try to emigrate to the United States. There is a special immigration visa for people who had worked in the army and who were experiencing persecution. Ashur applied for the visa and came to the U.S. in 2014, where he lived for a time with his former army captain. He struggled to find a job and after a traumatic bout of appendicitis he returned to Iraq. Back in Iraq, his options grew dim and hope faded. Ashur began to despair of life itself. In the depth of despair, Ashur encountered his faith in a new and vibrant way. “When I was young, my family went to church. I always had a feeling that God was with me. But I didn’t know Jesus until my father died. I knew him in my head, but not his presence. Because we lived in a Muslim society – where they don’t believe in the Trinity – there were times in my life that I did not really want to pray to Jesus. But he touched me and changed my life. At my lowest point, I was sitting on the roof of a building looking off the edge of the third story. I honestly began to think about jumping. But Jesus met me in that place. I felt as if he grabbed me. I knew that he was real. And everything good happened after that.” After that crisis point, Ashur made a personal commitment to read the Bible every day. In the midst of great personal turmoil he has kept that commitment and found it to be a source of spiritual life. He returned to America where he stayed with a friend that he knew from Iraq. He has worked hard in a variety of low paying jobs but has finally been received into an army training program and the promise of a solid career. I asked him to reflect on the complexities of his life in Iraq. He told me, “I love my Kurdish neighbors.” But he was also wary of the wide range of interactions that were possible. “There is a spectrum of ways that my Muslim neighbors might interact with me. Since Saddam fell, Kurdistan has become more religiously observant. Some people can start off friendly – religiously moderate – and then they change. Some people get drawn towards radicalization. There are a lot of signals that help me determine if a person is safe. How they dress, how they talk to women. Ashur expressed concerns about processes that shifted some people towards radicalization. Often, people who feel like they have few options and little hope can be easily swayed. He has concerns about what might be taught in a particular mosque and expressed a belief that some housed recruiters for more radical expressions of Islam. He described his perception of how this might play out. “There are people that you know in the community that will disappear for a period of time. You know that they are doing something wrong. Someone came to him and recruited him to do something violent. Poverty is a big factor. A lot of these people who are poor are the ones who disappear.” The varied experiences that Ashur has with Islam are not easily reconciled. On one hand, he summarized the experience of Christians in the Middle East as being very difficult. “If you are a Christian, you are still a second-level citizen.” On the other hand, he is thankful for the hospitality of many Muslim neighbors and misses the communal nature of Middle-Eastern life. Perhaps it would be best summarized by an observation he made about daily life back in Iraq. “You have to take each person one by one,” he said. “You have to get to know people.” *Ashur’s name and personal information have been changed for the safety of his family still in Iraq. By Kevin
This is the most difficult piece I have had to write for this blog. I have split it into two halves. In yesterday’s post, I wrote about the experience of growing up in an Islamic country. Today, I will write about growing up as a Christian amongst Muslims. I hope to distinguish between Islam as a system on one hand, and Muslims as individuals on the other. While the relationship between the two is complex, it is my belief that we too easily conflate the two. If there are things in one of these posts that conflict with your views, I ask for your patience, and suggest that you read the other half. There are things about the Malaysian Islamic authorities and government that I have purposefully left out, because even expressing the views I have may put my family and friends back in Malaysia under scrutiny and at risk. You may notice, in addition, that we have removed my last name from the blog to protect my family’s identity. My wife invites you to share a drink with me if you want to hear more. My views of Islam as a system (discussed in my last post) have evolved since I was a child, for two reasons. First, my perspective is informed by having inhabited multiple cultures, something I gained from having lived in the West in more recent years. Second, I believe the increasing Islamization of Malaysia has sped up – it is a much bigger factor now than it was when I was growing up. But deeper than those views, and more impervious to time, has been the deep affection for individual Muslims borne out of first-hand experiences I have shared with them while growing up. My deepest affinities for Muslims got rooted deep within me before the present wave of Islamization hit Malaysia. It takes a village I grew up in a racially (and consequently, a religiously) diverse neighborhood. The Muslim Mak Ciks (literally, Sister-Mothers; the Malay equivalent for Aunty. In Malaysia, every adult acquaintance is an Uncle or Aunty) helped raise me. My parents tell me that when I was a baby, our Muslim next-door neighbor would rub my belly with an herbal ointment if I was crying to help me sleep. A different Mak Cik would walk me home from school when my parents needed someone to get me. The Mak Cik across the street was my third grade math teacher. When any of my family were sick (especially my dad, who had long bouts with cancer), they would be ready to drive us to the hospital or provide meals if we needed. Last summer, many of them came to my wedding reception in Malaysia and shared in our joy, generously giving us traditional Malay gifts of glassware and linens. Every Eid al-Fitr (the festival marking the end of Ramadan), there were at least 4 or 5 Muslim neighbors I would be expected to visit and share a meal with. Sometimes, there would be so many invitations my family would have to strategically send me to some on my own. I would be welcomed like a nephew. These families would show up at my family’s home at Christmas. When I moved to the US, I found the relatively insular family celebrations of holidays an oddity. The Muslims I grew up amongst embodied what it meant to be a good neighbor. They loved me, a Christian, as themselves. This did not change even as the public sphere in Malaysia faced the pressures of Islamization. While Islamist leaders and politicians in Malaysia have warned Muslims against sharing in the religious celebrations of non-Muslims (for fear of tarnishing their faith), our neighbors seem to view sharing life with us as central to their faith, even if (maybe especially because) we are not Muslim ourselves. When I visit home, I meet these Muslim Uncles and Aunties. We reminisce and catch up, and they are proud of me and how my life has gone, as Uncles and Aunts are with their own nephews and nieces. On our last trip, several of them had the chance to meet Evelyn. They welcomed her into the neighborhood, unconcerned with her otherness. One Mak Cik handmade and delivered her special chicken pot pie for us to eat on Christmas Day, even though she was weak from her own cancer battle. Muslim brothers I attended a public school in Malaysia, with a racially and religiously diverse student body. I am ethnically Chinese, while almost all Muslims are ethnically Malay. Friendships across religious and ethnic lines were common as I grew up, but are becoming less common with Malaysia’s creeping Islamization polarizing people and sowing seeds of suspicion and fear. I weep for future generations of Malaysians who may never know the deep friendships I have shared with my Muslim friends. These are people I have played countless hours of soccer with, shared meals with, and even talked about my faith with. In a country where sharing one’s faith with Muslims is illegal, the likeliest way they will encounter the Gospel is through friendships with Christians. In turn, I have learned much about Islam through my friendships with them. Friendship made us willing to listen to each other. I don’t know if any of my Muslim friends will ever come to believe in the God revealed in Jesus the way I do. I don’t know how any of our conversations will have affected their beliefs. But I think these friendships still matter because they are not merely means to an end of conversion. There have been periods of racial violence in Malaysia’s past, primarily between the Malay Muslims and the ethnic Chinese. I have no doubt that many of my Muslim friends would have given their lives to protect me, a non-Muslim, if violence of that sort were to return to Malaysia. Would I, a Christian, lay my life down for them? It’s a question I have asked myself this past week. Love thy neighbor Why have I told you about these friendships? I view these friendships as forms of resistance against the fear and resentment that can fester between different communities (particularly between non-Muslims and Muslims). I view them as the means by which Christians love their neighbors as themselves. In my last years in Malaysia before moving to the US, this became more difficult. The creeping Islamization made it harder to distinguish between the system of Islam that I grew fearful of on one hand, with the Muslim friends I knew and loved on the other. I began to wonder if my Muslim friends even recognized the erosion of religious freedom that I felt due to the actions of an Islamist-leaning government. Though our friendships went deep, it was hard to resist being conditioned to fear Muslims – had they become my enemies? I will never know how I could or should have overcome my fear in order to move towards them. My increasing awareness of the effects of Islamization in Malaysia should not have made me fear; it should have driven me to deeper compassion and friendships with them. It is easy to demonize and fear a group when we do not have friendships with individuals from that group. Even with the personal knowledge I have of my Muslim friends, this fear is hard to shake. How much greater is the fear when it is bolstered by a lack of knowing individual Muslims? Does our fear prevent us from seeing individual Muslims as the image-bearers they are? Does this fear prevent us from moving towards the Muslims in our neighborhoods with open arms and friendship? Are we more concerned with our own safety than the safety of refugees and displaced peoples from Islamic countries? In my last post, I suggested that an awareness of Islam as a system was necessary for informing our engagement with Muslims: we need to be aware of how it can influence individual Muslims. However, no knowledge or perspective about this system changes the call to love them as neighbors, even at great personal cost. I’m convinced that our Muslim neighbors here in the US need the friendship of the church. This friendship may be uncomfortable. In addition to crossing cultural barriers, some may worry that befriending Muslims may imply a tacit endorsement of Islam as a system. To this, I would say two things. First, we cannot properly understand Islam as a system separate from individual Muslims. Second, if we place preconditions on our love for others, we fail to understand the power of the Gospel. In fact, this friendship may be costly. I can attest to how much it costs the Malaysian church to love Muslims. Even if the system and structure of Islam in Malaysia exerts great power against the church, the church is not exempt from loving its neighbors, some of whom may in fact be enemies. I believe the same call of Jesus to lay down our lives applies to us in the US, for we are part of the same church he has called. By Kevin
This is the most difficult piece I have had to write for this blog. I have split it into two halves. In today’s post, I write about the experience of growing up in an Islamic country. Tomorrow, I will write about growing up as a Christian amongst Muslims. I hope to distinguish between Islam as a system on one hand, and Muslims as individuals on the other. While the relationship between the two is complex, it is my belief that we too easily conflate the two. If there are things in one of these posts that conflict with your views, I ask for your patience, and suggest that you read the other half. There are things about the Malaysian Islamic authorities and government that I have purposefully left out, because even expressing the views I have may put my family and friends back in Malaysia under scrutiny and at risk. You may notice, in addition, that we have removed my last name from the blog to protect my family’s identity. My wife invites you to share a drink with me if you want to hear more. I’m woken up at 5:39 a.m. by the local mosque’s muezzin (the person appointed to read public prayers) reciting the Adhan. Every neighborhood in Malaysia has several mosques, and each broadcasts its prayers via loudspeakers. Allāhu akbar (God is great), they begin each morning, heard by all. The nation’s Muslims (who are mostly ethnic-Malay and make up over 60% of the population) are called to begin their day in prayer. The non-Muslims (consisting mostly of ethnic Indian and Chinese Malaysians) are woken up with them, even if they are not called to the same prayers. Life in Malaysia is punctuated and driven by the rhythms of Islam. It has been this way for generations. Malaysia is a former British colony. When (then) British-Malaya gained independence in 1957, the nascent constitution left the country with a mixed religious identity. Freedom of religion is a right, but only for non-Muslims, as proselytizing Muslims is against the law. In addition, Muslims cannot renounce their faith without incurring consequences from the state. Due to the large number of Muslims and Islam’s historical roots in the region, Islam has always had a strong influence on public life. Growing up, I took Islam’s influence as a fact of life. Some of it was positive; we got many more days off school due to various Islamic holidays. Some of it was common sense; during the holy month of Ramadan when Muslims fast during the day, non-Muslims were told to eat discreetly. To me, this was simply being a good neighbor. Some of it seemed necessary due to the population’s composition; various jobs and positions in society, particularly within the government, were out of reach for non-Muslims (e.g. in 9 of Malaysia’s 13 states, the state government’s head must be a Muslim, by law). For the most part, I grew up loving my country’s social fabric. Muslims were just another community of faith worshipping alongside Buddhists, Hindus, Sikhs, and Christians. It wasn’t merely coexistence; the diversity enriched our culture. I grew up joining neighbors and friends celebrating their religious holidays. Celebrating Eid al-Fitr (the festival marking the end of Ramadan) at my friends’ homes – and having them over to celebrate Christmas at mine – remains a precious memory. Malaysia has long boasted of its cultural diversity and harmony. Over the past 20 years, there has been a gradual shift in how Islam’s influence in Malaysian public life was expressed. The public sphere in Malaysia is increasingly controlled by Islamists: Muslims who believe that Islamic principles should dictate legal, public, and political activity within a state.* While “revolutionary” Islamists may use violence to achieve this, those in Malaysia consist mainly of “reformist” Islamists who seek to Islamize the nation using democratically gained political power. The historical reasons for the creeping Islamization are complex.** In its simplest form, it has been driven by Islamist groups and individuals courting a Muslim-majority electorate by promising to secure Islam’s position of power within the country. This has taken on multiple forms. For non-Muslims, there has been increased scrutiny and (dare I say it) persecution. Here are some examples:
The Islamists involved in some of the examples above may be individual Muslims, but I am concerned mainly with their use of Islam as a system to wield power over non-Muslims in the public sphere. However, the same system and power can be used on Muslims. It is vital to recognize that Muslims are a diverse group, many of whom do not seek to wield power in the service of Islam as a system (as Islamists do). As challenging as things have become for non-Muslims, I believe the creeping Islamization in Malaysia has oppressed my Muslim neighbors most of all. Some examples:
Understanding and engaging with Islam is extremely complex. My experience and history in Malaysia enables me to make the distinction between Islam as a system and Muslims as individuals. This allows me to see that it is not a matter of Us vs. Them, because Christians are not the only ones who face difficulties within a Muslim-dominated society; Muslims are often severely oppressed, and stopped from hearing the Gospel. How can we serve these people in need if we do not see them as individuals? At the same time, I do not believe we will be equipped to engage with and serve them if we do not recognize that Muslims in Muslim-dominated societies are often embedded within a system of Islam influences the way they think about and practice their faith. Here in the US, many barriers have been removed (e.g. there is no law prohibiting sharing our faith with Muslims), and Islam as a system does not have the same power in the public sphere. Engaging with Muslims demands wisdom to discern how each individual Muslim relates to Islam as a system. But more than anything else, it requires us to see Muslims as neighbors we are called to love. Here in the US, I am not woken up by the Adhan. Some mornings, I wake up half-expecting to hear it. I sometimes miss it, along with the Muslim friends I have left behind in Malaysia. * I make no claims about whether it is due to a particular (correct or incorrect) interpretation of Islam’s teachings (as Matt Koerber said, only Muslims are in a position to judge what constitutes “true Islam”). I am simply describing what is observable: that these groups and individuals have sought political power with the stated goal of securing Islam’s influence over society (and by extension, securing the security of Muslims). ** See Islamization in Malaysia: processes and dynamics by Abbott and Gregorios-Pippas (2010) for a comprehensive analysis of the historical factors that led to this. *** Allah is simply the generic Arabic word for God, which has been used by followers of all the Abrahamic faiths for centuries. By Rev. Matt Koerber
We had anticipated from the beginning that the fifth week of the blog would be its most challenging. We reserved this week for a discussion on “Engaging with Islam.” After a one week break from the blog, we returned to find that the topic is more challenging than ever. The newspaper headlines remind us that this topic is relevant for all of the wrong reasons. On Monday, May 22, a suicide bomber killed 22 civilians at a concert in Manchester, England. The bomber had been reported to the authorities as a suspected terrorist when he previously expressed the views that "he was supporting terrorism" and "being a suicide bomber was okay". The Islamic State (ISIS) has claimed responsibility for the attack, but the truth is unclear. The alleged bomber was a British citizen, born in England to Libyan parents who came to the country as refugees. Classmates reported that he had become increasingly religious and that he had traveled to Libya on several occasions. At some point, he became radicalized. On Friday, May 26, ISIS gunmen attacked a tour bus full of Coptic Christians, leaving 29 dead. Coptic Christians represent about 10% of Egypt’s population and have been targeted for violent persecution with increasing regularity during recent years. To quote a director from human rights group Amnesty International, “This terrifying wave of attacks has seen Coptic Christians in North Sinai hunted down and murdered by armed groups. No one should face discrimination – let alone violent and deadly attacks – because of their religious beliefs.” These particular incidents are part of an ongoing trend of violence associated with Islam. Many Muslims condemn such attacks, but the backlash can make life difficult for Muslims living in the West. For example, the Manchester police reported a spike in threats against Muslims in their community after Monday’s bombing. Also on Friday, May 26, in Portland, Oregon, two men were killed while defending a Muslim woman wearing a headscarf. It appears that the attacks may have been motivated by animosity towards the religion of the two Muslim women. (It is unclear whether the attacker was mentally competent.) Closer to home, personal friends of mine have expressed the increasing difficulties that they experience as Muslims living in Pittsburgh. These challenges are particularly relevant to our political dialogue about refugees. This past Fall, there were heightened concerns about Syrian refugees being resettled in the United States because many of the refugees are Muslims. As a candidate, Donald Trump highlighted the fears of some Americans when he called for a ban on Muslims entering the country. Since becoming President, his executive order travel bans have created controversy and legal uncertainties. Beneath the challenging questions of political policy lie more important questions, ones that strike close to the central purpose of this blog. How should Christians think about Islam and Muslims? How should this affect our views on refugees and immigration?Over the course of the next week, we will include a number of different voices from people who are deeply involved in this issue. But for both Kevin and me, this topic is deeply personal. I have been privileged to travel to both Iraq and Turkey, and last summer my family and I spent two months working with Middle-eastern refugees in Athens, Greece. I have close friendships with many Muslims and I am privileged to have many Muslim neighbors. But the situation is even more personal for Kevin. His home country of Malaysia is predominantly Muslim. He knows first hand the challenges of living as a religious minority in an Islamic country while also enjoying rich friendships with many Muslims. Like many of the other issues that we have faced, it is worth saying at the outset that this is complicated. It is our conviction that many of the predominant approaches towards Islam are fundamentally flawed. Westerners often find the issue to be foreign and confusing, thus gravitating towards simplistic approaches of understanding. These simplistic approaches for understanding Islam and our engagement with it are inadequate for the task at hand. Let’s consider two competing approaches and then try to sketch a third approach which better represents the facts. Simple Approach #1: “All Muslims are Terrorists” In light of the claims of ISIS to be the representatives of true Islam, and in light of the expressed religious convictions of many high profile terrorists, it seems like a short step to draw a one-to-one connection between Islam and religious violence. People who take this interpretation typically assume all Muslims are inherently violent. It may even be assumed that they are under-cover agents who are committed to religious conquest. What this view fails to regard is that Muslims are not a monolithic group. Throughout the world, many different expressions of Islam are found with different views of religious violence. Individual Muslims believe a wide range of things, and I am thankful to have many personal friends who are both Muslim and committed to peaceful coexistence. Simple Approach #2: “Islam is a Religion of Peace” I want to be clear: I do not believe that it is simplistic for a professing Muslim to say that their religious system is committed to peace and nonviolence. I am thankful for the many who do so. What I am thinking of here is the propensity for (well-intentioned) non-Muslim Westerners to offer their assessment of what constitutes “true Islam.” I believe it is only appropriate for a Muslim to speak about “true Islam.” An outsider is not in a position to make those claims. We can only speak of “true Islam” if we believe that Islam is true. What we can know is this: just as there are many Muslims in the world who affirm the peaceful coexistence of different religions, there are also many people who affirm the necessity of religious violence in the name of Islam. I certainly have a strong preference for the practice of peace-loving moderate Islam over hardline Islam. But it seems that many Westerners are tempted to turn a blind eye towards expressions of religious violence associated with Islam in the name of being “inclusive.” This sort of wishful thinking does not allow us to think carefully about the real-world challenges that that we are facing. A Third Way Rather than make blanket statements about the true nature of islam, or claim the ability to judge the true intentions of every Muslim, it is far better to think about the issue in a different way. We can move forward by distinguishing between systems of thought and the individual people who associate with a particular religion. First, Islam is a religion that has a history and a central book (the Quran). We can examine this history and we can read the book. There are varied approaches to interpreting the Quran and we can talk with people about their approach. We can also make observations about the nature of government and individual freedom in Islamic-dominated countries. These sorts of questions are essential as we seek better understanding between Islam and the West. When we start with presumptions about the true nature of Islam, we short circuit this process. To put myself on record, I believe that there is significant reason for concern in regard to basic human freedoms found in many Muslim-majority countries. Second, individual Muslims are unique persons, made in God’s image, with dignity and value. Each person may have differing beliefs about religious freedom, freedom of conscience, and other important matters. Experientially, I have found it easy find common ground with many Muslims. In many cases, I have found shared commitments to religious nonviolence and towards safeguarding the dignity of all people. To share a specific example, two years ago I wore a shirt commemorating the Christian victims of ISIS. Since I play soccer with many Muslim friends, I was slightly uncertain of how I would be received. Not only did my friends express deep concern and sympathy towards the victims, as well as a deep hatred towards ISIS, many wanted to buy a similar shirt to express solidarity. I want to go on record to say that I have had a large number of deep relationships with Muslim friends. I cannot write about this topic without recognizing the admirable qualities these friends of mine possess. My life would be impoverished without these friendships. I am also reminded that throughout the world, religious violence takes a heavy toll on the Islamic community. “Muslim-on-Muslim violence” is a significant problem in many countries, especially between opposing factions. Furthermore, a measure of humility is required when considering this issue, since Christians have also used religious texts to support their injustices. (See: the African Slave Trade.) Finally, we should remember that Jesus calls Christians to love their neighbors. This command to love directs us to engage with people as individuals and seek their good. We can sometimes find amazing common ground with Muslim neighbors. But even in the absence of common ground, we are called to love our enemies. Loving our enemies does not mean that we take foolish risks or naively assume that everyone is safe. But as a follower of Jesus, I am not excused from loving, even when people are committed to religious violence. Throughout the week we will hear other voices address this complex matter. We do not expect to resolve something this challenging in a few posts, but I hope that we can begin to model a different manner of engaging with this issue. By Rev. Matt Koerber
When Fais and his family moved to the United States in 2009, they landed across the street from us. They had been granted asylum in the United States after the post-war chaos in Baghdad, Iraq forced them to flee. It didn’t take long for us to become friends and share life in many ways. Recently, I asked Fais if I could interview him for this blog to share his experience as a refugee. He was eager to oblige. We were already scheduled to visit a mortgage broker today and planned to do the interview afterwards. I had been walking with them through the mortgage process – it is complicated enough when English is your first language – but things ran long, and as we drove home we started to look for a time to reschedule. Fais was riding in the passenger seat while his son drove. Now a college student in Pittsburgh, Ibrahim had offered to sit in for the interview. Fais speaks English well, but with an accent. Ibrahim arrived in the US just after becoming a teenager, and now speaks English without an accent. As we started to talk, the story unfolded. Sitting in the back seat, I couldn’t see their faces, but I could tell from Fais’ voice that it was an intimate story. “You know I was kidnapped,” said Ibrahim. I did know, but we had never talked about it together. The story hung over everything I knew about their past. Fais had told me about it, in a fairly general way, but I had never talked about it with Ibrahim. It is not the sort of thing that comes up naturally in conversation. “Are you willing to talk about it?” I asked. “Sure.” Ibrahim replied nonchalantly, but I don’t think it is a story that he tells often. “Things were different after the war. People didn’t go outside much anymore. I always would play in the streets and play soccer with my friends. But after the American soldiers arrived we stayed inside. We played a lot more video games.” Fais had worked with the government before the war and like many Iraqis, the fall of Saddam introduced a difficult period in their lives. As he told me later, “In those days, no one had money.” One morning Ibrahim left the house in the morning to pick up some groceries. On the way, he stopped at a friend’s house to grab a video game that he had left there the day before. He noticed a suspicious car parked outside, but didn’t think much of it. As he reflected back on it, Ibrahim remarked that the family he visited was known for being pretty well off, and may have been the targets of a kidnapping plot. Ibrahim may have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. After leaving, he was followed to the store. A strange man in a brown jacket followed him into the market. “In our neighborhood, everyone knew each other,” said Ibrahim. “When this guy, that I didn’t know, started to ask me questions it made the store owner nervous. He told me to wait around till he left. I waited awhile and when it had seemed that he was gone, I left to walk home.” But he was not alone. Ibrahim was followed across the street and as the man drew closer he was joined by two other men. “The strange thing was, I was right in front of the school when they grabbed me,” said Ibrahim. A black car rolled up immediately and he was thrown into the back seat. The kidnappers punched him and yelled in his face. Apparently, setting him on edge would enhance the negotiation to follow. “All I could think about was my mom,” Ibrahim told me. “I was wondering, ‘How is she feeling right now?’” Back at the house, Fais was getting nervous. He didn’t know where his son was, and his fears rose quickly. A quick turn through the neighborhood revealed that no one knew where he was. In those days, kidnappings were not uncommon. Often, they did not end well. “I knew right away, that someone had taken my son,” said Fais. Over a decade later his voice still cuts out some as he tells this emotional story. Five minutes after returning home, the phone rang. Young Ibrahim had been able to give his home phone number to the kidnappers and they called with their demands. “You son is with us. Don’t call the police. Don’t call anyone. Give us the money and you can get him back.” “Ibrahim, I am here.” Fais told him, when they handed the phone to his son to prove that he was alive. “I am going to get you.” His only option was to comply as much as possible and hope that these kidnappers were “honest”. “I don’t think that anyone would have helped anyway,” said Ibrahim, matter-of-factly. “In those days, the government had bigger things to worry about.” Fais became a little more animated as he rehashed the events of the story, “I told them that they could come to my house and take anything that we had. Come, I have two cars, you can have them. Take any of my possessions, but give me my son…but they wanted cash.” They asked for the equivalent of $150,000. At the time, it was an incredible sum of money and practically impossible to get. It would require selling nearly everything they had and borrowing money from relatives, but in the end, they scraped together enough money to make a reasonable counter offer. It was possible that they would take the money and still kill Fais. But he saw no other reasonable course of action. They arranged a meeting point on the highway and Fais presented himself in plain sight to show that he was not followed. Fais walked forward to the cars that pulled off the road towards him. Ibrahim was in the back seat, flanked by men on each side. “You have my son. I have your money. Just give him to me and we will leave.” Both parties acted relaxed and friendly so as to avoid suspicion. The exchange progressed smoothly. Fais took his son’s hand, determined to never let it go. They briskly left the scene, caught a taxi and returned home. “It must have been a relief,” I said. Fais didn’t understand me at first. Maybe the word needed translation. Maybe it was an understatement. Maybe, in hindsight it was seen to be just the beginning of the struggle. The kidnappers were Shia Muslims, a minority Muslim sect, which happens to be predominant in Iraq. Violence between them and the majority Sunni Muslims colored the post-Saddam landscape with the red of shed blood. As Sunni Muslims, Fais and his family would have been naturally suspicious, but now they knew that they were targets. The kidnappers actually called to confirm the request, and offer their future protection. But now that they had paid a ransom, word might spread. Future kidnappings would become even more likely. They knew that they had to leave. Three months later they sold their remaining possessions and hired a private driver to take them across the closest border to Syria. They left with nothing but their clothes, some blankets and their remaining money. After a year in Syria, where there were no options for work, they moved again to Jordan. Here Fais got a job as an accountant for a baker and they applied for asylum with the United Nations. After an intensive and extensive interrogation and vetting process, the family was cleared for resettlement, and three years after fleeing Iraq they found refuge in the United States. A relative lived in Pittsburgh, so it was a natural destination. Pittsburgh is a world away from Baghdad. Their family is safe and the challenges that they faced have knit them together in a tight bond. Each of the four children are either in college or working in the area. “It was not easy to get settled here,” said Fais. “Not easy at all. It is still not easy.” Perhaps he was thinking of the nearly two-hour meeting that we had with a mortgage broker. “We just want to live and to be friendly with everybody. Just like how we lived in our country.” As our interview wound down, I added the words that I have heard Fais say many times over the years. “We have much to be thankful for.” By Rev. Matt Koerber
This article was originally written last summer (2016) while our family was serving the refugee community in Greece. It is a good example of the first-person experience of someone in the midst of the refugee resettlement experience. Currently, there are millions of refugees that are waiting to be granted asylum. This is one of their stories. I met with Khaled* for English lessons today. He is a Syrian refugee stranded in Greece. His English is decent, but rusty. He says that he was more fluent five years ago when he was using it more often. Until the Syrian Civil War, he had worked for a Petrochemical company in Syria. It was a good job. He was married, he had a son, a car and two houses. After the war started, his job ended. As he watched, bombs swallowed homes leaving nothing but smoke and ash. As food shortages swept the land, he looked for an opportunity to flee. His wife and son had a passport, but Khaled did not. Administrative affairs in Syria were often quite unpredictable to begin with and there was additional red tape in his case. Apparently, several other men shared the exact same name, and the passport was not issued. Eight months ago a window for refuge opened and his pregnant wife and son took it. They haven't seen each other since. His wife delivered a healthy baby girl, but Khaled has not yet seen her in person. His wife flew with friends from a nearby country into Turkey. They were smuggled into Greece when its borders with Western Europe were still open, so they made their way into Germany where his wife had their baby. Khaled could not leave so easily. Without a passport, his path there was more circuitous. He headed North from Damascus into the north-western part of Turkey which is controlled by the Syrian Free Army (non-ISIS rebels.) He paid smugglers to take him, and then paid the city officials to let him pass. After slipping hundreds of dollars worth of bribes and fees into the hands of drivers and faction leaders, he was dropped off at the mountainous border with Turkey. From there, he had to cross on foot, scurrying past armed guards and dodging bullets. Turkey doesn't want border traffic with Syria because of the threat from ISIS; the “no-man’s land” between Syria and Turkey is particularly ruthless. Once he crossed into Turkey, he had relatively free travel. He went first to Istanbul to try to enter Greece by land, but by then the borders were closing. The terrorist attacks in Paris had tightened the borders and narrowed the immigration policies of European countries just as they induced American fears. The only option was to go by sea. He was a father desperate to be reunited with his family and was willing to take any route. He paid a smuggler 700 Euros to take him by boat to the Greek Island of Mytilini. Interestingly, the price was 300 Euros cheaper for him than when his wife went because the borders between Greece and Western Europe were now closed. Supply and demand dictates smuggler’s fees and the demand for Greece has fallen now that it no longer offers access into Western Europe. Once at sea, their small overloaded ship bobbed along the waves as they crossed into Greek controlled waters. The Greek navy picked them up and shipped them to Athens on a Ferry. Several attempts to cross into Western Europe illegally were met with stiff resistance. Without proper identification, he cannot go forward and he cannot go back. He pays 300 Euros a month for rent, which his wife wires to him from Germany. I don't know how she gets the money. The land route that he took getting here would be just as treacherous to use for a return to Syria, and with added risk. If he tried to cross from rebel controlled territory back into the lands occupied by the Syrian army, he would risk being shot as a traitor or a spy. He is effectively locked out of his homeland with fewer prospects than he had envisioned when he first fled. He can't go forward and he can't go back. He is a man without a country. *I share this story with his explicit permission, so I have done less to mask the details of his life. By Luda Bates
[KS: We asked Luda Bates to share the story of her journey here to the US. As a refugee from the former Soviet Union, her perspective is unique. Her family has gone through hard circumstances, but it is apparent how faithful God has been through them.] My family and I came to America when I was ten years old, but the journey started two years prior. My father had heard from fellow Christians that many were leaving to the US and he decided to try as well. In order to leave, one had to file an application to petition the US government, then fill out an application for each member of the family (including medical and work forms, each with the proper stamps and signatures from local and regional authorities). After sending the application, we waited for an invitation to attend an interview at the US consulate. Because it was still the Soviet Union, getting out was extremely difficult. My father’s friend, a fellow believer, drove 1,500 miles from Estonia to our little city in Russia to pick up the application and later to bring us our visas. The documents were sent to him in Estonia so that the KGB wouldn’t intercept anything. After getting the visas, my parents, not trusting the local postal service, went directly to the US consulate in Moscow to request an interview. Every applicant had to be interviewed by the US consulate in order to gain one of two possible statuses: a refugee or an immigrant. Many Christians became “immigrants” and others, like my family, became “refugees”. If you got the “immigrant” status, you would have to find an American sponsor who would finance your passage to the US, which was impossible. For those of us who got the “refugee” status, the US government paid for our tickets (we would need to pay them back when we were financially able) and provided all financial support when we came; a housing allowance, food stamps, and Medicaid. In order to get the “refugee” status, my parents had to prove that they were persecuted for their religion. As members of the Baptist church, that wasn’t very difficult to do. When he was young, my father was a pilot in the Soviet army, but he became a believer in God and was kicked out. From then, our family lived in Eastern Ukraine and my father worked as a coal miner. When we received our tickets the only thing that my mom could read was “metropolitan area” and she was terrified that we were going to live in a metro. We arrived in New York City and got our next tickets to St. Louis. There are cities in the US that are refugee relocation centers and the US government works with local agencies to resettle refugees. We were placed in the care of the International Institute of St. Louis and they worked with local businesses, schools, churches, landlords, and other organizations to resettle the thousands of refugees that arrived each year. Each state has different programs for resettling refugees, but in Missouri we got a housing stipend for 9 months, giving my parents time to learn English. In order to receive that money, refugees had to take English classes, so the institute was full of foreigners: Russians, Ukrainians, Bosnians, Serbians, Africans, and many others others learning English, and about American customs, holidays and culture. They found my dad a job and helped us to get on our feet. When the US government resettles people, they try to settle people with others that come from similar regions, so there were already a few Russian Baptists in St. Louis, and therefore a church. A local American Baptist church let us use their building to hold services and within a few years the church was full of Slavic people who continued to arrive from the former Soviet Union. Sometime during that first year, someone local found out about my dad’s story and decided to write an article about our family in the St. Louis Journal. A few months later, an American woman saw us taking a picture in the neighborhood, recognized us from the journal and befriended our family. Lenita, a Catholic who worked for the city of St. Louis, petitioned the local parish school to accept us children on scholarships, which was instrumental in giving us a good education, from elementary school to college. She found out about scholarships, helped my siblings and I to find odd jobs kids our age could do. She also helped us talk to potential landlords to make sure no one was taking advantage of us. Along with Lenita, there were other American Christians who helped our family. There was a local man from a Baptist church in the suburbs who took it upon himself to help the Slavic people. From bringing gifts on Christmas, helping us navigate medical jargon, to organizing a VBS in his church for Slavic kids, Don Wilson has been a servant to our people. Growing up in Ukraine, Russia, and the US, I always remember my parents talking about God’s grace and kindness to our family. They never sat us down and explained this to us, but through their conversations with each other and others, the reality of God’s kindness and mercy was like the oxygen that my family breathed. God was merciful: the journey out of the Soviet Union took many years for most, but the process took us two years. God was comforting: though we did not fit in at our private Catholic school, we always had a close group of Russian Christian friends. God was caring: when my father got fired from his job, it led him to a better job and to pursue his dream of being a pilot. When we had murders and death take members of our extended family, even in the midst of that darkness and deep pain, God met us in our need and provided His comfort and presence. Truly, God has been extremely generous and kind to our family. When I think of all of the things that could have gone wrong but didn’t, I can’t help but see God’s generosity. When I reflect on my own life, I see God’s grace and mercy clearly. Even in the midst of the harshness of life from unimaginable sorrow, loss, loneliness, fear, anxiety, uncertainty, and from carrying the burden/gift of being a third-culture kid, I revel in knowing that God has been so loving and kind. I can see God’s mercy to us in our circumstances, but the most kind thing that God has done is lead us to know Him deeper. In the Soviet Union, Bibles had to be smuggled, churches had to register with the government and the ones that didn’t had to meet in secret, and premarital counseling consisted of “don’t be affectionate in public”. In the US, we were overwhelmed with all of the resources available to learn about Jesus, which was like rain on parched lands. Being connected to Russian Christians in a foreign land, getting married to an American man and growing in and being part of his (now our) church has led me to weep at the goodness of our God. He didn’t have to be this kind and generous, but I add my voice to the Psalmist in wonder: “What is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him?” God used different people, and global and local events to care for me and our family. I can’t help but be grateful. MK: This is a reposting from a good friend who is working at a refugee camp on a Greek island in the Mediterranean. I got to know Lizzie last summer when we worked together with refugees in Athens. She is a recent college graduate who has devoted her life to serving on the frontlines of the refugee crisis. As I got to know her I was deeply impressed by her courage and sacrifice. This past winter she returned to Greece, but instead of working with refugees that were in the process of moving towards asylum, she is now working with the refugees who are not yet in the system. On the whole, this group of refugees is in a far more difficult place. I asked Lizzie if I could publish two of her most recent updates because they offer a rare window into the frontlines of refugee ministry.
(April 12) Dear Family and Friends, Some days I have grace-filled stories, and many other days I sit empty handed and heavy hearted. This past week has been especially difficult. From hearing more details of friends’ stories to a deeper realization of the hardships of living in this camp: I am burdened. When I was in Athens, I saw many difficult situations, but this camp has a hopelessness unlike anything I’ve experienced before. Many of these men have been here for over a year. They have no information on the status of their asylum claims, they sleep most of the day because there is nothing to do with their time, and the food is limited in portion and nutrition. They are crammed in their living spaces, have limited electricity, and often are treated as criminals by the Greek military and police. Minors are forced to sign papers saying that they are 18 so that the government does not have to protect them or provide additional resources. A man I knew drowned the other week and the police didn’t show up until an hour after the emergency call. Everything in me wants to find them a bright, clean space to live in. With windows and fresh air and real beds. I want to give them access to education and training programs so that they don’t waste months of their life sitting in this camp. I want them to feel respected and to be treated as equal and worthy. I want to feel confident that their current suffering will be worthwhile in the end. But for now, I can keep showing up for my shifts. Cleaning rooms, opening gates, welcoming new arrivals, and sitting and listening. While I cannot make any substantial changes, I can be faithful in my small part. Even when the news stops reporting, these men remain. Even when you have to go out of your way to hear about these camps, thousands sit with their lives on hold. My desire is that a part of my purpose here is to tell their stories, to relay the situation to others back home. The situation is difficult in every way you could imagine. There are no quick fixes or easy answers - but it demands a response, a deep compassion. Whether you feel convicted to show up in person, to donate money or resources, or to advocate back home – I encourage you to not forget these people. Could you keep me in your thoughts and prayers? For strength to keep showing up when my heart feels like it breaks a little more each day? And much more so for my friends who live with intense anxiety and fear of the future - that they could keep going, that they could hold onto hope even when everything seems to suffocate it? Also, I am struggling to figure out my future steps after my time here is finished. Could you pray that doors would be opened for me to stay if that is what is needed, or for new opportunities to present themselves? Lizzie (May 11) Dear Family and Friends, When you’re constantly surrounded by pain, flashes of joy burn bright. I’ve been honest in my updates, resisting the pressure to include a ‘silver lining’ or to sugarcoat the reality in this camp. But I also want to be honest in the tastes of hope I’ve experienced. In the past few weeks more families have moved into M – and my organization regained access to their section of the camp. After weeks of only being able to shake hands and being constantly guarded, getting to scoop up babies and sit with my arm around my new friends is heaven. There are two Syrian families with several teenage daughters that are my new shadows in camp. We giggle and talk about boys and make up and what they want to be when they get older. There are a few toddlers that run straight into my arms and I’ve gained several new ‘mamas.’ The other night I got invited to an engagement party in the compound. I sat with the girls, Arabic music blaring as we fixed each other’s hair and they caked about 10 pounds of eyeliner on me. Paper flowers and streamers decorated the small room filled with gray UNHCR blankets and metal bunkbeds. I was the lone Westerner laughing my way through dabka lessons and pretending like I knew the words to the songs. And as I sat on a cot on the edge of the room, a friend’s little baby asleep in my arms, I watched my beautiful new friends spin and stamp their feet, faces lit up with joy. Here it was – the glimpse of hope, stubborn and resilient in the face of injustice. I felt it in my bones, in my heart – these beautiful people will thrive. And I felt that swell of intense conviction, an understanding that my place is beside them, for them. While there have been situations that have broken my heart all over again the past few days, and that flash of hope seems a little dimmer – it was there. And it is precious and worth sharing. Lizzie By Kevin
For most of us, conversations about refugees are theoretical and abstract – we speak more of them as a group than as individuals – simply because most of us have had little direct contact with refugees. This can make it harder to view refugees as individuals who are image-bearers. We believe that people are made in God’s image. Part of this involves recognizing that others are individuals who think and feel as we do (psychologists refer to this as our theory of mind for other people). A 2017 psychology study showed how our empathy and moral judgments about others can change depending on whether we see them as groups or individuals. Participants were told about a number of individuals going through some experience, and had to rate those individuals on their capacity for experience (“How able are they to feel pain or pleasure?”) and agency (“How able are they to control their actions and act morally?”). Some participants were told about “a group comprised of 15 people” (highlighting the group), while others were told about “15 people in a group” (highlighting the individuals). Participants who rated individuals when their group was highlighted gave significantly lower ratings of the individuals’ capacities for feeling pain/pleasure and acting morally. This result comes from an experimental setting, while our conversations about refugees are often complex and dynamic interactions. However, it does suggest what we know to be true – it is harder to be empathetic for people who are faceless and distant. The converse is also true – it is easier to be moved to compassion for those we know and share space with. There is a clear biblical echo of this in Jesus’ command to “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:31). Neighbors are not faceless groups; neighbors are individuals. “Who is my neighbor?” asked the lawyer, and in response Jesus told the parable of the good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37). My neighbor is someone in need that I have access to, and who has a claim on me. In this day and age, technology renders some distance irrelevant – the plight of many refugees in distant lands are accessible to us, and we can provide help that can reach them. But look closer, and we will find refugees (and opportunities to know them) closer to home. The refugee is our neighbor, too. Refugees share similarities (they are all fleeing hardships and are often in great need) but they are also a diverse group of people (with distinct stories and perspectives). In this week’s posts, we will hear from those who have more direct experience with refugees than we do. Let us take the opportunity to listen to them and become more intimately familiar with the stories of refugees, so that we might become empathetic neighbors moved to compassion and action. By Carla Farias
Kevin: I originally invited Mauro and Carla to both to write about their experience leaving Brazil for Mauro’s education here. Mauro was traveling for a conference, as is common for graduate students, so Carla stepped in. While she is now in graduate school as well, she came here initially as Mauro’s dependent. As challenging as it can be for immigrants, the dependents (spouses and children) of immigrants have an even more challenging time. I’m grateful that Carla could share her experience – sojourners sometimes come with loved ones, who we cannot afford to overlook. Three years ago my husband and I moved to Pittsburgh for graduate school. It was an unusual decision, since the two of us had well established careers in our home country, Brazil. Mauro got accepted into the Materials Science and Engineering Doctoral Program at Carnegie Mellon University. Even though I had not been accepted to the programs I had applied to, we knew that the best decision for our family was to go, despite all we had to give up back home. I knew God had a plan for us as a family, especially for me as a wife. So, I moved to a different country for a sabbatical year, where I would re-invent my goals and face new challenges. Being part of the labor force for nearly ten years, a sabbatical year was a big break to my busy schedule and endless working trips. Adjusting to our new lifestyle was not easy for us. As newcomers to the community, Mauro was consumed day and night by his academic activities, while it was left to me to find a place in the community I could fit into. Spouses of international graduate students are much more limited by visa restrictions. As F- 2 visa holders (dependents to F-1 visa holders), we are not allowed to study or work full-time. With this status, I felt invisible and completely unproductive to society. I was allowed only to exist. Nothing else. I was not allowed to have a Social Security number. I was not allowed to rent and sign any utility contracts under my name. Even to get a driver’s license, PennDot had to have verification from USCIS (Citizenship and Immigration Services), since I was also “invisible” to their system. I recall when we entered the country, the Immigration Agent at the airport going over my visa restrictions and asking me, “What are you going to do, sit at home and watch TV all day?” In the early days of us getting to the US, my sabbatical experience turned out to be different from what I imagined. I could not come up with a reasonable answer that would bring peace to my heart. It hit me that I had given up a home I owned, my senior position at a firm, my friends, my family, and even my dog to “sit at home and watch TV all day”. I left my country and my professional life to pursue my husband’s dream at CMU, but I found that I could not eliminate the dreams of my own. And so, I started interacting with professors at CMU and got involved in volunteer research work. Then, I applied again for graduate school and was accepted to be a full-time student in the Masters program at CMU, giving me my own student (F-1) visa. Along with that, we experienced our greatest fulfillment as we now have a new addition to our family, our 3-month-old son, Daniel. And so, God transformed my life. He picked me up from the ground and filled every gap in my professional and personal life, in spite of the challenges and limitations I faced. Because I was once “legally invisible”, I couldn’t just close my eyes to a reality that affected not only me and my household, but also many other spouses of international graduate students. These are women (and men) who are typically well-educated themselves and want to be intellectually challenged. But instead, they end up feeling lonely and lost, just as I did. These spouses look beyond coffee meetings and social gatherings. Like me, they don’t have personalities suited to being locked up at home. I reached out to other wives here as dependents on F-2 visas and helped them design plans for their stay in the US, helping them to find research opportunities and academic programs at CMU that matched their interest, and to initiate conversations with professors and advisors. We brought up to the University the importance of belonging, and the need to embrace this group of spouses to enable personal and academic growth in the school and wider community. As I look back on the past three years, having to reshape my life and face the limitations of my immigrant status was not easy. The feeling of being unproductive and intellectually stagnant was cruel to my mind and soul. But on the other hand, it urged me to find new dreams. I found strength and care in our community group, as we got to know the people from City Reformed. Having new friends in our faith, who prayed for and with me calmed the anxieties and uncertainties of my heart, and refreshed my hope in the Lord’s greater plans for my family and me. Maybe the paths taken were not the easiest, but I can see God’s perfect plan being fulfilled in my life. God honors his children and He honored me, and I could not be more thankful for the changes I had in my life and in my family. My experience has made me a more humble, sensitive, thoughtful, and stronger person. Interview by Kevin
For this post, I interviewed Lucas Saenz. His education and medical career has taken him from Colombia to Pittsburgh, where he also met his wife, Christa. Kevin: How and why did you come to the US? What is your immigrant status? Lucas Saenz: Everything started my first year in medical school back in Colombia in 2001, when I realized that all my medical textbooks were written in the US. That sparked a desire in me to travel to the place where the books were written, to learn about how medicine was practiced there. Around the 5th year of medical school, in 2007, the opportunity came and I travelled to the US for the first time, to Miami. I was 24 years old. A Latin American shadowing program at the University of Miami provided my first one-year visa. In the following years, I travelled back and forth to different cities in the US under different immigrant statuses, such as business travelling visas, student visas, and research scholar visas, which is what I currently have. What are the biggest differences between your life here and your life back home? What challenges do you face from being in a culture you didn’t grow up in? The biggest challenge for me at the beginning was language. I couldn’t express myself or understand others well. Back in Colombia, I thought I knew English, since I had learned it in school since a young age. However, coming to the US made me realize how little I really knew. It wasn’t until I had spent two years here that I felt comfortable with the language and could communicate as I wanted to. The other challenge was knowing no one and losing my social circle. It took a lot of time to get to know people, not only because of the cultural barriers but also because I am an introvert. I moved around the US a lot, which also made it more difficult to build relationships. I was used to moving, since my growing up years were characterized by moving throughout Colombia. However, when doing it in another country, even simple things became difficult. Shopping for food, buying a phone, finding a church – all these were hurdles that had to be faced. One of the nice surprises, though, was that there were always people who were willing to help. Back in Colombia, there were always people around me, whether it was family or friends. We helped each other out all the time. Here, however, I have had to learn to be more independent and individualistic, which has also forced me to become more practical. Not being close to my family and knowing all the time how they are has also been a big difference, not only for me but also especially for my mom, as she worries about me being far from home. This has forced us to strengthen our dependency on God and learn to love in other ways, from a distance. With time, I adapted to the culture and enjoyed my time here. I found a good church, friendships grew, and I was able to assimilate to the workflow. Since coming to Pittsburgh in 2014, I attended Bellefield Presbyterian Church and through that was introduced to PRISM (Pittsburgh Region International Student Ministries). Getting involved with PRISM gave me the opportunity to reach out to other international students who were in similar situations as me, and to share my faith with them. PRISM is a ministry that helps international students feel at home in Pittsburgh. It’s also where you met your wife, Christa. Tell us about that life-change! God changed my life in ways I didn’t expect here in Pittsburgh. Christa and I met in a Bible study hosted by PRISM, and now, two years later, here we are married. My visa status is still related to my work, which adds a little bit of uncertainty. We haven’t been able to visit my family in Colombia yet, since there is a possibility that I wouldn’t be able to reenter the US on the way back. Figuring out my immigration status can be complicated and must be done in the correct timing, but we are thankful to be married and know God will help us in the future as we go through the process. It has been enriching for Christa and I to get to know each other and learn about our backgrounds and what has shaped us as people. Coming from different cultures, there is even more to learn. We learn a lot from each other’s families, customs, different ways of thinking, and even different ways of daily living. It opens our perspectives and broadens our worldview. Of course, this can also bring challenges, as we have to learn how to communicate well and not make assumptions based on our own experiences. You have medical training both in Colombia and the US. Do you have any challenges practicing medicine with that background? There is a long road still to go in my education. Although I already completed 6 years of medical school (3 years of critical care training in Colombia and 3 years working in Pittsburgh), I will need to repeat some of my previous education to become a pediatric cardiologist here in the US. This means that I will need to take several exams and be certified in many fields. Even though it is a lot, it is worthwhile. How has God and the church played a part in your journey? Knowing that there is always a degree of uncertainty in my immigration status has driven me to depend on God. To know my citizenship is in heaven is an idea that has become more real to me. As an immigrant, I’ve faced some difficulty at church connecting with people. The differences between me and many other people that attend church here makes it easy for all of us to form stereotypes and not easily connect. However, I have met many people who are willing to cross those barriers and reach out, and those people have greatly influenced me. What uncertainties do you face as an immigrant in the US, and how do you face that? Since the last presidential elections, fear in internationals has grown, to the point that we restrict our travels outside the US and are even more uncertain about the future. Personally, it causes me to try to do everything according to the right timing and procedures as I move towards applying for a green card and citizenship. As an immigrant, I feel a lot of pressure to work hard, be competitive, and exceed expectations at work to keep my immigrant status. It also gives me a sense of expectancy for what God will bring in the future, since we never know what the future will hold and how things will change. A verse that has been an encouragement to me is Ephesians 2:19: “So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God.” By Evelyn and Kevin
For this post, we interviewed our good friend, Anna Yong, about her experience being an immigrant in the US. Her quotes are in italics. She came here from Malaysia at 17 to pursue an undergraduate education, and met and eventually married her husband Joel Chan here. She started out on a student visa, not expecting that she would still be in the US 11 years later. Although Anna was here first on a student visa (F-1), she transitioned to a dependent visa (F-2) once she graduated and married Joel, who was a graduate student. Later, she decided to begin a Master’s degree in Pittsburgh, requiring that she transition back to student status (F-1). While Anna was legally allowed to be in the country, the government did not issue her a new visa because she had already been in the US and had changed her status from a dependent (based on Joel’s job) to a student who could be here in her own right. In 2013, she wanted to travel home and visit family – having a visa would allow her to re-enter the country if she left. Anna describes a critical irony in the system: “US visas are only issued at embassies outside the US, so we actually had to leave the country to apply for the visa. In other words, to find out if I would be able to re-enter the US (on my own with an F-1 visa), I had to first leave the US – exposing myself to the risk of not getting the visa and being stuck outside the US. Since the visa requirements were the same as the status I already had, we thought this possibility was more theoretical than actual. As we later found out, we were quite wrong!” In early 2013, Anna and Joel travelled to Malaysia to spend time with family and apply for her visa at the embassy in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia’s capital. She describes what happened to her on the day of her visa interview: “I waited about an hour to meet the assigned consulate officer. It quickly became obvious to me that he didn’t really understand my case. He expressed concerns about my ability to fund my education, the most important part of my case. But he overlooked that 1) I had already completed 1 out of the 2 years of my program, 2) I had a scholarship from the school to cover part of my fees, and 3) I was married to Joel who had income that was more than sufficient to cover the remainder of my fees and was obviously covering my living expenses. This last point was the most incredulous to me: when I noted that I was married to Joel, the officer replied that his income “didn’t count” – I needed to show that *I* had enough funds. At this point I started to panic. I was completely at the mercy of the consulate officer. Legally, there was no recourse whatsoever for me if the officer made a mistake – there is no appeal. Further, if the officer denied my application, I couldn’t simply get a “second opinion”: his decision would remain on the record and greatly decrease the probability of a successful re-application. This power imbalance weighed heavily on me: how do I dispute his misunderstandings (of which he was convinced) without angering him? I had heard stories of people having their applications denied because they had rubbed their officer the wrong way, or because the officer had had a bad day. Some of these stories came from family friends who were personal friends with visa officers. So I ended up not disputing the officer’s claims too much, hoping he would be reasonable. This turned out to be the wrong choice. The officer decided to cancel my existing F-2 visa – effectively erasing any ability I had to re-enter the US – and formally requested that I come back to the embassy with more documentation showing that I had at least $25,000 (not including Joel’s income and the scholarship from the university) to cover the remainder of my Master’s degree. I left the embassy in fearful tears.” After returning home, Anna tried to figure out what to do. Her parents offered to help with the financial requirements. Unfortunately, that was not a straightforward solution, either. Anna describes her situation: “Because my parents run their own business, they often don’t have a ton of liquid assets available. But they did have a credit line from their bank that was large enough to cover this expense. So we decided to bring that as additional documentation. I was told that there was no need for an interview; I just needed to “drop off” this additional documentation. When I showed up at the embassy the next day, however, I was brought in for… you guessed it – another interview with the same officer! Being unprepared for that, I was not able to clearly explain how my parent’s credit line worked. The officer pressed me hard, and seemed unconvinced. Again, he didn’t issue me the visa I needed. Thankfully, I wasn't rejected, but the officer told me he needed more time to review my case.” This was a stressful time for Anna and Joel. The severity of the officer’s questions indicated there was a very real chance that Anna’s visa application could be rejected and she could not return to the US with Joel. “Rejection would mean Joel and I would have to live in two different countries for an indefinite period of time while we figured out a solution. Even if that didn’t happen, we were worried I wouldn’t be approved in time for my flight back home, which would mean purchasing another costly (>$1500) flight back to the US. For two long days after that, I waited, shed tears, prayed, and asked for prayers. There was nothing I could do but wait and pray. By the grace of God, our story had a “happy ending”: my visa was approved before our flight back to the US. Even now, as I reflect back on how I was feeling back then, I am filled with joy for the faithfulness of our good God!” Anna now has more stability in her status here, and has even travelled to Malaysia since then without any immigration issues. The story she shared is one instance of the type of stressor that immigrants encounter over and over again. She looks back on her time in the US: “In the 10+ years that I’ve been here, I’ve had to apply for a change/extension of my visa and immigrant status 7 times. About half the time, the process was easy and painless — the other half, not so much! It wasn’t just the application process that was challenging; it was the waiting, the unknown of the person dealing with the application, and my powerlessness over the situation that was so frustrating.” The events since the 2016 presidential election have brought her anxieties into sharper focus. She reflects on her life in the last year: “In this past election season, people have tried to reassure me about our new president’s stance on immigration by saying I have absolutely nothing to worry about because I’m not an illegal immigrant. To be honest, those statements aren’t very reassuring to me. Because of what I’ve been through, I know how incredibly challenging it can be to become and remain a legal immigrant. I have experienced first-hand how it’s possible to become an illegal immigrant even if you’ve done everything right. I know that the mistake of even one government official can negatively impact my chances of gaining/keeping legal status in the country. I’m so incredibly grateful for the opportunity to live in this country, but my journey here has been trying, and I wish people wouldn’t brush me aside when I speak of my concerns. We became adults in this country, and we fell in love with it. We felt called to stay. But wanting to stay and immigrate here legally is complicated (and challenging at times). This is something I wished more people would understand. All that said, as a Christian, I know that our God is bigger than this country’s immigration system or any immigration officer (cue famous Sunday School song). It is by the grace of God alone that my family is able to be alive and well, living in this country. And that grace is worked out in the kindness of His people.” She closes with something she shared with her friends in the US after receiving news of her visa approval: “All of you have been such an amazing source of support for me, and I cannot be more grateful! I'm sincerely thankful for the words of encouragement that I've received from you.. It's been a huge reminder of God's faithfulness, love and grace when I find myself in a dark place. I think, through all of this, I'm more thankful for you guys – my friends and church family – than I am for receiving this visa.” Interview by Kevin
For this post, I interviewed Kate Kim. She’s worshipped at City Reformed since 2015 when she started as a PhD candidate at Pitt. As an immigrant, the stakes are much higher for her in her career path, and requires a great degree of trust in God’s faithfulness for circumstances that many of us easily take for granted. I asked her to reflect on her identity and place in the US. Kevin: What is your immigrant status? Kate Kim: I am currently on an F-1 student visa. I was initially a dependent on my parents’ visas until I turned 21, when I had to switch to my current visa. Tell us you how and why you came to the United States. My family (my parents and younger sister) and I came to the US in 2001. In Korea, it’s everyone’s dream to study abroad, especially in English-speaking countries. Around then, English was mandated as a required subject starting in the 3rd grade in Korean schools, and learning English is very important for one’s success. The Korean education system is highly repressive and highly competitive. So, when there’s an opportunity, people move abroad to English-speaking countries. My parents came to the US for our sake (their children), for us to have a better education and a better life. To do that, my Mom enrolled as a graduate student at a university and got her masters in linguistics; we came to live in the US as dependents on my mom’s visa. How old were you when you moved? What made it easy/difficult to move here? I was 12 when I moved to the US in 2001. This was months before 9/11, so it wasn’t difficult for our family to move to the States, especially because my mom was coming to the US to study. There were, of course, many difficulties in getting accustomed to a new culture. My sister and I were 6 and 12-year olds, so learning English was not a difficulty. We caught up really fast. But for my parents, the language/cultural barrier was hard, and is still hard for them. One thing that was difficult for me in particular, was that I was just becoming a teenager, and because I was culturally split (Korean at home, but trying to assimilate with other kids at school), I had a lot of anxiety and shame from being different from other kids. I couldn’t relate to my peers at the same level of experience, although I spoke English fluently soon after I moved here. While I went to school in the US from 6th grade all the way to graduate school, all under legal status, I am still considered a non-resident alien in the US. While in college, I realized that unlike my other friends, I couldn’t apply for federal loans, couldn’t work part-time jobs anywhere I liked, couldn’t vote, couldn't take a gap year after college (in order to maintain my F-1 status), and couldn’t apply for certain professional schools. This is when I felt most lost and isolated, because in all other aspects I relate to the American culture, but legally, I am not an American. Tell us about your ties to your country of birth, and to the US. What is “home” to you? I’ve lived 12 years in South Korea, and 16 years in the US. The last time I visited South Korea was in 2006, when I was in high school. So, I don’t remember Korea very much…the memories I have are from my childhood, and I’m sure so much has changed in the last decade. So, when I think of “home”, I’m conflicted. Where is home for me? A few years ago, my parents got their greencards, sponsored by their work. At that time, my sister was 18, and I was 24. The law states that for immigration purposes, once you turn 21, you are no longer a dependent, so my sister got her green card through my parents, while I didn’t. My parents and my sister are now on their path to US citizenship, and plan to make their “home” here. However, I am still on a student visa, and need to find my own way to permanent residency. In a few months, I will graduate and be a scientist with a PhD in the biomedical sciences. However, it is now difficult to get a work-related visa (H-1B) even in a science field. This makes my path to getting a green card much harder. I was hoping to do my post-doctoral research in the US while on an H-1B visa, meanwhile applying for permanent residency. However, this road has gotten tougher now. What challenges do you face living in a country that is not your own? How do you deal with them? Because I am bicultural, there have been many conflicts. Because I’ve spent more time in America than I have in Korea, I am more familiar with the American way of life. However, I can’t be a full part of it, because there are always restrictions on nonresident aliens for school and job applications. And of course, I cannot vote here. So, I am always culturally split. I haven’t been able to visit Korea for more than a decade because I was on my student visa (some students like myself take a risk in visiting their home countries because there’s no guarantee we will be granted visas to return to the US to complete our studies). I have no connections in Korea besides my relatives. So, with this confused cultural identity, I’ve learned to rely more on my identity in God’s Kingdom. I’ve been instilling in myself that whichever country God intends for me to live, my identity in God’s Kingdom is constant, and that gives me comfort. How has the 2016 presidential election and the current administration affected your life as an immigrant? The calls to decrease immigration and the number of H-1B visas being granted* make me nervous, because my plan was to get an H-1B visa for post-doctoral studies, and eventually apply for permanent residency. What do you wish people understood about your journey as an immigrant? Even though I’ve lived legally and paid taxes in the US for 16 years, I was disqualified from getting permanent residency together with my family a few years ago, just because I was over over 21 years of age. My younger sibling who had the same experience as I did in the US was granted permanent residency, because she was younger than 21. I am back to the start in my immigration journey – only this time, I am alone. The road to permanent residency has gotten more difficult, even for US-educated scientists like myself. I hope to be able to stay in the US with my family, but I also understand that God may have something else planned. And I trust that whatever may come of my immigration journey here in the US, God’s plans prevail, and for his good purposes. * Even if current numbers are maintained, H-1B visas are already extremely hard to get. – Kevin By Melanie Hommes
[Evelyn: In the discussion about immigrants, some types of immigration can sometimes get overlooked. We asked the Hommes family to share their story of how their unique experience with immigration changed their lives. Jim and Melanie Hommes have gone through the difficult process of international adoption twice, and have gained two wonderful children – Mei and Jacob – into their family. We sent some questions and prompts to Melanie, and she wrote the following response.] We are a diverse multi-ethnic family both in our immediate and extended families, having family members from Japan, China, and Mexico. In fact, our children like to joke that dad was born in Japan (as a missionary kid), they were born in China, but mom was only born in Ohio! International adoption was the way that God provided for us to have a family. We went through the immigration process to bring Mei and Jacob to the United States. The international adoption process changed the year that we adopted Mei (2004) and was still in effect when we adopted Jacob (2012). There were a lot of forms, official documents, special notarized seals, fingerprinting, and interviews – all before we left United States soil. Once in China there were more forms to fill out, more interviews to undergo, and sworn statements that we would always love and care for our children. Then, the legal adoption took place, and finally we received the official brown envelope which was to be guarded at all costs and delivered intact and unopened to airport immigration officials when our airplane touched down on US soil. If the official brown envelope instructions were followed correctly, it meant that our children became automatic citizens the moment our airplane landed in the United States. After months (for Mei) and years (for Jacob) of paperwork and interviews, citizenship papers arrived in the mail within 45 days of our return home from China. Mei and Jake were babies when we adopted them, aged 13 and 18 months respectively. As we raise our children, we desire that they will have an appreciation and respect for the three countries – Japan, China, and the US – that make up our lives. We fill our home with books, movies, pictures, and stories of all three places, eat a variety of foods, and celebrate some Asian festivals like Chinese New Year. We talk often of the time we have spent in each country, and have picture albums to look at from our trips. As a family, being multi-ethnic is a natural way of life as my sister and her husband adopted a girl from China, Jim’s younger siblings are adopted from Japan, and his older sister is married to a man who immigrated from Mexico. It is important for us that the time Mei and Jacob spend at school and at church show the richness of diversity and the richness of adoption. We have been blessed by Pittsburgh Urban Christian School (PUCS) and its commitment to diversity and reconciliation as well as the presence of many adopted children who have shared life with us there. At church, it is a blessing that our children can see so many men and women from Asia worshiping and serving God. When Mei and Jacob were young they would sometimes comment excitedly that there were people at church that looked just like them. While some people have experienced negative repercussions from the 2016 presidential election and its aftermath, our immediate family has not felt them. However, we have felt the difficulty as we join in supporting family members and friends who are more directly impacted by immigration practices and policies, and who may face opposition, delay, and fears of deportation. Even with our immediate family, for the last few years we have begun carrying everyone’s passports when flying within the United States. We started doing this because we don’t all look alike – what if an official didn’t believe that we are a family? In addition, my sister and her family live in Canada, and when they crossed the border to visit us at Easter, in addition to my niece’s passport, they brought her birth certificate and adoption certificate, due to hearing stories of families being separated at borders. This is also something for us to consider when we travel across borders or when we fly domestically. So far, in Pittsburgh, we have not felt any specific negativity toward us as a multi-ethnic family, although we have occasionally experienced some negative reactions as we travel to other places. Both God and the church have played a big part in our family’s adoption story. God brought us together as a family through adoption just as He adopts each one of us into His family. Though there are relatively few adopted children at City Reformed, the church has embraced our children and welcomed them as the covenant children that they are. As Christians, we should embrace adoption – international or domestic – as a valuable part of building the household of God. In many ways, adoption demonstrates not only God’s generous provision for his children, but it also gives the church a visible reminder that ultimately the strongest and most lasting bonds between us are not of blood, ethnicity, or nation, but of faith in our loving Father who has chosen to adopt us as eternal heirs with Christ. By Kevin
Telling one’s story is an art form; we pick and choose what to include to communicate particular aspects of ourselves. We do this based on who is asking, and what we perceive they’re interested in knowing about us. For immigrants, we are frequently asked how and why we got to the US – it is a door for others to know us. In my first year in Pittsburgh, I got plenty of practice telling that story. At City Reformed, we’re blessed with a significant number of immigrants, each with their own stories. My own story has been shared in a previous post by my wife. In the coming posts, we invite you to read to the stories of those who have experienced what it is like to be or walk alongside immigrants. We invite you to listen, and to better know the sojourners (in many cases, these are people you share communion with). You may know them, or of them, but we invite you to listen not just for the details of their experience (which you may have heard before), but for the unique loves, burdens, challenges, and perspectives that are revealed in the telling of their stories. Since the 2016 presidential election, telling an immigrant’s story can take on added dimensions. I have found that my upon hearing my story and any anxieties I have about immigration, some quickly dismiss my concerns because “I’m one of the good ones” (someone coming here for graduate study). In such an exchange, my story has been used to make a point, which makes it hard to feel like the hearer cares about knowing me and seeing things from my perspective. In this polarized culture (that we’ve written about previously), it is worth reflecting on whether we have acquired some bad habits for listening. To hear someone’s story and see only how it supports or disproves a belief is to miss the chance that someone has offered to know them better. We invite you to view these stories as doors through which you can better know others. In this day and age, it is exceedingly rare to share fellowship with those who differ from us, but the church offers us that invaluable opportunity by joining those of every nation and tribe into one body. We cannot know the fullness of human experience without the help of others who are willing to share their stories. By Rev. Matt Koerber
Week 1: Foundational Thoughts Week 2: Immigration Policy Week 3: Voices of Immigrants (City Reformed) Week 4: Refugees Week 5: Engaging Islam Week 6: Reaching Across Barriers Last week, we discussed immigration policy. This week, we will turn our attention to the voices of the immigrant community in our midst. Because City Reformed is located in the university community of Pittsburgh, we have a large number of international students in our midst. We will be interviewing members of City Reformed to discuss their own experience with immigration. “You shall not oppress a sojourner. You know the heart of a sojourner, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 23:9) There are a couple of things that we learn from this commandment. First, the command to “not oppress a sojourner” assumes that it would be tempting to do this very thing. A sojourner or an immigrant is a person who works and lives in a foreign country. They do not have extended social networks to help them in times of trouble. They also may have difficulties speaking the language or navigating the culture. They may not have access to all of the legal protections that native born citizens would have. For that reason, it is easy for them to be oppressed. Secondly, this commandment was given by God, through Moses, to an exile community. The tribes of Israel had been recently delivered from bondage in Egypt. They came as guests to live with their brother Joseph, four centuries earlier. But the favorable policy changed. A new pharaoh was on the throne and things were hard. They had been severely oppressed in Egypt. Moses speaks to this experience and reminds them that they know what it is like. As an exile community they knew what it was like to be a sojourner. They could easily relate to the situation because of their own experience. The problem that we have is that our experience is often quite different. Our own individual experience does not allow us to know the “heart of a sojourner” from personal experience. In this matter we are different from the original audience (those who experienced the exodus first-hand), but we are similar to many of the people who have read this text down through the ages. Together with the four other books of Moses, this forms the Pentateuch, which is the foundational law for the nation of Israel. The laws which God gave were given in the context of the Exodus, but they continued to carry weight for all of the following generations. It is clearly not the intention of Moses to suggest that the command would no longer apply once people forgot their own personal exile experience. We are left to conclude that the way in which this command was meant to be applied is through appeal to the “collective experience” of the community and not individual experience. That is, if we want to know about the heart of the sojourner we can either experience exile or immigration… or, we can listen to the experience of others in our community. With that in mind we will spend this week listening to the voices of immigrants in our church. Through that we may be better equipped to understand “the heart of the sojourner.” |
AuthorMatt Koerber is the senior pastor at City Reformed Presbyterian church. This is his personal blog that he also asks guest writers to participate on. Archives
August 2018
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