Oh Danny Boy, we love you so.

On Friday, March 24 we welcomed Daniel James Hamoud into the world.  He arrived earlier than his due date predicted but still managed to weigh in at a fine 7 pounds. Ruth is doing great but Danny has needed a little more support.  He developed a condition called Pneumothorax, which effectively led him to suffer a collapsed right lung.  He’s in NICU in order to keep his status stable- he needs oxygen, antibiotics for infection, and IV nourishment to avoid fatigue from feeding- and will be there until his body is in shape to join us at home. 

It has naturally been frustrating to once again miss out on the experience of a natural birth and all of its newborn moments, and it’s even more frustrating to once again see our helpless child kept beyond our reach in a convoluted tangle of tubing and wiring.  After Yasmine’s birth I wrote about the mixed emotions of a “necessary separation,” and passing through this valley once before made us stronger for this next passage.  Even so, it’s not the way anyone wishes to welcome a child into this world.

More than the frustration, however, is the acknowledgement of blessing and fortune we receive.  Medical skills, technology and knowledge have given our children chances during the early moments of their emergent lives in ways that would not have been possible some years ago and are regrettably not available to countless people around the world.  Marginalization too often causes life to be lost nearly as soon as it shows its face.  Recognizing this makes us ever thankful for the privileged situation we enjoy in our moments of need.  At the end of the day it is thankfulness that will rule our hearts.

***

Births are naturally an emotional experience for all parents, and the births of our two children have invariably opened our eyes to the thin line drawn in this world between life and death.  We have needed to surrender our children into the providential hands of God’s mercy as soon as they’ve entered our hands, and we realize that this is where they always have been and ever shall remain.  It is indeed a comforting truth.  Greater still is the truth that the amazing, saving grace of God shown in Jesus Christ means that the line between life and death is but a temporary barrier that will someday be swallowed by the victory of eternal life.  It transforms everything for us as a mother and a father to embrace our children knowing with certainty that we have the ultimate hope of being forever united in God’s heavenly, everlasting kingdom.

***

Daniel was an easy name to settle on for our boy.  Daniel of the Bible is model of righteousness, godliness and faithfulness, Daniels are included among our meaningful family members and friends, and Dany is a familiar name across Lebanon.  In all senses it felt like a good call.  Naturally the popular folk tune “Oh Danny Boy” was bound to take on a special significance as we added a Danny to our number, and that significance seems to have arrived sooner than expected.  As we return to the familiar things of home with our little boy still kept away, we find that the words expressing our heart have already been sung:

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow,
It's I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow,—
Oh Danny boy, Oh Danny Boy, I love you so!

The Hobbit, refugees and a response to displacement

Much is being said these days about refugees.  Policy makers and courts are weighing in on government positions and media outlets (both social and news sources) are filled with a cacophony of voices making every seemingly imaginable argument letting refugees in or keeping them out.  There is no shortage of commentary on the subject; I have written about it on a number of occasions, including posts here and here.  The topical swirl of sense and nonsense can easily drive us to cynical confusion, but perhaps a lens for seeing today’s displacement crisis quietly sits a Middle Earth away. 

My wife and I recently began reviewing Peter Jackson’s 3-part film adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien’s much-endeared fantasy novel The Hobbit.  The story is simple: a homebody hobbit, Bilbo, joins a wizard and a band of dwarves on a quest to reclaim their homeland.  The heroines embark on a string of adventures and face an onslaught of internal and external challenges, which the films embellish to a highly entertaining effect.  The work is a piece of fantasy set in a time and place of pure fiction, but the themes speak directly to the events of our modern age as we see the depiction of a displaced people yearning for a place to belong.  It is a theme that tragically dominates the stories of countless individuals in our world today.

The films make a poignant portrayal of displacement’s pain.  In one scene Bilbo, frustrated by the disdain he receives from the rough and tumble dwarves, decides to sneak away in the night and return to his home.  As he prepares to depart he is stopped by the dwarf Bofur, and they share the following exchange:

Bilbo and Bofur hit the very nerve of displacement, and it is truly pitiful.  The underlining tragedy facing refugees is the unrelenting tension of being in this world but not belonging anywhere.  Their existence is one of being “unrooted;” they have fled their homes and strive to forge life in the wilderness of exile.  This is existentially harrowing.  The intention of God is for all to experience the rootedness of implacement, the very antithesis is displacement.  Our need for implacement is precisely why all of us everywhere desire a place to call home, and it is why we all hurt when we feel like we do not belong.  Whether in a refugee camp or a middle school cafeteria, a feeling of non-belonging undermines our core senses of self and security. 

The question remains, “how should we, the implaced people of this world, form an attitude towards the displaced?”  Like Bilbo, our nature is to opt for our own comfort in familiar, safe places where we remain either ignorant or unmoved by the suffering of others.  This attitude rarely causes displacement but it certainly contributes to its sting.  However, there is another way.  Our love for home can in fact lead us to a concern far beyond it.  If we truly recognize and cherish the life-giving roots of our own implacement then we can turn our hearts compassionately to those who suffer displacement.  This is a posture we later see assumed by Bilbo when he rejoins the band following a brief separation:

We can build an attitude towards refugees on any number of pillars, such as security concerns, economic interests, nationalistic sentiment, religion convictions and plain old fear.  But I believe a simple formula for addressing refugees is to be thankful for the blessings we enjoy and to extend compassion to those who find themselves less fortunate.  It’s a formula built on the very pillars of God’s ultimate law: to love God with all we have and to love others as we love ourselves.  It may be a simple concept, but it requires a considerable amount of heroism to manifest it into something practical and real.

I’m proud to be part of an organization and community that has compassionately embraced the displaced for decades.  Kids Alive Lebanon was started as a response to the Palestinian refugee crisis of 1948 and has since spent nearly 70 years serving at-risk children of all backgrounds.  New programs have been developed to specifically respond to the intensifying refugee and statelessness crises in Lebanon.  We may never be able to help others take back their homeland but through God’s grace we can point them to a different type of “homeland,” a firm reality of belonging in God’s everlasting kingdom.  It may not include settlement on any earthly soil, but it can be a home more life-giving and secure than any space this world has to offer.  Let us never grow cynical towards refugees and let us never be confused about the particular mission God has given us: to settle the displaced in this world and in a heavenly kingdom that is here and to come. 

God Bless Canada

This holiday break has come with some interruptions.  On Christmas morning I received a request from a second cousin asking if he and his family of five could stay with us for a few days.  They were due for refugee resettlement in Canada under the Private Refugee Sponsorship Program, which allows groups and individuals to privately spearhead the resettlement of displaced families.   The program is truly unique and has allowed tens of thousands of Syrian families to start new lives in a new country.  My cousin’s family was in the final stages of the process.  All that was required was a medical check on Tuesday morning (to show that everyone is fit for travel) and then the final departure on Wednesday evening.  There was, however, a predicament.   They had been staying in the Bekaa Valley and forecasts indicated that winter weather could shut down the mountain pass between the valley and Beirut, potentially blocking them from their important appointments.  Fortunately Dar El Awlad once again was ready to welcome a needy family for a short-term stay and changes to our holiday plans allowed us to be free.  As it turns out, we would be this family’s final stopping point between what has been a long ordeal of Syrian displacement and Canadian resettlement in Winnipeg.

I have (unfortunately) become personally familiar with the ongoing displacement crisis via the trials of my extended Syrian family, but this part of refugee resettlement was a new observation for me.  During their final three days in the Middle East we talked about the past (the country we have lost access to and the community it once held), the present (the process of resettlement and the excitement of international travel), and the future (the pros and cons of making a new life in the West).  It’s a very interesting point of a refugee experience, a point where a past wrought with so much pain and loss yields a future beaming with such hope and opportunity. 

Personally, I find resettlement bittersweet.  It pains me to see families with legacies and identity in a land driven to seek a new placement in distant lands.  I see great human potential sent abroad with the low prospects of these individuals permanently returning to their home country.  At the same time I realize that resettlement is one of the most substantial ways to directly impact the individual lives (especially children lives) that have been uprooted and undermined by the ongoing global displacement crisis.  I think of refugee resettlement as something akin to an organ transplant.  No one wants to have their liver, a kidney or heart removed from their body nor does anyone desire deteriorated health.  However, transplants are sought in order to preserve and extend life.  Such is refugee resettlement, a vital operation needed to maintain life when circumstances have reached unbearably bad states.  It is never what we want for a person, but it can breathe new life into bodies that have endured immense damage.  I want individuals rooted in their place of heritage and memory, but when these places have been taken away then I want them resettled somewhere where roots are possible.

This is why I am thankful for Canada.  In the past few years Canada has done more than any other nation-state to proactively address the Syrian displacement crisis by facilitating resettlement in a safe, secure country.  Nearly 40,000 Syrians have been granted a new start thus far, and this week I saw the buzz in an airport departure hall as dozens of more prepared to embark on a new future on Canadian soil.  This has been a commendable undertaking by a national government, and one of the important parts of this initiative has been the response of churches to facilitate sponsorship and resettlement for thousands of refugees.  My relatives are among these.  A church in Winnipeg sponsored them, oversaw their arrangements, prepared accommodation, and has committed to providing support during their initial settling periods.  This (Muslim) family had only glowing things to say of the church.  Not only has a community of Christians granted relief from their dire situation but they have provided the comfort of knowing that they are walking into a caring community that will be there in the months ahead.  My cousin let it be known to us that Jesus is very much recognized within this act of compassion.

No state, system or policy is perfect.  I realize that Canada likely has some self-interest driving their goodwill welcome of thousands of refugees.  I also personally know that faulty Canadian policy has blocked resettlement for extremely vulnerable individuals and extended their suffering.  Even so, this is the best the world currently has.  If more countries thought and acted like Canada then more lives would have rescue from the pits of displacement.  The role of Christians is extremely significant.  Churches across Canada are seizing the moment to capitalize on the opportunity to live out basic teachings of Biblical faith.  The scriptures are ever-clear from start to finish that God cares for the poor, vulnerable and marginalized.  He demands from His followers to extend this care to others including friends, enemies and everyone in between.  There is no debate here; Jesus declares that when we welcome the stranger, we welcome the Divine (Matthew 25: 43-45).  This is one point of the few displacement and response where I see there are no complexities.  Christians across Canada are showing obedience to scripture in dynamic ways, and countless lives are directly enjoying the blessing. 

I do not like refugee resettlement because I do not like that people have been reduced to refugees.  I do not like that war, discrimination and destruction have driven people from their homes and compelled them to lands across the globe.  But if this world continues to produce displacement then I want the displaced to experience hope and future.  I want people of faith to look beyond themselves to extend love, care and protection to the vulnerable and poor.  I want my global Christian community to show today what the Bible taught thousands of years ago, and I want to see many more families like the one I spent the last three days with move ahead in the prospects of life.  This doesn’t always require resettlement, but many times it does, and I thank Canada for increasing the capacity for resettlement to work.  

A gathering of the "Lucky Ones."  Only 1% of refugees are ever resettled.  This group is bound for Canada.

Bon Voyage

The young man we didn't help, he has Hope!

The other day some coworkers joined me on my weekly visit to our New Horizon Center ministry in South Lebanon.  We stopped to get some coffee just south of Beirut, and I waited in the van while the others entered the shop.  A security guard staffed at the complex quickly came over and was a little concerned that I was blocking access to the back of the building.  It turned out my parking place was fine and he started inquiring about where we come from.  I explained that we’re from a residential school and we serve needy children and orphans.  He then started asking me a string of questions: What are the ages of our children?  What is the extent of our care and where do we get our support from?  Do we accept children of different religious and nationality backgrounds?  He seemed to have purpose in his questions so I asked, “do you know someone who could use our services?”  He replied, “Me, I’m an orphan.”

Mohammad, a 21 year-old Lebanese, went on to share pieces of his tragic personal story.  He and his siblings were abandoned by their mother and his father passed away ten years ago leaving them all orphaned.  They have extended family but there’s very little engagement between them.  Mohammad never went to school; he’s completely illiterate.  He does his best to help raise his 15 and 13 year old siblings (only one has been able to attend school), but it’s a daily struggle and his opportunities for employment are very limited.  The security job demands 14 hour work days for less than $500 dollars a month salary. Mohammad was painfully raw in sharing about the challenges life has left him.  He lamented his lot but made clear he has no interest in living off the charity of others or being a dependent.  I asked him at one point of the conversation if he needs anything and he simply responded, “just God’s mercy.”

It’s not uncommon in Lebanon to find people, especially young men, depressed about their life situation.  Lebanon can be a cutthroat place where one can work day and night and never get ahead. There is extensive poverty among the Lebanese and, with the limited social support from the government; one can be hard-pressed to find provision outside for his or her family network.  Those that are orphaned or abandoned like Mohammad are considerably vulnerable. 

The anguish of this young man was apparent when he discussed his illiteracy.  “In this world you need to know something, you need to have a certificate from somewhere.  If you don’t have an education then you’re nobody.  There was a girl I was talking to once but I had to phone chat through my little brother because I can’t read or write.  When she found out I was illiterate she left me.  I feel like such a loser.”

I tried my best to encourage Mohammad (which isn’t easy when the painful reality is he has been robbed of rights and opportunities that can never be returned).  He knew early in our conversation that we are from a faith organization- he had glowing things to say about Christians and the practical kindness they showed him when he was displaced by the 2006 War- and I reminded him that God promises an upside-down Kingdom where the first are last and the last are first, the humbled will be built up and the proud brought down.  Despite his lack of education Mohammad has wisdom on the real matters of life; he shared in certain terms that faith is not the words of our lips or the practice of our religious exercise but the belief in God and the treatment of others.  This is very meaningful, but how much does it actually smooth the stigma of being an orphaned illiterate with little prospects of a respectable life?

One reason my little interaction with Mohammad struck me so strikingly that morning was because of where I was coming from and where I was going.  I came from Dar El Awlad, a residential program that came into existence nearly 70 years ago specifically to serve children who found themselves abandoned or orphaned and without access to their most basic needs.  We exist specifically so lives like Mohammad can receive what wrongs and misfortune has stolen from them (as he shared his story with me I actually told him (maybe inconsiderately) that he should have come to Dar El Awlad years ago).  That morning I was going to the New Horizons Center where we operate a literacy program specifically geared to children who cannot or do not go to school and risk facing futures of illiteracy.  Here between the two places I came across a young man who needed both.  Each day at Kids Alive Lebanon we see hundreds of children throughout our programs receive services and care, much of it dealing with education, yet on that day I saw one of the countless of individuals in Lebanon that never came to us.  I saw the alternate reality for our children; I realized in a new way what their futures very likely could look like if they had never come our way.  On the one hand it made me thankful for the opportunity we have to offer life-transforming impact for at-risk children, but on the other hand it was a painful reminder that there is still so much need that we are not even beginning to meet.   Mohammad unsettled me.

What ultimately settles me, however, is knowing that God has a special heart for Mohammad and all those who have been dealt a hand of marginalization and vulnerability.  The scripture is ever-certain that God cares for the poor and directly shares in their poverty, powerlessness and despair.  Christ was born in a stable among animals, lived without acquiring any wealth or possessions of worth and died a brutal death at the hands of injustice.  God knows the frustration, the disappointment and the despair of those who are illiterate, orphaned and disregarded by people and society.  That’s how I could leave my little encounter with Mohammad with a troubled heart that still insists on clinging to hopefulness.  He may journey through life in this world never knowing the opportunities, privileges and rights that I so easily take for granted (like the ability to even transmit these thoughts in my head to a typed text that you can now read), but God’s Kingdom is an upside-down reality where the weak will be strong, the poor will be rich and the last will be first.   This is the Kingdom we belong to, the one we are to make known to this world and the one that gives all of us an ultimate hope in life, a life everlasting.  

The Dream of Resettlement and the Threat of a Double Discplacement

Ali is my cousin. He’s also a refugee from Syria, and I consider him a hero.  Like millions of Syrians, Ali saw war and violence overrun his village and threaten the livelihood of every living thing.  The social and political situation had declined to such depths that the conflict left him with only the options to kill, be killed, or flee.  Ali fled, and as he made his escape from Syria he saved lives in the process by driving a pickup truck carrying over a dozen women and children through a warzone and delivering them safely to Lebanon. His account of the perilous flight-by-night is the stuff of Hollywood films.  By God’s grace, and Ali’s courage and steely nerves, lives were preserved when they should have been lost.  That’s heroic.

Ali is also is a hero because of a decision he recently made.  Ali, his wife and their four children officially became refugees shortly after arriving in Lebanon.  He and many other members of my extended family have “settled” in the Bekaa Valley where they live in tent settlements and work menial jobs to make ends meet.  They have lost a great deal; the war robbed Ali of his home, occupation, a brother, two uncles, many friends and acquaintances, and the opportunity for his children to receive an official education.  And, like all refugees, he has lost his country and now finds himself a foreigner in a land that would prefer he and all other refugees pick up and leave (as I suspect any country would if 25% of its population consisted of displaced people).  Even so, Ali hasn’t lost everything.  He still has a family network of support, a little patch of earth (for the time being) to raise his family and, thanks to international organizational mechanisms, a chance to forge new life in a safe, secure country. 

When Ali’s family registered with the UN as refugees they requested to be candidates for resettlement in a third country.  It’s a long, complicated procedure for a refugee to be resettled, and despite what may appear to be large refugee intake quotas in Canada, America, European states and other developed nations, the reality is that less than one percent of refugees are resettled.  More than 99% remain in the legal, psychological and effective limbo of unsettled displacement.  Like millions of others, Ali took a roll the dice to see if he could end up in the 1%. 

After initial interviews with the UN Ali’s case was picked up by the Swiss government.  The family interviewed with the embassy and received details about resettlement.  They would travel to Switzerland free of charge and receive temporary accommodation until being assigned a permanent residency somewhere in the country.  The government would financially support them and help Ali secure employment.  The children would receive a free, top-notch education.  They would enjoy the privileges of legally belonging to one of the world’s wealthiest countries that boasts one of the highest quality of life standards.  Upon establishing official residency they would be able to travel internationally; however, they would not be allowed to visit Lebanon for the foreseeable future (the logic being that if refugees require resettlement it is because they cannot remain in their country of displacement and, if this is the case, then returning to that very country is clearly problematic).  After the interview Ali was told that he would be contacted about the outcome within a few weeks.

Ali and I discussed the possibility of resettlement throughout the application process.  He shared his thinking, if it was just him he wouldn’t feel the need to start anew somewhere else but when he thinks about his children he despairs that they are missing out on a formal education.  The interests of his children are the weightiest variable in his decision making.  He asked me frequently about my personal thoughts.  Though I’ve never spent time in Switzerland, I’ve lived outside of the Middle East and he wanted to pick my mind for whatever insight I could offer.  I shared my thoughts, let him know that Switzerland is a top-notch country that offers tremendous value.  At the same time I tried to shed light on some of the challenges that I think would come with such a dramatic change.  Ali knew all along that the chances of emigrating were slim and he never got his hopes too high, but at the same time he never wanted to close the door to such an opportunity.  He had enough weighing on his mind just trying to get by; no need to fret over something that most likely won’t materialize.  He had peace with whatever unfolded.

The question remained for Ali, “What will I do if the Swiss government accepts my family for resettlement?” For the vast majority of refugees- and a large percentage of people in Middle East in general- the decision is a no-brainer: Go to Switzerland!  Europe is a destination that millions have risked their lives journeying over water and land to reach, and millions more are waiting to be delivered from displacement and resettled in a new land.  Boarding a one-way flight is saying goodbye to the insecurities, instability and abuses they have endured.  Such a one-in-a-hundred opportunity is a chance to give the next generation a future of safety, education and life.  To look at it another way, saying “Yes” to resettlement is trading one scene for the other. 

What would you choose?

I have become a rather serious student of displacement for a number of primary reasons.  Firstly, our world is experiencing historic rates of displacement, and if I want to be a responsible citizen of the world then I should be concerned and knowledgeable about one of the greatest crisis of our times.  Secondly, dozens of my loved ones, like Ali, are enduring the nightmare that is the Syrian Refugee Crisis, and their experience has made displacement painfully real and personal to me.  Thirdly, Kids Alive Lebanon serves at-risk children and has historically catered to the needs of displaced children (even decades before it became en vogue in the field of missions and humanitarian aid).  A number of our programs were established to specifically serve children of displacement.  Finally, I do not want to be so foolish as to think that displacement will always be “someone else’s” problem nor so naïve as to think that the sting will not strike my own life.  Displacement attacks people and places anywhere, and I want to prepare myself for the time if/when it undercuts my life in the same way it is undercutting the lives of millions worldwide. 

Ali’s opportunity for resettlement presented me with a new dimension of displacement.  Just as I had seen his family become refugees, I was now seeing them face the possibility of being settled in a third country.  I anticipated that I would possibility seem them board a flight to Switzerland and then one day see them settled in a new life far away from Syria and Lebanon.  There was intriguing insight to gain into the refugee’s journey, but more than anything I simply wanted to be in a position to bless my loved ones in any way possible. 

I eagerly sought out Ali on a recent trip to relatives in the Bekaa Valley.  Some weeks had passed since the interview with the Swiss Embassy and I knew they should have been notified them about being accepted for resettlement or not.  I went to their tent and quickly asked for the latest update.  Ali told me that a Swiss official had called the previous day and informed him that they had been accepted for resettlement.  Ali doesn’t have a passport (most of their identification documentation were lost when they fled) but the Swiss government would provide travel documents for the family.  Plane tickets had already been booked for the middle of November.  My heart stirred when he told me this news.  It was going to happen!  A way had been made for other Hamouds to leave a bad situation in the Middle East and settle in the West just as it had for my father over 45 years ago.  This family was going to be changed forever.  Then Ali he told me something that stirred my heart even more.  He told me that he had replied to the Swiss official, “Thanks, but no thanks.” 

Ali realizes Switzerland’s offerings.  He has an idea about the opportunities that exist in one of the most developed, secure and peaceful countries in the world. But Ali knows other things as well.  He knows what it is like to be removed from a place and a community dear to him.  He knows what it is like to have family scattered across countries, to be blocked by boundary and distance from rushing to a loved one in a time of need.  He knows what it is like to lose a brother and find himself a father figure to three nephews and a niece.  He knows what it was like to see his parents grieve the loss and separation of their family.  But one thing Ali has never known is what it was like to be alone and disconnected from a community that shared a common blood, tradition and embrace of one another.  Displacement robbed him of his home but it did not rob him of his community, but resettlement would.    Ali knows that for all Switzerland offers, it does not offer parents, brothers and sisters, or a community where he belongs.  He also knows some who had journeyed to Europe at great risk and expense only to find themselves isolated, out of place and frustrated (leading some even to return to refugee life in Lebanon). 

Ali’s decision ultimately came down to an assessment of values.  One of the problems with our modern world is that as we increase our estimation of the material (basic needs, human rights, economic and environmental justice, etc..) we oftentimes decrease our estimation of the immaterial.  Ali knows that life doesn’t boil down to being free from fear or being able to enjoy universally endowed rights and privileges.  Life boils down to sharing the ups and downs of the journey with meaningful people.  Life is about being in a place and among a people where the sense of belonging is greater than any sense of want.  Ali’s decision confirmed what I have been learning to be true: the greatest need of the human heart is to experience belonging.  I believe this is exactly why God’s greatest gift is His invitation to belong to a heavenly kingdom that exists in this world and yet goes beyond everything in this world.  Of all the good things God promises, the greatest promise to belong with Him forever through Christ. 

My conversation with Ali was a revelation.  It shed light on what it means to be displaced, what it means to be “implaced,” and what it means to be human.  It showed that while resettlement can be a rescue that brings immeasurable good to refugees, it can also be a double displacement that compounds suffering and isolation.  Refugee resettlement is a solution that should be both highly pursued and appropriately resisted.  Like so many things, it is more complex than straightforward.  We should never reduce the human experience to material quality nor assume that the most comfortable situation is the best situation; the bulk of our human needs begin where our practical needs end.  In every instance (whether we are dealing with the displaced, the poor, or anyone) we must beg the question, “How am I helping others belong.”

My conversation with Ali quickly took on a new dimension that neither one of us ever could have expected.  Within a half an hour of our talk we received word that a terrible accident had occurred.  A number of our family members were walking home after a trip to the market when a car hit them.  Ali’s nephew was killed on the scene and his sister was put in critical condition with life-threatening internal injuries.  In an instant this family and community had their world rocked.  A new light was shed on everything, including Ali’s decision.  Ali had chosen to forego resettlement partly so he could help raise his deceased brother’s children, and within a day of that decision one of them was taken away.  He also stayed so he coul be a faithful son when his parents face a time of need, and they will need him now like never before.  In the long, painful fallout of a split-second crash there is total confirmation that Ali had chosen rightly.  He chose to continue the nightmare of displacement because he realized that a family can be resettled but loved ones cannot be replaced.  To me, this is heroic.

No papers, no problem (for us at least)

“Do you take children who don’t have any papers?”

A father in the distance shouted this question to me recently as I was visiting one of the Dom (gypsy) and Bedouin communities in South Lebanon.  I was there to touch base with families we serve at the New Horizons Center and identify potential new students for the literacy program this year.  Our goal is to provide education to children who have no other opportunities for structured learning, children who for a myriad of reasons have never realized the privilege and the right to attend school.  One reason some kids may never be able to attend school is because of statelessness.  Those who do not have identification papers (birth certificate, passport, family documentation, etc.) are barred from enrolling in public school, and they are rarely able to financially cover the cost of private school.  They even oftentimes fail to qualify for the informal leaning programs now operating throughout Lebanon.  Education is a possibility for children of the Dom and Bedouin, but it is an impossibility if children do not possess any form of official identity. 

“Yes! It is not a problem,” I responded to the man.

“Come visit my home before you leave.”  Upon that invitation I made my way to the father's home and met with his family and his 7 year old son who has no papers to prove that he is indeed seven years old or that he is anyone.  I explained what we do at the New Horizons Center, how our programs runs and why we want help children gain literacy.  I let them know it is exactly because of children like this 7 year old that our literacy program exists.  This was encouraging to them, and it encourages us to remain committed to Lebanon’s marginalized and the vulnerable.  We can’t meet all of the needs of everyone, but hopefully we can meet a major need of a few special lives, especially if they don't have papers. 

Facing a child and facing Christ

Due to its graphic content, I am not displaying the image that inspired this post.  You may click on the included links to see the discussed image at your own discretion.

Once more a child from Syria is haunting us. Last year it was Alan Kurdi, a three year old whose lifeless body resting on a Turkish shoreline served the world a painful reminder that we are failing to protect the most vulnerable lives in an inhumane situation. This year it is Omran Daqneesh of Aleppo.  The five year old boy was recovered from the rubble of his bombed-out family home last week, another example of the conflict in Syria raining down terror on innocent victims.  The image of him sitting in an ambulance covered in blood and dust and war should disturb us.  It should also jolt us into crying out (both literally and figuratively) against the violence that has shattered the lives of countless children, including Ali Danqneesh, the brother of Omran who died in the attack.  Omran’s image has rightfully riveted the global community; he stares at us as if asking, “Will you face me?”

Omran is one life but he symbolizes millions of lives.  Many of these are Syrian children who have had their worlds turned upside down by death, destruction and displacement.  Even more are the children around the world that find themselves victimized by cruel deeds played out by men and women thirsty for power.  It is never children who create, distribute or order the launch of the weapons that leave bodies battered and lifeless.  Yet it is always children who suffer most when ‘things fall apart,’ and it is children who have every right to ask you and me, “Can you face us?”

As I prepare to return to Lebanon after a summer abroad I prepare to return to Dar El Awlad, a place that serves over 150 children who bear their own scars of tragedy and pain.  Many, like Omran, are Syrians who have personally experienced the horrors of war.  Others are victims of institutional injustices that deny children access to the rights, privileges and protections entitled to every person.  Some have simply suffered bad breaks and fallen into hard times that are too deep for any young person to climb out of.  The circumstances differ for each individual but they come to us with the same petition, with the same plea, “Please face me.”

Even in all its quiet power, Omran’s image should not revolt us nor should it drive us to despair or hopelessness.  However, when we look on him we should see another.  We should see someone who too was bloodied and battered by the senselessness of violence.  We should recognize someone who, though himself a complete innocent, suffered injustices by bearing the marks of blood, dust and bruise.  When we see Omran, we must see our Lord Jesus Christ who suffered with him and for us.  Christ alone can look at the heart-broken, soul-stricken, body-beaten souls of this world and say, “I face you!”

It is in Christ alone that we can face the darkest and ugliest evils this world has to offer, and it is in Christ alone that I can live in the hopeful knowledge that, even in my own darkness and ugliness, I can face God.  May God’s face shine upon us and be ever gracious to us.  May the Spirit empower us to respond to the evils of violence, to embrace victims of injustice and to be instruments of God’s healing grace.  May we truly face Omran, and in doing so may we discover Christ.