on immigrants

 

Summary: Christians should welcome immigrants, not fear them.

‘The Letter to the Hebrews,’ a first-century circular that has been passed down the centuries as one of the 27 ‘books’ of the New Testament, was originally written to Jews who were followers of Jesus, and who had fled their homes and found themselves internally or regionally displaced by the Jewish-Roman War.

The passage below (Hebrews 13.1-8) feels incredibly pertinent to my own current context — both globally, with Christian communities displaced in the West Bank, in Nigeria (18 million Nigerian Christians living in refugee camps) and in other other nations; and more locally, in England, where there is a growing anger being directed at asylum seekers. This pertinence is one reason why the New Testament continues to have relevance, some two thousand years after it was written.

‘Let mutual love continue.’ The Greek here is philadelphia, that is, love for your sisters and brothers in Christ. The new family, constituted by and in Jesus — and which embraces gender, age, class, education, ethnicity, nationality — every category of the census — takes primacy over blood family and nationality.

‘Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.’ The Greek word translated ‘show hospitality’ is philoxenia, and means hospitality — warmth, friendliness — shown to strangers. This is written to people who themselves have been displaced — as could happen to any of us — making an appeal to their shared history, or stories. There is a play on overlooking to show hospitality: God sends messengers (both ‘angelic’ and human) who might or might not be received, and whose message might be lost even on those who do welcome them in. Therefore, hospitality should be an intentional practice, a doing the work of getting to know the other — the stranger — for, whether we recognise it or not, we are as much in need of and benefitted by them as they are in need of and benefitted by us.

So, those who consider themselves to be Christians should love other Christians, regardless of where they are from; and to extend warmth, friendliness, and hospitality to strangers, regardless of where they are from. This is in keeping with God’s repeated insistence, recorded in the Old Testament, that the people treat the alien living in their midst well, attending to their welfare and livelihood, and guaranteeing them justice.

‘Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured.’ There is a radical solidarity urged here, a compassion born of empathy and practical care.

The line of reasoning may seem to swerve here — ‘Let marriage be held in honour by all, and let the marriage bed be kept undefiled; for God will judge fornicators and adulterers.’ — but marriage, or, the marriage feast, is an image of the union between Jesus and the Church, and so, whatever this may have to do with honouring any marriage (which is a good outlook to embrace) this is also an injunction not to defile our union with Christ, by embracing the xenophobia (excessive fear of strangers) that is so common in the world around us. We should resist, separating ourselves from such ungodly ways of being in the world.

‘Keep your lives free from the love of money, and be content with what you have; for he has said, ‘I will never leave you or forsake you.’ So we can say with confidence, ‘The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can anyone do to me?’’ The reasoning continues, with a warning about covetousness and a call to remain in the present moment (this, rather than possessions, is the emphasis of ‘with what you have’). It is telling how often I see complaints about what asylum seekers — or black people, or gay people, or [insert scapegoat of choice here] are given, that [place myself here] does not. Why should asylum seekers be housed in a hotel!? (These really aren’t the hotel you have in mind, and you would not ever choose to stay in such an establishment.) We — those who are displaced, and those who receive them — are encouraged to remain in the present, not necessarily because conditions are ideal, but because God will not abandon us, whatever we face, now and in the future. Therefore we can say, I will not withdraw, I will not flee from the stranger in need, from the one I am continually provoked to fear.

‘Remember your leaders, those who spoke the word of God to you; consider the outcome of their way of life, and imitate their faith. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and for ever.’ Those who hold office, who have authority within the community (that is, the community of the Way, or, the Church community) should take the lead in modelling such a loving, hospitable way of life, to which we are called today as much as the original recipients of the Letter to the Hebrews were called in the first century. And those who call themselves Christians should look to make hospitality towards strangers their own practice, by which we live out our faith in tangible ways.

Hebrews 13.1-8

‘Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured. Let marriage be held in honour by all, and let the marriage bed be kept undefiled; for God will judge fornicators and adulterers. Keep your lives free from the love of money, and be content with what you have; for he has said, ‘I will never leave you or forsake you.’ So we can say with confidence, ‘The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can anyone do to me?’ Remember your leaders, those who spoke the word of God to you; consider the outcome of their way of life, and imitate their faith. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and for ever.’

 

A-levels

 

Today is A-level results day. Many young people will be celebrating getting into their first choice of university. Through Clearance, others will be offered an opportunity — a degree course, a location — previously unconsidered. For others, today will mark the end of academic study and open the door to a different future, just as valid.

The first-century biographer Luke records Jesus as saying, ‘I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!’ Jesus is speaking of the Holy Spirit, poured out with wind and flame at Pentecost, but not before Jesus will be stretched out on a cross, a Roman soldier piercing his side with a spear.

Luke’s Greek audience would have immediately thought of Prometheus, the titan who, according to Greek mythology, had created the first humans from clay, and who, for love of his creatures, stole back fire for them from the Olympian gods, thus giving the means of technology, innovation, and ultimately civilisation in its broadest sense, for which Zeus had him chained to a mountainside and sent an eagle to eat his liver — which regenerated every night — day after day after day.

For Luke, the stories of Prometheus are a culturally-embedded longing that points to Jesus. To his suffering for love of the human race; and to his ushering-in of the age of the Spirit, along with all the benefits the Spirit brings.

These benefits are not limited to life-giving animation of our spirits; charismatic gifts; and character formation; but also include the skills by which we might participate in the shaping of the world towards creative fruitfulness. Gifts of music and all the arts; of science and technology; of the means to discover more of the cosmos God has created; of architecture and medicine and engineering.

Jesus not only brings fire to the earth, which will be apportioned out person to person; he is also the Clearance officer, by whose gift we are allocated our place: some to this role and some to that.

Today is A-level results day. A day of fire, apportioned according to Christ’s call, for the greater blessing of our and every civilisation. None are left out, regardless of results, regardless of the plans our parents might wish for us and whether we have made them proud or disappointed them. Each young person has measureless value; has a role to play in society. Today, may they know the love of Christ Jesus for them, and something of the meaning and purpose he holds out.

 

bringing fire

 

‘I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!’ Jesus

The Gospel writer Luke was a first-century Greek author who had decided to order his life around the claim that Jesus — not Caesar — was Lord, and who wrote for other Greeks who were interested in exploring the same claim. Jesus was a Jew, whose imagination of ‘how the world is’ was shaped by Jewish scriptures; but he lived in ‘Galilee of the Gentiles,’ alongside a Greek population, and would have been as familiar with Greek mythology as with his own cultural heritage.

So when Luke records Jesus saying ‘I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!’ his Greek audience would have immediately thought of Prometheus. Prometheus was a Titan, one of the ancient gods usurped by the younger — Olympian — gods. Prometheus himself had not fought against the Olympians, and so had been spared being thrown into Tartarus, the great pit deep within the underworld. Nonetheless, he had an uneasy relationship with Zeus. It was, so the Greeks told, Prometheus who had made humans — initially all male — from clay, and he loved his creatures dearly. In contrast, Zeus believed that humans were worthy only of making endless sacrifices to the gods. Prometheus tricked Zeus into being bound to accepting sacrifices of bones (wrapped in glistening fat) rather than choice meat (wrapped in an ox’s stomach) and in his capricious anger, Zeus withdrew fire — and with it, the means of technology, and ultimately civilisation — from humanity. But Prometheus stole fire back for his creatures. For this betrayal, Zeus had him chained to a mountain, where each day and eagle — symbol of Zeus, and later symbol of the Roman empire — would eat his liver, the seat of human emotion. Being immortal, each night his liver would regenerate, condemning Prometheus to an ageless torture. Zeus also created Pandora, the first woman, and tricked her into bringing misery into the human experience. Eventually, Prometheus is freed by Heracles, the half-human hero son of Zeus.

So when Luke records Jesus saying, ‘I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!’ — fire being a symbol of the divine presence, and a reference to the Holy Spirit — he is (also) making particular claims about Jesus with reference to Greek mythology. That is to say, that Jesus fulfils Greek stories as well as Jewish ones. He is claiming that Jesus is the god through whom humans were created; and a god who loves his creatures enough to suffer for them. He is making a claim as to what will happen on the cross, that instrument of torture on which the god of this age — the Zeus or Satan figure — is tricked out of his claim to all human life as an endless sacrifice.

The link to Prometheus is underlined by Jesus claiming that he had not come to bring uniformity to the human experience, but to differentiate between humans — claiming a right over and above family ties; this differentiation need not imply enmity — which points to the unfolding of the arts and sciences that flows from the gift of fire. The Spirit of Jesus will inspire great architecture, and scientific invention.

Luke is demonstrating that the stories of Prometheus make it plausible for Greeks to believe in a god who suffers for humanity. Nonetheless, Prometheus was not a god they venerated in any cultic sense. That a god who could be so humiliated, even for noble reasons, was worthy of worship was hard to imagine. At most, he was allowed to hang out with Athena, goddess of wisdom, and Hephaestus, god of invention.

But this is the choice Luke sets out, on which his audience must decide: to side with a capricious god who imposed his will through torture; or with the human god who willingly shared our suffering, transforming opposition to the divine will into God’s good purposes for us. Who suffered, died, and rose again.

It is just about plausible. But the choice must be made.

Luke 12.49-56

‘I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on, five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.’

He also said to the crowds, ‘When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, “It is going to rain”; and so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, “There will be scorching heat”; and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?’

 

stars

 

One of my favourite painters is Dutch preacher Vincent van Gogh. ‘The Starry Night’ was one of several paintings he created while recuperating from a mental health breakdown. It depicts a night sky, with stars, moon, and the bright planet Venus, over a sleeping village. In the centre of the village, a church spire points to the heavens. We know the window from which van Gogh painted this scene. We know that the village existed only in his imagination. The spire is a visual sermon, pointing us to hope in the darkness.

In Genesis 15, we read that God came to Abram in a vision, saying, do not fear. In response, being safe in God’s presence, Abram makes himself vulnerable before God. He says, I can’t see any future. Abram pours out his pain, his hurt and anger and bitterness, that he and his wife are childless. God listens, and then invites him to step outside of his tent. Look up at the night sky, God says: count the stars in the heavens, if you can: I will give you descendants as numerous as these.

Luke records a conversation between Jesus and his apprentices, where Jesus tells them that they do not need to be afraid, for it is the good will of the Father — his way of referring to God — to establish them as a kingdom, to give them treasure in the heavens — referencing the conversation between God and Abram about descendants as numerous as the stars. Jesus expands on this nocturnal imagery, inviting his apprentices to see themselves as servants waiting through the night for their master to return, at an unknown hour. Those who wait actively will experience the master coming to them and serving them: the servants find themselves guests and the master, host. But, Jesus warns, it is also possible to fall asleep, and to experience the treasure God bestows stolen away.

Last week Jo and I were camping in a field far from much light pollution. One night, the sky was cloudless. It was extremely cold, but you could see every star visible to the naked eye. The following night there was a blanket of low-lying cloud. It was markedly warmer, but not one single star was visible. The next night, there were some clouds, and some stars visible. The difference was the conditions.

After many generations of decline, there is surprising but statistically-significant evidence to suggest a marked increase in church attendance in England and Wales since the COVID pandemic, including a three-fold increase among young women and a five-fold increase among young men. The reasons seem to be multiple and complex, as are the reasons why my own age group continues to leave the church. But the narrative of inevitable decline — the extinction of the church in this part of the world in the near future — no longer seems, well, inevitable. People are questioning the secular script, and looking for alternatives, including though by no means only in the church.

We need the Vincent van Goghs, who will point to hope, specifically in the person of Jesus, in the darkness, holding hope and despair, faith and unbelief in honest and creative tension; who will help us imagine what we do not yet see with our eyes.

The Abrams, who are honest about their pain and their falling short — what we call sin — and in bringing these things to God receive, in exchange, comfort and peace, hope, forgiveness, cleansing for shame, renewed identity and purpose.

The apprentices, who prepare to receive Jesus turning-up in the face of the stranger, and in particular generations who have been estranged from the church.