I’ve been thinking about refugees and what life is like for them. Putting myself in their place, I imagine their feelings of fear and displacement. This issue of exile has especially been on my mind since I’ve had the honor of becoming acquainted with several Ukrainian refugee families who are finding a safe place in our church to worship God, pray, and support one another in community. Most of the time we hear the news of wars in the world and we react with surprised concern and prayer. Some of us find ways to send aid, but most of us are distracted by our day-to-day responsibilities, and shocking news stories fade to the background. However, getting to know these people, considering them friends, learning their stories and experiences, has made them real and close to my heart. I care about these people. I love them. I notice what they go through to acclimate to a place that is not their home. I see them doing the hard work of learning English. Their children are immersed in our public schools, adjusting at an already vulnerable age to a different culture and language. They must sink or swim. They are strong people, and I admire their fortitude and character. I want them to know I support them, sympathize with them, and pray for them and for peace in their home country. There are practical ways we can support our exiled neighbors. We can help them find jobs, help them practice English, make sure they have adequate housing, food, and other needs. Most of all, I think they appreciate being treated as friends.
About eleven years ago, my family moved from the East Coast where we had always lived, to the Pacific Northwest to pastor a church. Although it was exciting to relocate to a completely different region of our country, it also brought a hoard of other emotions. A move to the other side of the country felt irrevocable. It was not a move that was easy to undo, and I felt the finality of that decision deep in my core. As I unpacked the boxes and put my home in order, I fought to find familiarity in this new place. I grasped at anything that grounded me. Something as trivial as architectural styles that reminded me of New England would give me a temporary calm. During those early months, I felt a strong sense of displacement. My inner compass spun in circles. Facing north, the ocean had always been to my right. Now it was to my left. Even the sun slanted differently. I was disoriented and isolated, separated from what had always been familiar. Time and financial constraints made it nearly impossible to return. I struggled to find the familiar and relatable in my new location. I felt panicky and trapped in this far away place - far from everything and everyone I had ever known.
The parsonage in which we were settling had a decorative quote by Thomas Hood lettered on the wall above the living room entrance.
“...and all hearts are whispering, ‘Home, home at last.’”
This quote was like a friend to me, consoling and reassuring each time I read it. One evening as I looked up at those words on the wall, I had a clear impression in my spirit: “God is my Home.” Those four simple words covered me like a blanket of peace. Wherever I go, no matter how far away from what is familiar, I can always have a sense of being home because I belong to God. I am in him, and he is in me. He is the constant presence that grounds me. Remembering this experience, I try to relate to and identify with people who have come to my community seeking refuge from war and violence. I imagine their feelings of disorientation and displacement. In my small experience, I can empathize.
As Jesus followers, we are also exiled in a foreign land. As Christians in this world, we are all refugees, displaced from our homeland - God’s kingdom - of which we are true citizens. We resist assimilation and fight to preserve God’s kingdom by practicing God’s ways of living and being. This kingdom identity is who we are. We are God’s culture in a foreign land, Christ-Lights in spiritual darkness. When we gather in unity, we piece together the slices of the kingdom, making a larger whole as we await Jesus’ return and the final restoration. Together we stand out, unassimilated, “shining like stars” to the world around us. Just as I, having moved more than 2600 miles from my home, came to the epiphany that “God is my Home,” so each of us in the family of believers has a place of belonging in God’s ever-abiding presence as we carry a microcosm of his kingdom forever in our hearts. We are grounded in God. God is our source of stability and belonging. He is our level ground, the soil in which our hearts are rooted.
In scripture, the threads of God’s character are woven from beginning to end. The story pictures a God of compassion and grace. This is the God who cares for widows and orphans. This is the God who feeds and clothes foreigners, asking us to treat them as though they were native-born. This story tells of a God whose criteria for knowing us is based on whether or not we care for the least brothers and sisters, the ones who are hungry and thirsty, who don’t have adequate clothes, who are strangers, or sick, or in prison. What part will we play in this story? Will we align the threads of our lives with those of God, following his pattern? Will we, as refugees ourselves in this world, empathize by accepting those seeking sanctuary in our communities? Will we make life a little brighter for one another, knowing that as we do, it is as if we are doing it for Jesus? The truth is that each of us in some way is a "least one," and we need each other's loving care. The story of God tells of his desire to be our Father. Through Jesus he makes us his children, one family. As part of God’s family, we are a refuge for one another. God, the Home inside us, invites others into his comforting love and shelter. Even though exiled, God is our Home.
“The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms. - Deuteronomy 33:27
by Heather J. Willis, author
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