When I took my job, close to 4 years ago now, I was coming out of a season where I had been afforded the luxury of slowing, re-prioritizing, and re-examining purpose and passion. I didn’t know much about the refugee process, but I wanted to jump in and be a part of whatever it was that God was doing in Columbia, Missouri through this organization. I remember praying a lot during the interview process. I remember Revelation 7 coming to mind – this idea of a large crowd of people, from every nation and tribe and people and language gathered together in worship.
A glimpse of the Kingdom of God… attainable right here in the middle of America. How could I not want to be a part of fostering, fanning, and growing that?
This past weekend we celebrated World Refugee Day – an international holiday that honors refugees all over the world. Hundreds of folks gathered in one place speaking different languages, wearing their traditional clothing, and many bringing their countries’ flavors through dishes to share. We heard stories of resilience and hope. We listened to children sing, “This is the day that the Lord has made”. We ate delicious food. We laughed as a few staff joined in a traditional men’s dance from Afghanistan.
It was truly a multi-cultural, multi-ethnic, multi-lingual, multi-generational experience. And at the conclusion of the festivities, I wanted more of it.
As each one shared, I thought how incapable I was of ever fully understanding their journey. My eyes couldn’t fathom seeing the things they have seen. My heart couldn’t comprehend the loss theirs has most likely endured.
But here they are. Oceans away from home, embracing the reality that they can never return and doing whatever it takes to start over from nothing. They are brave. They are resilient. And there’s a certain joy that overrides all else.
And as each one shared, there was always an acknowledgement of God — praise given, gratitude on display. Sometimes in a native tongue, sometimes in English. But it was a prominent part of the night.
A crowd of people from various nations and tribes and people and languages — gathered together in worship.
We saw glimpses of the Kingdom of God on Saturday night.
And those of us who were lucky enough to bear witness to this unusual occurrence walked away filled with humility, awe, and gratitude. Forever changed by how God moves in the thin spaces where heaven meets earth. Where we see all that we have in common and we celebrate that which sets us apart.
My heart was full of an inexplicable reverence — struck by how the same Jesus whom I know and love is also the same Jesus my brothers and sisters from across the world know and love. And while our stories vary from one to the next on just how we came to know and trust Him, He is unchanging in His grace and love for us. His story is the same and we each have been grafted into it.
It’s a literal in-my-face reminder that the Gospel transcends cultures, languages, and time. Our western Christian ears ought to be perked up, listening and responding to how God is moving in the hearts of our fellow believers. Our posture should be one of humility, eager to learn from how others have been transformed by the saving grace of Jesus Christ.
There are probably a lot of shoulds and ought-tos I could rattle off, but I think one of the easiest (and simultaneously hardest) places to start is by simply taking the time and energy and having enough curiosity to truly get to know someone who is different from you. Different background, religion, race, socio-economic status. Someone different, but someone who still bears God’s image. All of humanity.
And when we withhold judgement, self-righteousness, and bitterness and truly look into the face of another — may we see the face of God.
Here, there is hope to behold. Joy, that can quench all sorrow. Peace, that surpasses all understanding.