“Who am I?”
Come from struggle
Running away from violence
I was invisible
Seeing many people
climbing the mountains
Crossing the rivers
Their houses are bombed
Children on their own
They don’t arrive
with all the family
They have lost their mothers
They have lost their children
Again, I was invisible
Who am I?
This is an excerpt from the poem, “Who am I?” by Alinoti Malebo, a teenage client of Catholic Charities of Louisville’s Migration and Refugee Services.
In vulnerable moments, clients have occasionally shared with me about some of the most horrifying evils that take place around the world. They’ve told me about losing siblings and children when their homes were bombed, about being tortured because of their ethnicity and about receiving death threats because of their involvement with the U.S. military in their home country.
They’ve told me about being forever denied citizenship in their country of origin because they belong to an ethnic minority and about their children being kidnapped and murdered because of their religion.
Each of their stories is unique and personal and devastating. It is overwhelming to consider all of the ways our human nature leads us to forget each other’s humanity. But the other side of those stories is the part about their faith carrying them through those unimaginable journeys and the strength and hope they have as they begin a new season of life here.
As I reflect on my faith and its intersection with my daily work, I am reminded that Jesus was a refugee child. Jesus’ parents fled from Bethlehem to Egypt after God warned Joseph in a dream that King Herod intended to kill Jesus. They stayed there in Egypt until King Herod died and it was safe for them to return.
Like many of the refugee youth I work with, Jesus was a child of exile. His family was separated from their home, from the support of extended family, and from cultural norms that were familiar.
For me, this adds new meaning to the commands throughout the Bible that we are to welcome the stranger. And when Jesus says to us, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me,” he can honestly say that from experience.
Of course we know we should do it because Jesus loves and has compassion for refugees and immigrants; but perhaps just as importantly, we could note that God actually became a person and experienced the pain and brokenness of being human. Jesus knows what it feels like to be invisible, to come from struggle, to be starving, and to experience violence. He was a refugee child.
The Gospel of Matthew doesn’t really say, but we can only hope that Jesus’ family was welcomed when they entered Egypt. We can hope that someone welcomed them into their home, showed them where things were, and helped them learn the local customs.
The interesting thing I’ve learned about welcoming the stranger is that, once they’re welcomed, they really aren’t strangers anymore. Instead of remaining strangers or foreigners, they instantly become neighbors. In welcoming people from other cultures, I’ve learned that we are all so similar.
Somewhere in the midst of the horrific evils we are capable of committing, and simultaneously, in light of the genuine selflessness we are capable of exhibiting, lies our humanity. We all need to be loved and are also called to love beyond the familiarity of our walls and boundaries.
Alix Davidson is grants coordinator for Catholic Charities of Louisville.
