I can't get comfortable with the idea of these fleeing people leaned up against giant barricades, unable to go forward . . . and unable to go back. I am uncomfortable because they are human beings. I am uncomfortable because I am a human being and we share this in common. I am uncomfortable because it's a big reminder that anything we know to be "stable" in life is really not stable at all. Things change very quickly - political things, religious things . . . any single thing we've built up as people is subject to this sort of fast, lopsided change. All of us are sitting right on the edge of it all the time. And now I have this baby at home. He is trying to figure out how to crawl. He is learning how to call me "mama." He is beginning to understand that to cry is to have his parents come to him. He is frightened by things that take him by surprise. Halfway around the world there are other people with babies at home. Their babies need to learn how to crawl. Their babies are learning to call their parents by name and to cry when they need help. Their babies are scared by unpleasant surprises . . . just like my baby. Those parents want to feed their children, shelter their children, protect their children . . . just like me. No, I just can't be comfortable. Can you?
Who holds the mothers who hold everyone?
I wonder it as I am holding my son.
Who sits with refugees late in the night?
The hope-seeking masses in search of new life?
Sweet Jesus and Mary and Joseph - all three -
Were refugee people - acquainted with need.
The children of God come from every home town -
And God is there with them when terror rains down.
Yes, Jesus is close to these people who flee -
These families who can't find a good place to sleep.
I look at my baby and turn out the light,
But somewhere the mothers and children are running, too scared to be dreaming tonight.