Humanity.

One of my first shifts was a night shift at Sykaminias, the facility that EuroRelief runs. There were a decent number of people who came through, but the whole shift went very smoothly, as I worked the “back rope,” sending families one by one to the bus that would take them to the next transition point on their journey.

During this time I got to speak with a few people, who were all wonderful. Here is where I got my first snapshot showing that what we are doing here has a purpose; what we are doing makes a difference.

After speaking to a man from Afghanistan, he told me, just before he and his family went to the bus, “You people are so good. You are so nice. Turkey people are no good. But you are so good.” Who he was most likely referencing were violent, heartless Turkish smugglers who are charging these refugees extortionate prices to cross the Aegean in sketchy boats with fake life jackets.

But not here.

He saw something different. He saw goodness. That’s what we wish every one of these people see when they get here. That there are people who show them kindness, who love them and care about their lives.

Then came Moria. 

My first day there can be best described in one word: overwhelmed. 

When I entered the family housing compound that we help run, I was briefed on the current conditions and assigned to my position at the front gate. This position is one destined for heartbreak. When I got there, the family compound was already full, with a line of over 100 people still waiting to get in, most of whom had small children, many with infants.

It was my job to let in anyone I could as soon as we created more space in each of the rooms. It was cold, and windy, and these people in line had been waiting for hours. I was told that no adult men, including fathers, could come in, because we needed to reserve any space we created for women and children. 

In an instant I felt like I had become the man loading the lifeboats on the Titanic.

I didn’t come here to turn away people seeking shelter. I didn’t come here to tell people they have to sleep outside in the cold. But I had to. I had to protect the most vulnerable first.

This whole situation sucks. That’s all I could think. The more I tried to maintain order, the harder it got. These people were growing increasingly desperate. I was trying to communicate this to people who spoke different languages than me, and each other, with no translator.

I was blessed by one man who stayed to help me translate for two hours, knowing that he could not come in. But it was still completely overwhelming. People were suffering, and I had to keep them outside.

When my teammate asked me how I was doing, I honestly told her that I was trying not to think about it, because I knew I would break down if I did. Eventually it slowly started to settle down, as somehow we were able to find space to fit in many more people. By the end of the night we were over capacity by double, but somehow everyone fit. 

Our next two shifts at Moria were much calmer, and right before we left I got another snapshot of why I am supposed to be here, why this all had purpose, why this all means something.

A man named Saed from Afghanistan came to me and introduced himself to me  as his family was getting their things together to leave. He had been a translator for the U.S. in Afghanistan, so he spoke fluent English. He asked where I was from and what I did and how I got there, as I asked him the same questions in return.

In our conversation, I lost count of how many times he thanked me for being there to volunteer, and how grateful he was. When I told him I had resigned from my job to be there, he paused, thanked me again, and said, “You have great humanity.”

This is what it’s about. Humanity. We are all in this together.

I am not nearly as great as Saed thinks I am. But Jesus is. Just being there was enough for Saed to see the Holy Spirit, because it wasn’t my own goodness he was seeing. This has been true countless times already through my teammates as well.

I have so many questions about this whole crisis and so few answers. But I do know one thing. As a follower of Christ, I am called to be Jesus to people who desperately need him. I just need to be present for God to show up.

 

-Andrew Parkin, January team