"When we suffer, we should love"

We've begun hosting a "school of community" meeting every couple weeks with some of our friends from Church. We all read a chosen text before each meeting, then come together to discuss how it applies to each of our lives-- a way to discover together how God is actively working and speaking through the concrete experiences of our daily lives. At one meeting where we discussed a text on suffering, M. a 12-year-old Pakistani refugee, shared: "When we suffer, we should love. That's what Jesus did." Boom. Wow.

Praying together after our school of community meeting

M. and his two brothers came here with their parents almost a year ago, and they continue to await acceptance from a host country. The boys have left behind their relatives, friends, school, language, home, culture... and now find themselves here, waiting indefinitely. They're attending a Thai school (Urdu is their first language, English their second), where they've had to accept being on the outskirts because of the language barrier and the color of their skin. Though they're honest about how much they hate going to school here-- and how ready they are to move on and start their new life-- they very rarely complain.

"When we suffer, we should love." That's exactly what so many of our refugee friends are teaching me. They could choose to mope, sit around and do nothing, complain, pity themselves, despair. But they don't. We know that they suffer-- and they honestly share that-- especially the  parents who mourn the pain, loneliness, and missed opportunities of their children. But they don't let that define their identities or determine how they spend their days. They are doing their best to take each day as it comes, for what it is, spending their time in prayer, volunteering with organizations that serve other refugees and the poor, building community among themselves as they support one another at weddings, funerals, and in day-to-day life.

J. and A., a refugee couple who also fled Pakistan with their two children for their Catholic faith, amaze me as well. In Pakistan, J. was a successful attorney with a generous heart and enough money to donate land for a hospital to be built. When he and his wife decided to be baptized Catholic, they knew it could endanger their lives. But they made the choice and followed their call. Now they find themselves here, awaiting acceptance from a host country-- choosing to live in the unknown and in poverty rather than to renounce the Christ whom they love, and who remains so close to them throughout this journey. Like many of his peers here, J. is an intelligent, successful professional. But now here he is: accepting to rely on others, to give up control, to wait, to beg, to see his kids miss opportunities he'd do anything to give them. His humility is just... wow. Saintly.

But he doesn't let his suffering triumph. Because as he suffers, he loves. A couple months ago, he and his wife treated Erika and me to McDonald's with all the money in his pocket. He would not let us help to pay, saying, "You have been Christ to us through your friendship. You remind us refugees that our lives matter to someone; that we're not forgotten. For us, to feed you is to feed Christ." The two of us were speechless as we held back our tears. Talk about humbling. Recently, after a school of community meeting, he insisted that we take home a box of delicious mangoes he had brought to share. When we protested that he should take them home to his family, he insisted that they had enough already and 'couldn't possibly carry all of these home.'

When we suffer, would should love. That's what Jesus did.