A couple of years ago Jenny and I were asked to lead an evaluation process for the mission agency of our denomination in Egypt where we have a team of inspired workers, doing amazing things out of a deep sense of calling. How could we refuse, especially since it would allow us the possibility of returning to Egypt, five years after our first visit. As post Covid travel became possible, the trip was back on the agenda, and we began to plan for our time in the Middle East.
We wanted to stretch beyond Egypt and our hosts suggested Lebanon, and with some help, those plans also began to take shape. Once Lebanon became a destination, we knew we wanted to connect to the experience of our some of our newcomer Syrian families. When we told them of our plans, their initial response was a resounding, “No! It’s not safe for you to travel there.” As we explained how we would be accompanied by an experienced travelling companion, their concerns eased.
If at all possible, we were going to make an effort to meet the sister and brother-in-law and family of one of our recent refugee arrivals. A had a sister who lived some 90 minutes from Beirut. We got phone info and made some arrangements for a driver and on the Saturday afternoon set out for the town of H. It turned out to be a bit trickier than we expected and the sun was setting as we arrived in the town and located the family. They had been waiting for some time and had all but given up on these Canadian guests.
How to describe the emotions we all felt upon arriving? There was A’s lovely sister R, the husband J, best friend to A and their two lovely boys and two sweet girls and J’s elderly mother and father. They quickly ushered us into their now home. There were carpets on the floors of the high-ceilinged room and in the centre, a small wood burning stove, glowing with all the pent-up hospitality of our hosts, the centuries old traditions of welcome, warmth and shared food and conversation. The room ached with longing for a homeland, the grief for all that has been lost, family spread across the world’s time zones. The children having lost so much learning time, so much connection. The old folks missing their grandchildren. A father and mother wanting so much to provide for a family, to make for them a real home, as once it was.
Gregory Boyle in his book Barking to the Choir: the Power of Radical Kinship writes, “The ground beneath our feet is the Kingdom of God, the Pure Land. It’s not around the corner, it is the corner. Kinship is not a reward bestowed at the end. It’s here, it’s now, it’s at hand and within our reach. And this moment is the only one available to us.
“In Advent time, we are reminded over and over again: “Stay awake.” This is not a warning that death is coming but a reminder that life is happening. Now… is the day of salvation, We see as God sees: amplitude, wideness and mercy. The only moment left to us to participate in this larger love, this limitless, all-accepting love, is in the present moment.”
Of course, in that moment we were experiencing kinship in the here and now. This was no ordinary home with a cozy fire at all but rather a room that echoed with memories of another family’s long journey from home, exiled by those bent on destruction, eyes and ears closed to the suffering.