A while ago, I heard a powerful lecture on the Prophet Jeremiah by Professor Ellen Davis. In it, she said something that is also found in her book Biblical Prophecy: Perspective for Christian Theology, Discipleship, and Ministry. She writes: “The prophet speaks for God in language that is literally visceral: ‘My guts, my guts; I writhe!’ (Jer. 4:19); ‘My guts yearn for [Ephraim/Israel]” (31:20). Although the visceral character of Jeremiah’s words is (regrettably) obscured by most translations, this feature of his poetry is an important indicator of his distinctive place within the prophetic canon. For Jeremiah is a witness to horror who never looks away, and thus he may teach us something of what it is to speak and act on God’s behalf in the most grievous situations” (Davis, 144).
These words, particularly the portion in bold, rushed back to mind yesterday when I saw the photograph that has caused so much controversy, of the Syrian refugees who drowned while attempting to cross from Turkey to Greece and enter Europe. The picture that is ingrained in my mind, along with images of my little boys, is the picture of three year old Alan Kurdi who drowned with his older brother and mother, and washed up on the beach, leaving his grieving father with no desire to go on to Europe, but to instead return home, alone.
People have argued that these photos should not have been published. In certain respects, in magazines that are known for making their way without ethics, and only for financial gain, I can see why this would be controversial. But taken on its own merits, publication of these photos only brings home the reality of what is facing so many people fleeing from violence, war, and instability in their home countries. Politicians and analysts are right to say that the only long term solution is to encourage stability and peace in the homelands from which these folks are fleeing. But that is just that–a long term solution. In the mean time, we can’t look away from the tragedy of little Alan’s death, nor from the broader tragedy of which it is a particular example. Something must be done now to aid and welcome those who flee in fear of their lives. And so, the following poem came to me, and I thought I’d share it with you.
If you love me
do not look away
use your gifted eyes
to welcome the world
through tears
In beauty. In pain.
If you love me
do not hide your face
from need. from pain.
from me.
use your face to know
and be known
If you love me
do not close your lips
but use your mouth and
loose your tongue
to encourage
to shape love loudly
If you love me
do not remain with folded hands
but apply your hands to work
that heals
that lifts
the one who has fallen,
Pull the listing boat ashore
If you love me
do not walk away
but plant your feet and
stand
against injustice
and walk
to where you’re needed
If you love me
you will meet me
when you do these things
and loving your neighbor
you love me
Do not look away
If you love me
-JBH, 2015
Learn more from Episcopal Migration Ministries & Jesuit Refugee Service
Episcopal Migration Ministries also conducted a webinar on the Syrian refugee crisis 8 months ago:
I have two items to share in thanksgiving for our country today. The first is a prayer (actually a thanksgiving), the second a poem that I’m sure many will recognize.
It’s hard to believe we’re so far along in the advance of the Lent, already preparing for the third Sunday of the season. Time is flying by in some ways, and in others, it seems to be creeping along. That seems to be the way life goes. In some areas we just never seem to have enough time, while in others we wait and wait for events or seasons to pass. Anna and I have been in one of those strange seasons of not-enough-time and waiting-for-what-seems-like-eternity. The expectation we feel with the upcoming birth of our first child is hard to put into words (though many of you have experienced it yourselves). For so many reasons we’re ready for Eli’s birth–Anna especially at this point, being past the 8-month mark of the pregnancy–but at the same time, we find ourselves discovering more and more that needs to be taken care of. In many ways this waiting and this preparation is as involved a Lenten discipline as I’ve every experienced. And there’s a sense in which it serves as a reminder of exactly how little we control in our lives. We give ourselves over to the illusion of control, and lull ourselves into a sense of security with our plans, our schedules, our routines. But none of them are really set. Illness shows us that, tragedy shows us that, and the birth of a child can show us that, as they come when the time is right for them, not for our plans. So this Lenten season is one of preparation in a new way for me as I prepare to welcome my son, and prepare in all the ways necessary to do that well, and to make sure that things go as smoothly as possible at St. Joseph’s, even though there can be no script and no anticipation other than the twin realities that Lent is moving on toward Holy Week and Easter approaches on April 24 and that sometime during that same period Eli Joseph Howard will, by God’s grace, make Anna’s and my life stand still.
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