I have spent the majority of the past 20+ years – pretty much my whole adult life – working with “Strangers” – international students, refugees, asylum-seekers, immigrants of varying status… But in order for you to understand my passion for this population, I want to first talk about when I was the stranger who was welcomed.
After I graduated college, I joined the Peace Corps and spent three years living in the small town of Ayabaca, Peru. Ayabaca is in the northern mountains of Peru, close to the border with Ecuador. There are 4000 people in the town of Ayabaca, which is actually on the larger side for a Peace Corps site.
The locals called Ayabaca “the city in the clouds.” At 9000 feet, we had a great view over the valley below and often could see out over the clouds. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever lived – though also one of the simplest. We had running water only one hour a day – and it was freezing cold and often clouded with dirt. Even after boiling it and letting all the dirt settle to the bottom, it still tasted of mud. We had electricity – but it frequently would go out for three or four hours at a time. There was no hot water, no air conditioning or heaters, very few cars, no internet except for one internet café that had just been put in a few months before I moved there. No one had computers at home. Very few people had telephones, and if they did, they were landlines only. It was six hours by bus to the nearest city.
My role in the Peace Corps was as a Health Educator. I worked with the local health post to equip health promoters and provide basic health education to the community: hand washing, food prep, dental care, etc. We often would go out to the outlying villages to do workshops and general screenings. Mostly we would take the health post truck, which was an ancient thing that constantly broke down along the way. We would stop and the driver – who was maybe about 4’9”? – would get out, pick up a rock, and bang on the engine until it ran again. Since he was so short, he had to climb up on top of the tire in order to reach the engine. I don’t know why or how hitting the engine with a rock “fixed” it, but miraculously, every time the engine would start up again and we’d be on our way.
One time we went to a village that was not connected by a road. The only way to get there was by foot. The path was rocky and uneven, as though it had been formed more through regular foot traffic than by intent. On each side of us were trees and bushes in all shades of green. At one point we walked through a wild patch of berries. It was cool in the morning when we left, so much so we could see our breath. As we walked further it got warmer and we shed our jackets.
It took us three hours to reach our destination. When we finally caught a glimpse of the village, I saw about a dozen one-room adobe houses forming a half circle around a clearing. It was quiet when we walked up. There didn’t seem to be anyone around.
As we approached the first house, a campesina opened the door. Her face was weathered by the sun. She could have just as easily been sixty as thirty. She was about five feet tall and wore the typical clothes for the area: a heavy sweater over a collared shirt, a long skirt with wool leggings under, well-worn shoes, and a knitted cap. Her hair was in a long braid over her shoulder.
She said nothing as we approached. Juan Carlos, the nurse walking with me, greeted her from a few feet away. He explained who we were and why we had come. She nodded an acknowledgement to us and then invited us into her house.
Similar to other homes in the village, and other villages like it, the house was one room, maybe about 10 feet by 12 feet. The walls were adobe brick and the floor dirt. Each wall had an opening for a window, but the hole was covered only with a piece of blue plastic tarp which rippled when the wind blew. There was no furniture inside. In a far corner I could see rolled up mats and blankets – bedding, stored away until nighttime. In another corner was a small fire with a pot of water over it. Smoke hung around the ceiling above our heads.
The woman, whose introduced herself as Carmelita, spread a blanket out on the floor for us to sit on. She sat opposite from us on the dirt. She wiped clean a few cups with a dusty rag and then ladled hot water into each one. She mixed the water with a spoonful of Ecco – a barley drink people in Peru often drink instead of coffee as it’s cheaper. She handed a cup to each of us. There was no sugar.
The drink was bitter and weak, but served with such hospitality that it made a welcome gift. She literally had nothing else to offer. Juan Carlos asked her a few questions while we drank. She told us that the men had gone out to the potato fields to work but would soon return. Some of the children were in the fields as well; others had gone to the next village over to the closest schoolhouse. It was a 45-minute walk each way. They would soon be back as well.
Everything about Camelita's demeanor was open and welcoming, and yet she never once smiled. She gave the impression of someone who was solitary much of the time, unused to company. And yet she had invited us, strangers, into her house without a second thought, given us all she had, and kept us company until the others returned and we could go to work.
When I first returned to the US after three years in Peru, I experienced reverse culture shock. American culture seemed so cold compared to the warmth hospitality of Peru. That is one of the most common complaints people from other countries have about the US – that people here are very isolated. We don’t know our neighbors, don’t talk to people in the street, don’t welcome in the stranger.
As a culture, well, we are who we are. But as Christians – we are called to be different. We are called by God to Welcome the Stranger. For more on this topic, I recommend the book, “Welcoming the Stranger” by Matthew Soerens. Soerens served as the US Director of Church Mobilization for World Relief, a Christian relief organization. He has co-authored three great books on immigrants and refugees.
Why welcome the stranger?
Did you know that the second most repeated commandment in the Old Testament, after worship God alone, is to welcome the stranger? In the Old Testament we see repeated commands from God to care for the foreigner, treat the alien among you equally, leave the door open for the traveler. Scripture tells us that God loves the foreigner, and we are to follow suit.
Think about all the stories in the Old Testament that deal with migration - often forced migration. Abraham left his home for the Promised Land but got stuck in a few detours along the way; Joseph was a victim of human trafficking, sold as a slave to Egypt; Moses led the Jews – Joseph’s descendants – out of Egypt some 400 years later and they were stateless for some time, wandering the desert before Joshua led them into the Promised Land; David fled political persecution; the Jewish people were taken into exile to Babylon and then back again years later.
One Scripture (of many) to this topic is from Leviticus 19:33-34. It reads, “When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them. The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the LORD your God.” Their command to help the stranger, the foreigner, was routed in the major event of their time as strangers in Egypt. They knew what it meant to be the stranger.
Soerens says, “God commands his people to extend the same legal protections to immigrants as were available to the Israelites themselves.” These protections include the right to a Sabbath, fair labor treatment, prompt payment for work, and an equal inheritance. In addition, Exodus tells us not to oppress a foreigner; 1 Kings tells us that foreigners are always welcome to come and pray; Psalms tells us the Lord watches over the stranger; Malachi tells us to not deprive the foreigner of justice. Obviously, this is something of importance to God.
The New Testament has many migrant stories as well. Jesus and his parents fled to Egypt as refugees. The early church fled religious persecution in Jerusalem. Priscilla and Aquilla fled Rome due to ethnic persecution.
Jesus speaks about this as well. In fact, the name of this post, and of Soeren’s book, Welcoming the Stranger, comes directly from Jesus. In Matthew 25:31-46, Jesus shares about the final judgment in an analogy about separating the sheep and the goats. He tells the sheep that they will inherit eternal life, “'For I was hungry, and you gave me food, I was thirsty, and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked, and you clothed me, I was sick, and you visited me, I was in prison, and you came to me.' The sheep ask him, 'When did we do all this?' And he said, 'As you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.'"
Isn’t that remarkable? You did it to me. (Or some translations say for me.) Not as if to me. You did it TO me. When we welcome the stranger, we are welcoming Jesus.
So, who are the strangers in our land today? Read about "Strangers" I have come to know and love in Part 2.
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