Sent to Find God among Her People
by Sheena George, CSJP
In April 2016, when I was sharing with one of my good friends that I might accept an invitation to volunteer at the Calais Refugee camp, she asked me, “Why? Why do you want to do this?”
While on my retreat, I kept returning to my friend’s question. I thought about my journey to the Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace. I have never regretted saying yes to God’s call; I have never questioned my decision to commit myself to Jesus’s call to radical hospitality. A sense of great peace came over me once I realized that my decision to go to Calais was no different. I needed to get involved, to enter into this human suffering and, in whatever way I could, alleviate it. Above all, I felt deep within me a call from our founder Mother Clare to be brave, to be one of the noble, large-minded courageous souls for God and God’s people. Without any more hesitation, I resolved to commit myself to going to Calais.
The refugees in Calais, people who were trying to find joy amidst extreme suffering, transformed my heart in ways I could not have imagined. It was difficult to ignore the anxiety and fear that had become endemic in the camp. This unrest contributed to the growing tension between the police and refugees. Obtaining asylum in most European countries is difficult, if not impossible. I went to bed each night amazed at how people suffering so much were able to find joy and have compassion for others. I began to understand more deeply what it means to be hospitable and to accept the hospitality of others.
Spending time in the refugee camp, as well as staying in the Catholic worker house, taught me how to be in community with peoples of many different backgrounds and cultures. I lived and interacted with 14 individuals, both refugees and volunteers, who spoke 10 different languages and were from seven different countries. The words of Gina Wolfe, presenter at our October assembly, reverberated through me. “When we break through limits and recognize the other not as a stranger, not as other, but as equal to us in dignity and humanity, we are at the point of being able to participate in mutual reverence.”
I began to realize that my stay in the Maria Skobtsova House with Brother Johannes and his friends was a perfect example of what Gina was referring to. Despite the considerable language barriers, the inconveniences of close quarter living (there was one toilet and one shower for 14 people), and the occasional tension-filled encounter, there was a palpable joy and peace in that household brought on by mutual respect, kindness, and love shared by individuals each seeking to achieve the same goal.
I experienced a similar warmth and camaraderie at the refugee camp. Whether I encountered an Eritrean, Ethiopian, Afghani, Iranian, a Sudanese, Syrian, Pakistani or Palestinian, I was immediately invited in for tea. The best chairs were given to strangers, people they had never met before and whom they wished to show hospitality. As guests, we were also given the best portions of the meal. Oftentimes, the proffered food or drink would be several tea leaves in hot water, coffee with sugar, or a small pan of food consisting of beans or corn. These precious items were likely the only meal of their day, but they were willing, even eager, to share that meal. I will never forget when I was told, “Please do not say thank you.” And “It is our duty to be hospitable.” This must be the way we are meant to welcome God into our lives.
I learned how important it is to stay true to myself. I learned that patience is a fundamental tool, and waiting on God is key. When I first arrived, I felt an urgency to get to know as many refugees as possible and learn all of their stories so that I could help in any way that I could. Yet, like most people, they did not like to be backed into a corner or pressured to share the details of their circumstances. The way to earn the trust of someone who is scared and vulnerable and angry is to be yourself and let down your own walls. Only then will they begin to tell their stories.
Being welcoming and hospitable is also about being sensitive and compassionate to the unique struggles of each individual, being mindful of their dignity as human beings. Their status as refugees does not diminish their humanity and does not make them any less worthy of receiving mercy or any less capable of giving it.
Respect is an important aspect of hospitality. Everyone I met was on a unique journey of loss, hope, sorrow, and joy. Many stories were heartbreaking. My Jesuit counterparts and I were invited to the tent of an Afghan man. We spoke to each other in Hindi. We learned that the young man, who was in his early 20s, was being recruited by the Taliban. Neither he nor his parents wanted that, so his parents paid smugglers to take him to Italy. There, he was unable to live on the seven dollars a day he was earning. He soon left the country and came to Calais. Every night he attempted to cross the border into England. Sometimes he got assaulted by the police. His body was covered with the evidence of those beatings. It will cost €9000 to smuggle him out of the country which may as well be €1 million. He can’t return to his country; if he does, he will be killed by the Taliban. He begged me to take him with me back to the United States. I felt so helpless and small knowing that there was no way I could do this. We shared a moment of silence, and I held his hands. He soon produced a smile. He told me that we gave him hope, that his burden was lightened with the knowledge that there are people in the world that are compassionate and merciful. He told me that he was determined and that he would never give up. Each day I heard stories like this, and each day I was moved to tears by the strength and resilience in the face of desperation, fear and anguish.
Another big part of my journey was becoming integrated. I speak from experience when I say that traveling to a foreign country brings its own set of both challenges and opportunities. Fitting into a group that is already very closely bound together is harder still. In Calais, I learned that integration is a two-way street. It involved not only welcoming strangers into my life, but also helping those same strangers become integrated. Brother Johannes was very good at this. He invited different ethnic groups and volunteers to the house for meals and prayers. On each occasion, a different ethnic cuisine was prepared and everyone was allowed to experience the customs of other cultures. The act of breaking bread together encourages communion and fellowship.
Because of my complexion, many refugees were curious about my passport. I was born in India, but I carried an American passport. One person told me that those who live on the streets of India have a better quality of life than they do in the Jungle. That evening and into the next morning, I could not stop thinking about his words. I thought that maybe the closeness that I felt with these refugees came from our similar experience of trading in our native cultures for foreign ones. Although I did not admit this right away, I can now say that I felt a definite sadness when I surrendered my Indian passport.
My friends in the Jungle in Calais experienced something quite similar. They are outside the boundaries of citizenship. They are denaturalized. Because they can no longer claim a country as their home, they have become dehumanized. They are easier targets of violence, and even death, as they are not under the protection of any state. The dream of countless refugees is to reclaim their identities, to have a place where they belong, to have a home. Jesus’s invitation to radical hospitality reminds me to cherish those who are feeling this abandonment, to remember the times when I felt alone, and to welcome the other not as a stranger, but as an equal deserving dignity and humanity.
When I returned home, I called my friend, the one who asked me why on earth I wanted to go, and I told her that I thought I could now give her an answer to this question. The answer to “why” is simple. I went thinking that I was being sent to help those in need. But now I think that I was being sent to find God among Her people. And the passage in Matthew 25 echoes in my ears. “Whatever you did to the least of these my brothers and sisters you did to me.”
This article was published in the Summer 2017 issue of Living Peace.
