We All Carry the Story of Displacement, Part II

Why did I tell the story of my family, a bunch of Polish refugees fleeing war in the early twentieth century?

Because I think it matters now more than ever.

First, the “us and them” mindset that so often shapes our conversations about refugees and immigrants is simply false. There is no “us” and “them.” We all carry the blood of displaced people in our veins. I grew up in safety and security not because I earned it, but because someone—several someones—fled for their lives, risked everything, and had the benefit of timing and geopolitical luck.

And this reality is reflected in the Bible, as well.  Over and over again, God's people are wanderers/ Abraham left his homeland with no map. Jacob fled from his brother. Ruth crossed borders as a Moabite widow, and God used her to become the great-grandmother of David. Jesus Himself was a refugee, carried by His parents into Egypt to escape Herod’s violence. Our faith is rooted in displacement.

Second, I’m here because of the extraordinary bravery of an ordinary woman. Aniela, my great-grandmother, amazes me. I don’t know if I could have done what she did. But I know that many women—then and now—have done exactly that. They deserve more than our sympathy. They deserve our solidarity.

And, not unexpectedly, in the biblical text it is also often women who model courage and faith under pressure, woman who save the lives of God's beloved people: midwives who defy Pharaoh (Exodus 1), Esther who risks everything for her people, Mary who bears the Word of God into a dark and dangerous world. Like Aniela, they stepped forward into risk so others could live. Their stories shouldn't just inspire us—they call us to action.

Third, laws and policies matter. If Aniela had left Poland just a few years later, she would not have been allowed to settle in the United States due to the anti-Slavic immigration laws passed in 1921. People in the U.S. at that time didn’t want Polish immigrants. They called them criminals. The majority-protestant citizens of the United States distrusted the religious heritage of people from Eastern Europe (most Polish people at this time were Roman Catholic or Jewish). They ridiculed the rolling accents. They complained that they didn't "integrate," that people from Europe contaminated America's well-off urban neighborhoods and cute little country towns. 

It is exactly the same rhetoric used against immigrants in Canada and the U.S. today.
It is still wrong.
And we, as Christians, are called to advocate for something better.

Scripture is unambiguous on this: “You shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Deuteronomy 10:19). Jesus sharpens this in Matthew 25: “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” Our faith does not give us the option of neutrality. We are either building welcome or reinforcing exclusion. 

Either we are living out the gospel, or we are not.

In a time of rising polarization and fear, I pray for the courage to stand for what is right. The divisions we are fed are not real. The suspicion and hatred of those who don’t share our passport or language is not of God.

Pentecost tells us otherwise. Every language, every nation, every person is part of the Spirit’s great gathering work.
We are not separate from the refugee. In fact, we are all refugees in this foreign land. As Paul writes, “our citizenship is in heaven” (Philippians 3:20). We are all sojourners who are all called to build something better.

In the coming weeks, I challenge you to examine your own biases. Who do you see who is in need in your own community? More importantly, when have you and your family been in need? When have you experienced Christ's welcome? And how can you encourage this welcome amongst the people in your life today?