This is the small fishing village where hundreds of refugees land everyday. You can see Turkey across the strait, and this strip of rocky beach has been a safe harbor for hundreds of thousands of people in the last year.
There’s a tiny church on the edge of the port. It’s the highest point, and it juts the furthest out into the sea. Every time I’m in this village I find myself staring at this church.
Many people back home have questions about this crisis. Who are these people? Why are they leaving their countries? What will happen to the West if so many of them come to stay? There are theories, predictions, and fears. Politicians are capitalizing on our worst instincts and stoking the fires of division.
After coming here and spending my days in the camps with the refugees, I can say with confidence that everyone I’ve met is fleeing a very real threat. They love their homes and are only leaving because staying is too dangerous. There is not a covert plan to invade Europe and North America and change our cultures, as some suggest. These people’s motives for going to new places are good, and I believe any of us would do the same in their position.
But that’s not what matters.
Pretend for a moment that we could not answer those questions. Pretend we couldn’t speak to these people, hear their stories, and learn how similar they are to us. Pretend they might really be a threat to us.
Should that change anything about our calling as Christ followers?
Jesus boiled our mission down into two simple points: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind…Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”
We are called to love God, love others, and to share God’s love with as many people as we can on earth. Those are the essentials.
We are called to be exactly what this little church is. It’s the first thing people see when they approach Greece on their long journey across the water. It’s the furthest point, reaching out into the sea as a beacon of welcome, not hiding back waiting to be found. It represents safety, a warm embrace, dry clothing, a meal for the hungry, the first deep breath in months.
The nations are coming to the shores of Europe, and there are so many stories of lives being changed because they meet believers on the journey. So what if we reframe this whole crisis not as something to fear, but an opportunity to love people we could never otherwise meet? Instead of hiding or pretending we don’t see, let’s be the little church on the rock that welcomes the world with love.
“Ask and I’ll give the nations to you.
O Lord, that’s the cry of our hearts.
Distant shores and the islands will see your love as it rises on us.”
-Emily Tuttle, January Team
