Give me your tired, your poor

your huddled masses yearning to breathe free;

the wretched refuse of your teeming shore;

send these—the homeless, tempest-tossed to me;

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

– The New Colossus, by Emma Lazarus

On the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor

Beloved of God,

Many of us can remember a time in elementary school when we were assigned the task of committing a song or poem to memory.  The “50 Nifty States Song” I learned as a 4th grader at Hawthorne Elementary in Albert Lea, Minne­sota, was one of these.  I can still recall the school assembly when all of us fourth graders sang out the name of each state—in alphabetical order no less.  The song had a catchy tune, and even now as I write that tune plays in my head some 50 years later!  Things put to memory when we’re young tend to stick.  Which is another argument for committing Bible verses and hymns to memory—they’ll be accessible to us when we need them.  But that’s another topic.

Along with the “50 Nifty States Song” there is a poem I committed to memory as a youngster that has stayed with me all these years.  It’s a poem by Emma Lazarus (above).  She donated the poem in 1883 to the campaign to raise funds for the Statue of Liberty’s pedestal. It came to prominence only after her death when it was placed on the completed pedestal in 1903.  I saw it in person when our family visited Liberty Island at the end of my sabbatical in 2014.  Ms. Laza­rus entitled her poem THE NEW COLOSSUS. Having seen the place in Rome where Nero’s original COLOSSUS once stood, I had another layer of meaning to add to the content of what she wrote.

As our boat prepared to land on Liberty Island that brilliant summer day, the words which I’d put to memory in my elementary school choir came to the surface once more.  The poem, which never fails to move me, took on even greater meaning when we docked at Ellis Island.  There we stood in the very room where my grandparents Ingvald and Anna Kindem had stood with their three young children, Olaf, Halvor and Andi, on June 5, 1923, as immigrants from Norway.  In the computerized files, we were able to find their names on their ship’s manifest and even glimpse a photo of the ship itself—The Stavangerfjord—which bore them safely across the ocean to this new land.

Emma Lazarus’ poem and my own family’s immigration story have been much on my mind in the aftermath of the recent Executive Order banning the admittance of immigrants and refugees from certain countries.  Had Ingvald and Anna been turned away at Ellis Island, what would our family story have been?  We talked about that around the dinner table last night.  Our kids figured that if this had happened, they’d have been born in Norway.  “Not so fast,” Chris countered.  “If Great grandpa Ingvald and Great grandma Anna had been turned away, Grandpa Roald and Grandma Shirley would never have met; Dad (Erik) would not have been born, he and I would not have married, and therefore you two would never have been born.”  A point worth contemplating.

The President’s Executive Order is already having a direct impact on the Lutheran Church’s work with refugees, as David Duea, President and CEO of Lutheran Community Services Northwest pointed out in an email this week:

“Our Unaccompanied Refugee Minor program (URM) in Spokane was ready to welcome a 17-year-old young man, scheduled to arrive early this week. He is from Afghanistan, where his parents and sister were killed by a landmine. The boy fled Afghanistan to Indonesia, where he has been living in a shelter. He was scheduled to fly from Jakarta to Los Angeles Monday. Unaccompanied refugee minors usually fly with an escort.  We have not heard from the escort… We have no idea what to expect. This is one example of how a story being felt around the world is impacting real, individual lives.”

Another stark example concerns a 24-year-old man from Sudan who has been registered and waiting to come to the U.S. since 2010.  Mary Flynn, Refugee Program Director at Lutheran Social Services of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, is worried the Sudanese refugee is in danger. His case was being expedited because he was a victim of violence and torture.  Now after 7 years of waiting, the possibility of resettlement itself seems in danger.

It has been heartening to see the many expressions of concern and solidarity, and offers of legal aid for those whose lives have been flung into turmoil as a result of the Order.   As followers of Jesus—who was himself a refugee from violence (Mt. 2:13-18)—you and I are called to stand with the vulnerable, whom Jesus called “the least of these who are members of my family.” (Mt. 25: 40)

Some of you remember the chaos that swept through Japanese immigrant communities 72 years ago this month as a result of Executive Order 9066.  The displacement and internment of people of Japanese ancestry—including many who were citizens of the United States—was driven by prejudice and fear.  It remains a dark chapter in our nation’s history.

It seems to me that the words emblazoned on the Pritchard Park Memorial on Bainbridge Island—Nidoto Nai Yoni–“Let it not happen again”— also apply to the immigrant and refugee crisis that is developing before our eyes right now.  A clear process for vetting refugees has been in place for decades and often takes years to complete.  Less than ½ of 1% of the world’s refugees will ever have the opportunity to be resettled in the United States.  When it comes to refugees, there is no such thing as a “rush to our borders.”

We join our colleagues at Lutheran Community Services Northwest and at Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services in welcoming refugees no matter what their religious background or country of origin may be. We support refugees who are fleeing dangerous and violent conditions.  Not only is our compassion needed, it is com­manded by our Lord. Faith is more verb than noun—it has legs.  Let’s seize the day by putting our legs of faith to work for the sake of refugees and immigrants.  Let’s make certain Lady Liberty’s lamp continues to shine by the golden door.  In the process, we will ourselves become the “light of the world” Jesus has called us to be.

With you on the way,

Pastor Erik