Praying Together 18th August 2024

You will notice that Jesus tells the inquisitorial Jews that He doesn’t differentiate between anyone who confesses His name. ‘Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide I me, and I in them’. All those. Whoever.

Paul expands on the same theme in Galatians 3:28 ‘There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.’

No ifs or buts. We are all one. Whoever, wherever. One family in Christ, even those who are not of the sheepfold, and those who unknowingly offer food, drink, clothes to the needy in His name.

It is certainly true that showing apparent never-ending hospitality is difficult in an environment where there are increasing numbers of refugees, and people of goodwill are understandably concerned. However there are also those – even some who loudly claim that they profess a faith – who clearly seek to foster hate and broken relationships, usually for their own ends. Yet scripture makes it clear that there is no place in the Kingdom for any who would wish to exacerbate division.

Yes, immigration is an issue. But the issue should be about how to make it possible for people under threat to find safety. There is no getting away from the fact that we are clearly commanded to welcome the stranger, the outcast, and doing so will probably have an effect on our lifestyle. But I can find nowhere in Scripture that suggests that my own comfort should take priority over offering help and support to those in need.

It’s no good saying ‘There’s no room’. Even if true (which it actually isn’t), we’d make plenty of space if it were our children who had no place of safety. Or even, perish the thought, if it were we ourselves seeking shelter.

The challenge of Emma Lazarus’ sonnet ‘The New Colossus’ is not restricted to the plaque on the Statue of Liberty – it applies to all of us, and it is not too long ago when the Irish ourselves found it to be a promise of hope in its expression of welcome in the face of famine and injustice.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”