Big Problem My Friend
Within 5 minutes of entering Moria’s gates (Lesvos Islands’ largest refugee camp), you will undoubtedly hear the phrase “Big problem, my friend.” This little phrase seems to be known by every POC (Persons of Concern). For some, it’s the only English words they know. No matter age, nationality, or gender, this seems to be the universal way to describe the camp. Moria big problem my friend. And to be perfectly honest, they need no correcting. Moria is one big problem.
And the more time you spend there the more problems you see.
Moria is dirty and overcrowded. The people there are underfed and often misunderstood. Volunteer’s hearts are in the right place to serve and give their all, but the resources are just not there.
And when you think about it, how nice does a government really want to make a refugee camp? If word got out it was a five-star hotel there would be 10x as many boatloads of people coming from 10x as many different countries. Why? Because the majority of our world is living off of 2 dollars a day, in countries with governments that are not interested in its people’s best interests. If you were living in a country like that, with little to no hope of your children having a good future, what would you do? It’s a big problem, my friend.
A couple Fridays ago I was placed on housing duty; moving the new arrivals (people who have just come across by boat as refugees or seeking asylum) to more permanent housing. Despite it not being nearly close to the mass influx of refugees arriving last year (100s per day), boats still show up on Lesvos’ shore nearly every week. My teammate Domanic and I went to the hut where the new arrivals would be housed to ask the current occupants to make room for them. We did not receive a warm welcome. Already overcrowded with 8 men sleeping on the floor of a small hut, they were not desiring any new roommates. We were met with angry shouts in Farsi. We patiently repeated our plea to make more room, hoping beyond hope that they would listen to our request as we walked away to pick the new arrivals up. As we approached the new arrivals rub hall, all eyes were on us. The room was filled with scared but hopeful humans awaiting a new home. And when we called the names, out came Amid and Amadarshii. Two clean-shaven middle-aged Iranian men that walked with authority and intelligence (many refugees were wealthy professionals such as doctors or lawyers back in their home country). Their eyes were filled with such hope. They shook our hands vigorously and repeated thank you over and over.
I was a part of such a defining moment in these men’s lives. But, dread filled my heart as it hit me just how disappointed they were about to be concerning their new homes. Many smugglers tell prospective refugees that all their problems will be solved as soon as they get to Greece. They promise freedom, abundant food, and private living quarters. These lies just hurt these vulnerable people more than they already are. The moment we arrived at the hut that was meant to be their new home, I watched as the hope and excitement rapidly ran out of their eyes and refilled itself with fear and dread. It was as though someone turned a light off. They had left their families, spent their savings, and risked their lives for this? A blanket on a floor? And to only make things worse, they weren’t even welcomed to that. The men within the hut absolutely refused to let them in. They began to yell at them in Farsi and I felt completely helpless. The two men started walking away with sagged shoulders defeated with nothing left in them to fight for a spot to sleep on the floor. I felt like I had failed miserably but I didn’t know what else to do. I said sorry more times than I could count but each one felt emptier and more pointless than the last. Moria, big problem my friend.
These aren’t feelings the POCs alone feel. Even though to a much smaller extent, we the volunteers, feel them too. That night, I felt miserable, frustrated, confused, and helpless. Frustrated because I want to help these people but I don’t know how. Miserable because I wanted to share with them the life-giving love of our Savior, but it’s illegal. Confused with the systems, the governments, even the POCs. Helpless because I didn’t know how to fix any of it. Moria is a disappointment to everyone. Instead of a place of asylum for people escaping war, it seems like just another prison. Then, as if anything couldn’t get worse, it started to pour. So I prayed.
Here’s some hard honesty: my first day in the camp I was scared. I was scared of Moria. I was scared of the refugees. And when we got the call to evacuate I was ready to get out of that place immediately. And it took my everything to walk back into camp the next week. I could’ve made a list of all the places I’d rather be. Going to camp is on a volunteer basis for our team. If we are overloaded with other work from the week, we are welcome to decline going to camp. And it was tempting to say no. Ever so tempting. But I’d not be saying no out of a need for rest, rather I would be saying no out of fear. And that’s not okay. The devil loves filling us with fear because when you are fearful of something or someone, it is nearly impossible to love them. However, perfect love casts out fear. That kind of love we can only find one in one place; with our Savior Jesus Christ who endured the cross, despising the shame – conquered death; conquered fear with a love stronger than our wildest imaginations. And it was that love that conquered my fears, it was that love that walked with me every step of the way right through the barbed wire fences back to a place I had begun to resent. But love won.
And then something shifted. And I was no longer afraid. I no longer had to press 110% of my energy into fighting unfounded fears. Instead, I was able to start loving. Loving these people as I gave them blankets and food. Love them as I listened to their stories. Love them by playing dominos and cards together. And they were people not just numbers. And more than just people, they were friends. When we keep our eyes on Jesus, we see fears for what they really are; unfounded lies we turn into truths.
That rainy night, Amar and Amadarshdii soon came in from their wandering, wet and tired. I met Amar’s eyes and quickly turned away feeling my heart wrench with all the pain I had put them through that night. But he came over to me and instead of anger, all there was, was gratitude. He gave me a pained smile, shook my hand and said: “Thank you.” Despite all the fear, pain, and uncertainty; love still won. And not long after, they were soon found a place to sleep for the night out of the rain.
A few days later, in camp Moria, my Egyptian friend Samwell asked me “Why are you here?”
“I’m here because this is where God called me.” I replied “I’m here to serve you. I’m here because I believe this is where Jesus would be.”
He looked into my eyes and shook my hand saying “You are right. Thank you.”
It’s the moments like that, that remind me why I am here. I am here to love the least of these as if I were loving Jesus himself, and loving the least of these is doing just that.
“Inasmuch as you did it for the least of these, you did it for Me.”
-Jesus (Matthew 25:40)
So yes, Moria is a big problem, the refugee crisis is a big problem, our world is one big problem. But it’d be an awfully bigger problem if we were all enemies instead of friends. And in the small, in the seemingly insignificant – whether that be cleaning toilets and picking up trash or giving out clothes and food, we’re making the problem a little less big. Some days it feels like punching a steel wall with a bare fist, but it’s making dents all the same. We’re walking into the darkness beholding the light of the kingdom. And in the midst of the hopelessness and darkness, light pierces through. On the first day of the Muslim festival Ramadan, the Christian POCs initiated a four-hour worship session in the heart of camp Moria. On another ridiculously stressful day of housing 400 new arrivals, fires, riots, and backups called – the next day was utterly peaceful despite the much-expected chaos. And you hear stories like that of Yannis; a refugee who was placed in prison in Athens, found a Bible, read it 5 times, and came to know Jesus as his personal Lord and Savior. Soon after, he was given his papers to move onward to Europe and complete his dreams. Yet, he decided to return to Lesvos to work with an NGO serving refugees like himself in the hope they also will find the freedom he has in Christ. While on a walk, another Christian refugee saw a Greek man wounded and hungover laying on the side of the road. He helped him up, cleaned his wounds, and offered him the little money he had to get him home safely.
After witnessing these moments and countless others, it’s impossible to say God is not at work here. He’s doing immeasurably more. The refugee crisis is not just for refugees. It’s a human crisis. It affects and involves us all. We should each be doing something for those in crisis. Whether it’s a refugee or your neighbor across the street, we all need to serve and support one another in the hardest of times. That’s walking out the kingdom here on earth. That my friend, is the best way to fight all the big problems this broken world throws at us.
Melinda
