Refugees, Romans, and Trusting God

Now that we’ve thankfully moved past the Starbucks Christmas cup debacle, the American Church is facing a new and actually pressing crisis: the Syrian refugees.

Without getting into the politics of it all, the question I keep seeing hashed out is simple. Should America accept Syrian refugees?

My answer (and this is my opinion) is that America should accept Syrian refugees through the same process and channels as always used. After all, we’re the home of the huddled masses, yearning to be free. Security is a built-in concern these days, so let’s trust the system to work.

But for many, it’s the follow up question that gets complicated — how should American Christians answer the question about refugees?

I would start by pointing to Romans 13 (quoting The Message translation):

1-3 Be a good citizen. All governments are under God. Insofar as there is peace and order, it’s God’s order. So live responsibly as a citizen. If you’re irresponsible to the state, then you’re irresponsible with God, and God will hold you responsible. Duly constituted authorities are only a threat if you’re trying to get by with something. Decent citizens should have nothing to fear.

3-5 Do you want to be on good terms with the government? Be a responsible citizen and you’ll get on just fine, the government working to your advantage. But if you’re breaking the rules right and left, watch out. The police aren’t there just to be admired in their uniforms. God also has an interest in keeping order, and he uses them to do it. That’s why you must live responsibly—not just to avoid punishment but also because it’s the right way to live.

6-7 That’s also why you pay taxes—so that an orderly way of life can be maintained. Fulfill your obligations as a citizen. Pay your taxes, pay your bills, respect your leaders.

The second sentence is the one that seems pertinent to me. “All governments are under God” is a significant statement; too often, we act as if government is out of God’s control, when the truth is much uglier: government is out of our control. And that’s what scares many American Christians.

Because we live in a democratic republic, it’s easy to understand how we get things mixed up. We vote for our government officials, so that means we have a say in who represents us and what values they bring to the table. We expect our vote to carry a certain weight with our representatives because without it they couldn’t hold office. As a result, we feel like the government is ours to control. Lobbyists feel otherwise.

Here’s the Apostle Paul, however, setting us straight. Government is not ours to control. It’s God’s. End of story. Paul spends seven verses explaining just how God uses the government to His purposes, and how Christians should trust God to work.

And Paul was writing under the rule of Rome. When they crucified Christians. And used them for bloodsport in massive arena games. And blamed them for the downfall of the world.

Yet we get pissy over coffee cups. But whatevs.

The heart of the issue is one of faith and trust. Some people don’t trust the government. Given the history of American politics, that’s not unreasonable. Some people don’t trust individual politicians. That makes sense too. Some people don’t even trust the system by which we elect our government — again, I understand.

But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t trust God.

Because that’s what this boils down to. Plenty of American Christians don’t trust the God they worship. Having grown accustomed to the ease of living afforded by our country, we cannot fathom that God would ever test that ease. That’s right – I’m throwing myself in the mix. I struggle with the Syrian question because I know in my heart taking care of the poor and oppressed is a Scriptural command from God.

In my head, however, there’s a filibuster going on about national security, vetting processes, and the fact that I don’t want a potential terrorist moving into any of the rental properties in my neighborhood. (Because suburban Atlanta is a hot target these days.)

I think a lot of us are feeling this way and we’re pointing towards politics as the source and expression of the tension when it’s really a spiritual battle.

And it comes down to the question of do you trust God or not?

I don’t want anyone to harm my country. I don’t want helpless people to suffer at the hands of evil ideologues. There’s a paradox at work, and that just so happens to be the place where God shines brightest.

So, I’m going to trust God, who put my government in place, to use that government to His will and purpose. I’m going to trust God that if we let Syrian refugees in, it’s for His will and purpose.

I’m going to trust God, because, in the end, there’s no one else worth trusting.

Hello Kitty: The Last Day of Childhood

The Destructor has been chosen...this freaking anime cat will take away my daughter's chldhood tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow morning, I will wake up earlier than usual. I will most likely have to rouse my daughter from her bed and usher her into the kitchen, where we’ll begin our normal morning routine. Only it won’t be normal anymore. There will be changes.

She won’t have the option of starting her day with her usual televised friends. She won’t be able to lay about in her nightclothes, playing with her dolls or ponies, until her mother or I insist on her getting dressed. Chances are she won’t even have time to bug her little brother. Ella will get dressed, get fed, put her hair into a bow, and together we’ll walk up the street to her bus stop.

Tomorrow, my daughter, bedecked in Hello Kitty, will say goodbye to the only life she’s known.

Over a single night, all that my family has known will change. And it will be a significant shift, one that will not correct, one that will not return to us except in brief stints known as winter, spring and summer break.

I was doing okay with that reality for the past few days, but much like the evening before major surgery, or your wedding, or any other life-altering day, I’m starting to feel a little less confident and a little more wistful. Almost panicked, even.

Do all people experience these kinds of shifts in the same way? Is it the singular feature of parenthood to feel more acutely those changes in your child’s life that signify maturation? I looked at the faces of other parents this morning at church and couldn’t detect any anxiety on their parts. But I could feel my heart beating wildly with each minute slipping by. I watched Ella play with her friends after the luncheon at our church and all I could think about was that at this same time next year she would be a completely different Ella. She wouldn’t be a precocious pre-K girl anymore; she would be something other, something undefined, something unpredictable.

Something foreign.

Of course that’s only true if I neglect to undergo this metamorphosis with her, and there is a real part of me that wants to scream, “No, this can’t be happening!” I feel as if somehow some giant, faceless force is attempting to wrench my little girl from my hands and take her somewhere I cannot go.

But the truth is, if I do not follow her on this new path, it will not be because I was forbidden; it will be because I chose to stay behind, cradling the past as fiercely as I once held her. This scares me because I can see the temptation of it and feel the pull towards that choice, but I know if I pull back and hold onto my memories of Ella’s early childhood as the basis for how I see and interact with her, I will lose her twice. Once, because she will move on and grow up and become herself as she is meant to be. Twice, because my memories will fade and, having made no new ones, I will be left with a dissolving image even more foreign and frightening than I could imagine.

So I will wake up tomorrow and get her out of bed. I will hold her longer than I normally would because I know that it will be the last time I can pull her into my embrace with the guarantee that nothing will happen to her unless I let it. I will crave that sense of protection that has safeguarded us both, even while we both knew it was a facade. I will let her go, my heart ripping to pieces and rebuilding itself only to rip into pieces again, and I will fix her a Pop Tart. Or a bowl of Cocoa Krispies. Or a bag of Frosted Flakes. Or maybe even a stack of pancakes, though I doubt that because she’s not really been into pancakes recently (just one more sign of the advancing of time). I will hurry her through her breakfast because, for the first time in her life, she will have a schedule that she must keep, a schedule that is enforced by a new entity that is greater than mom and dad and must be obeyed. She will have to dress and get medicine and brush her teeth and check her backpack and put on her shoes and clean her room and trek the Green Mile to the bus stop where her life, her young and frail life, will be forever changed by the opening of those big yellow doors and her first steps onto the Cheese Wagon.

In short, tomorrow morning I release my second-born, first-surviving child into the maws of the masochistic rat race that consumes us all with the same ferocity, while simultaneously losing my own divine illusion of control.

Two innocences for the price of one.

I can hear her singing now, a random yelp to herself and her friends “the Stuffies” that means nothing more to me than the very essence of her purity of soul. I hear it, and I tear up at the thought that some bruiser of a fifth grader may make fun of her tomorrow in the hallway. I hear it and I fill with rage at the very notion that someday some clumsy oaf will make an advance against her will and quite possibly she might feel helpless to resist.

Some people see the first day of Kindergarten as a bittersweet memory that signifies their child is growing up and will soon embark on new adventures.

I see the first day of Kindergarten as quite possibly the first steps to Hell. Or at the very least my own descent into madness.

It’s so bizarre, really, just how much of how I see the world is revealed through Ella’s venturing out into it. How contrary my internal thoughts are to the way I’ve presented the world to her. I’ve raised her to believe in herself, to believe in the powers of goodness and honesty, to trust her own innate creativity and intelligence and to resist the corrosion of conformity for as long as she can.

And all the while, I’ve harbored this festering hatred for the world I’ve painted with such caring detail. In essence, I’ve either lied to my child or to myself, and perhaps both; I’ve spent too long, it seems, dancing between two worlds instead of just inhabiting one.

Tomorrow, then, is my day of reckoning.

Will I choose to follow my daughter into her new world and do my best to reinforce those values and beliefs that I have instilled in her in order to help her become the very best person she can? Or will I hide, like a coward, in a hell of my own making, succumbing to the worst of all possible fates: being a wretched little man, afraid of the world and its unpredictability, who loses his beloved daughter because of his own weakness?

For better or worse, I must choose. As much for Ella’s sake as my own. And the choice will make my world radically different, for the good or the bad.

Who knew a day filled with excitement and potential and squeaky new Hello Kitty accessories could be so metaphysical?