Friday, November 20, 2015

Called to love

Warning....I am not typically one to chime in on political discussions. But I feel like this issue has much deeper roots and honestly, I need to process my emotions here.

I have to admit I've really been struggling this week with recent events. The horrific attacks on Paris that have influenced a firestorm of media attention about refugees and religion and safety have shaken me. I am having a hard time making sense of all of the feelings and opinions out there. This is where I'm coming from...

It's scary. I get it. I do. When we moved to Malaysia I thought about it all the time. I'm a Christian in a Muslim country. I'm a minority. I stick out like a sore thumb. I worried about whether I was wearing a cross necklace or shorts. I worried about being in crowded public places especially with my kids. I worried about stopping at hawker centers (outdoor food courts) with all the eyes staring at us. It was unfamiliar. It was different. It was terrifying.

As a American and even in Europe my knowledge and exposure to different religions and cultures, especially Islam was minimal. Muslims were people in long dresses, chanting in tongues, and admittedly maybe dangerous. What I knew of Islam came mostly from the Western media, post 9/11, and the war on terrorism. In retrospect, my exposure was biased and narrow.

But the life that I've found is very different. We've been welcomed here. White, American, Christians welcomed in a Muslim community. I have found kindness in the small village we have begun to serve, sweet in offering for us to join in traditional celebrations. I found have it in the families, stopping to smile at my crazy boys. I have found it in my medical students eager to learn with the same altruistic attitudes I've had. There is no hate. There is no fear. I live my life openly. I wear a cross. I share my faith. I serve in God's name. I am a Christian living in a Muslim country.

I sometimes ask myself why we are living this nomadic life. The mountains in front of me are huge sometimes. And then I remember the necessity. I don't want my kids to know that fear. They don't see differences in color, language, culture or religion. They see people. I wish we could all see that.

I can understand the fierce protective reaction and fear of threats in light of the world today.  What I don't understand is how that fear becomes big enough to overshadow compassion. When we come to God, he doesn't ask for background checks. He doesn't judge where we've come from. He doesn't question our authenticity. He opens His arms and loves us. He comforts us when we're scared. He welcomes us with mercy.

I hate labels. I hate how we use those labels to make assumptions and judge. Let's be clear. These attacks have been carried out by terrorists. Period. They may hide behind Islam but they are not Muslim. It doesn't matter what they call themselves or what twisted verses they proclaim. They could call themselves Jewish or Hindu or Christian and it wouldn't change. Their ill intents have nothing to do with religion.

And yet we place people in desperate need of help in the same category. We ask them to wait at borders without homes or schools or safety while we figure out if we should be scared of them. This isn't a liberal argument or American argument or even a Christian argument. This is about humanity. We are all the same. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Are we comfortable being treated, in our most vulnerable moment, in this way or are we simply so far removed, in our privileged state, from truly understanding the struggle? Even in the face of fear or uncertainty, we are called to love.

God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God and God in them. 1 John 4-10.

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