Grief & Bewilderment – Paris, Syria and the Refugee Crisis, Part 2

"In times like this, fear is real. And I share that fear with you. Our instinct tells us to be afraid. The fight-or-flight mentality takes hold. At the present moment, many across our Church and our world are grasped by fear in response to the terrorist attacks that unfolded in Paris last Friday. These fears are not unfounded. We can and should support law enforcement officials who are working hard and at great risk to protect us from crime and keep us safe. And yet, especially when we feel legitimate fear, our faith reminds us 'Be not afraid.' The larger truth is that our ultimate security comes from God in Christ." - Presiding Bishop Michael B. Curry, Statement on the Syrian Refugee Crisis

St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Rome,
home of the Joel Nafuma Refugee Center

On the Sunday just over one week after the attacks, I was walking past the Spanish Steps, returning from the early morning mass at All Saints’ Anglican Church. All of a sudden, as I passed the crowded tourist location surrounded conspicuously by all types of police and security personnel, I was gripped by such a strong sense of fear and paranoia that it made me physically ill. I had unsuspectingly convinced myself that terrorists were out to attack outposts in Rome next, and that the Sunday mass at St. Paul’s would surely be their next target. As the 10:30 service began, I was so queasy I could barely sit in place, and I was so nervous that I looked backwards at the door every few minutes to see who was coming in. I prayed silently for safety, and for comfort, and I made some kind of internal peace with God – Heaven forbid if something awful were to happen, I suppose I could at least be happy with the life I’ve lived so far.

Just at the moment when my own trepidation reached a climax, at the Prayers of the People, two Africans walked into the church through the main door behind me. As it happened, the two men were from Mali, the North African country where 120 people had been kidnapped and twenty were killed by terrorists from Boko Haram earlier that week.

The two men were Maiga, our faithful sexton (who helps with the service every week) and Adama, one of two “peacekeepers” at the Refugee Center who helps to keep everyone comfortable and well respected. At that moment, a great feeling of comfort and relief washed over me, although a bit of nervousness still remained. But something just felt wonderfully right about seeing these two men of strong Islamic faith whom I both deeply admire, who have chosen to serve this American Christian community in peace and love. (Soon I will be visiting Maiga’s and Adama’s mosque as their guest, in part to thank them for all that they do for me and for St. Paul’s.)

Maiga (right) and Adama (left) pose inside St. Paul's Church

As I approached the Communion rail that Sunday morning, I was reminded that the reconciling power of God is unbound by constructs of nationality or religious affiliation for which countless wars have been fought. Our God – the God who loves ALL of us equally, breaks down every wall and border we foolishly seek to erect.

Now just more than two weeks after that horrible day, I have been continually distraught, not simply by the horrors of terrorism itself, but by the abysmal reaction by my compatriots and political representatives in the United States. As a former Congressional aide, I have watched with grief and bewilderment as governor after governor and citizen after citizen have caved to the fear, xenophobia, Islamophobia and downright racism that has laid claim to so much of my beloved homeland. When the House of Representatives voted to dramatically complicate the process of legally admitting Syrian refugees, I wrote personally to more than fifty members of Congress urging them to change course.

If just more than two months of service at the Joel Nafuma Refugee Center (and many years of experience beforehand) have taught me anything, it’s that Muslims and refugees are among the most generous, loving, caring and intelligent people I have ever met. If I could, I would without reservation offer my own home to any of them and I would be overwhelmed with pride to call any of them my fellow American citizen.

Sign outside the Joel Nafuma Refugee Center

Dear Friends, pray with me for peace in every land under Heaven. And do not stop there, but work feverishly for justice and peace everywhere. Be Not Afraid. And remember the words that our patron St. Paul wrote to his church in this very city of Rome:

Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay, says the Lord. On the contrary:

“If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.

In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. ROMANS 12:17-21

Grief & Bewilderment – Paris, Syria and the Refugee Crisis, Part 1

Following the recent terror attacks in cities around the world, I have taken the last two weeks to carefully and prayerfully reflect on these events as best I can. Please read these posts and continue to work and pray with me for peace in this and every land.

We were sitting atop a comfortable restaurant balcony not far from the Roman Forum, when a curious looking news notification came across the television screens indoors. Our parish organ scholar, Julia translated the headline to me and to the visiting Irish couple we had just recently befriended. Something had happened in Paris. Looking down at her phone, “Eight friends have been marked Safe in the attacks in Paris” read the surprisingly swift Facebook alert. “What terrorist attack??” I exclaimed, looking down at my own iPhone to see my own Parisian acquaintances marked safe as well.

As much as I am gratified that one can immediately declare oneself safe following a terrorist strike before most people even know that such a strike has happened, I am horrified to live in a world where such a tool is even necessary.

In the ensuing several days, almost a dozen people called or sent messages to me, wondering how I was doing amid the shocking trauma that seemed to grip Europe and the world in an instant. Beckoning me to please be safe, most seemed more keenly aware than before that in this modern world, anything can happen to anyone at any time.

Many of you know that I was in Paris exactly one month prior to the brutal tragedies that ensued there for the Convocation of Episcopal Churches in Europe. You may also know that I was in Istanbul, Turkey briefly (overnight for a layover en route from Washington DC back to Rome) only three weeks before a veritable security crisis ensued in Turkey that has affected dozens of other countries. These experiences have reminded me dearly of just how fickle and fleeting our sense of security can be.

I grieve, I cry, I mourn and weep for the people for all those victims and perpetrators of violent crimes in every state and nation. From the terrorism known as gun violence in Baltimore, Chicago and cities across our nation, to the random shootings in places like Newtown, Connecticut and Colorado Springs, Colorado to the attention capturing calamities that have taken place in places like Bamako, Mali and Paris, France – God’s words to Cain ring truer every day:

 “What have you done? Listen! Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground!” – Genesis 4:10

I urge you to read these wise statements from Presiding Bishop Michael Curry, Bishop Pierre Whalon of the Convocation in Europe, and especially Dean Lucinda Laird of the American Cathedral in Paris. Dean Laird’s letter, written just hours after the bloodshed so close to her own home, ends with the wisest words I’ve heard in the last few weeks:

I only mean that our prayers must lead us to action.  Here in France I suspect there will be very, very strong anti-Muslim sentiment, and one thing we must do is stand with our Muslim brothers and sisters, and foster conversation and understanding.  I think we also need to work harder to care for the flood of refugees fleeing terror in their own countries – work for immediate care and for political solutions.  You will need to find your own mission in the US, but I know that it must involve continued dedication and commitment to making justice and making peace, and being a light in the darkness. – The Very Rev. Lucinda Laird, Published in Episcopal Café, 14 Nov. 2015, (http://www.episcopalcafe.com/letter-from-dean-of-american-cathedral-in-paris/ )

Back & Forth, Ten Weeks In

Myself, Paola & Fr. Austin at Fiumicino Airport,
just minutes after arriving in Rome!

Believe it or not, I’ve now reached the tenth week of my year as a missionary here in Rome. Now about one fifth of the way in, I’m beginning to get a glimpse of life in this little corner of the world, and yet so much still feels new and interesting every single day.

I remember on the first day here, just a few hours after arriving on Roman soil, saying something like “every five minutes I go back and forth from ‘ok, I can do this, I can totally live here’ to ‘oh my God, what am I doing here – how the heck am I going to do this?!’” Fr. Austin, my supervisor and rector at St. Paul’s suggested I should write down that feeling and re-read it later because it would surely change over time.

Looking back after a fairly short period, in some ways I still feel that way, and in others I do feel myself gradually changing. Just as much as I was split 50/50 wavering back and forth the day I arrived, that sensation hasn’t gone away just yet. In fact, it’s almost as present now as it was when I began.

I said I would never get used to the way Romans cross the street (they mostly just dart out into the street, confidently assuming that cars will stop for them in due course), or the way our church shakes as if it were in an earthquake zone when the local metro train passes directly below it. I said I could never adjust to the convoluted layout of the roads, or the hard-to-find street signs, or the altogether confusing public transit system in this town either. And yet these little aspects of life have become sort of second nature to me already.

Sharing a meal with JNRC refugees and guests
for the Islamic feast of Eid Al Adha.
Across the table more than 4 languages were spoken!

Yet so much of life here, though I experience it every day, never ceases to surprise and amaze me. The extraordinarily multilingual world that exists in this city, particularly hear in this tourist- and immigrant-filled section of one of the world’s most popular travel destinations, causes me to reflect every day on my own language and to strive to learn others. The extraordinary beauty of the Roman Forum, the Vatican, the Coliseum, the Trevi Fountain, Piazza Novona, Piazza Quirinale, the Spanish Steps and so many world-renowned landmarks that all lie within walking distance of my front door surprise and delight me every single day. It amazes me to recall that people like me have been enjoying this city, walking down the very same streets and through the same buildings that I traverse since the days before St. Paul himself stood here.

Paola and I take selfies at the Coliseum & the Vatican

But not only does this curious city give me that odd back-and-forth insider/outsider fluctuating feeling, but even more so of my ministry at this incredible parish. This past month, especially since our remarkably talented parish administrator has been out of the office on an extended leave, Paola and I have experienced odd variations of familiar comfort and absolute confusion in some pretty healthy intervals.

In addition to our service with the refugees in our refugee center (a topic on which I’ll reflect in more detail in my next post), we have been spending a great deal of time in the parish office, attending to the wide and diverse needs of this congregation community. I wrote here about the curious and wide-ranging constituencies which share the building and the ministries of this church, and virtually all of them intersect at the administrator’s desk. Sometimes this means serving on the altar, working out the acolyte schedules for the upcoming Sunday, or printing the Bulletin for worship services, or sending out the weekly email of upcoming events and reflections – all pretty standard tasks for which a lifetime as an Episcopalian and 3 years of seminary have trained me well. And then I start to feel good, getting that “I totally know what I’m doing here, this is fine, I’ve got this” sensation that plants a smug little grin from cheek to cheek.

And then the phone rings. Unfortunately for me, most of the phone calls here are in Italian. Usually it’s inquiries about concerts or other requests from members of the local community – nothing particularly menacing in general. But my Italian is still embarrassingly rudimentary enough that I shake like a leaf every time the phone so much as chirps at me, desperately searching around the room for a staff member who speaks the language with any fluency. Thankfully there are many Italian speakers on staff, and one can usually be found. But I never feel quite as hopelessly lost as when a Romanesque voice appears on the other end of the line.

Likewise in the time I’m blessed to spend at the JNRC. I’ve been fortunate to work with a dedicated committee to plan an annual Christmas bazaar to raise money to support the Refugee Center. This work of fundraiser planning, after years working in churches and on political campaigns, feels quite natural for me, even in a new environment. And yet oftentimes coming down to the Center to simply spend time with our guests can be much more daunting for an introvert like myself. It takes quite an expenditure of energy and fortitude to determine who speaks English (or whether I can get by with my limited Italian knowledge) and for that matter what to talk about. How can I find common ground, bring them joy and experience our shared humanity with people whose experience has been so radically different from my own? These are concerns, fears, demons in many ways that are difficult for all of us to shake.

Front cover of the church magazine, Fall 2015

For Paola too, the pendulum swings between confidence and nervous energy on a minute-to minute basis. Being a very new Episcopalian not interested in ordained ministry, the “churchy stuff” as I call it, (acolyting, bulletins etc) can be truly untrodden territory whereas I am much more at ease. But speaking with the Latin-American congregation and taking photos to share the JNRC’s story are real talents for her that far surpass my own. In our recently completed work on this season’s Church magazine, my skills with English writing and religious affairs, and hers in translating and graphic design complimented each other perfectly! We both learned new things and produced a product of which we can be very proud.

I think it’s safe to say that we will continue to have many moments of light and dark, comfort and confusion throughout our time here and beyond. That’s why we moved here, and in some ways I think that’s what life’s about. Pray for us, dear friends in Christ, as the journey continues and I look forward to keeping you posted as the days and months increase.                                                      

The Walls

Today I had the pleasure to write this week's edition of The Epistle, the weekly letter from St. Paul's Within the Walls to our congregation and supporters near and far. The following is my reflection on this week's Gospel readings and the life of this wonderful parish.

 "As Jesus came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, "Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!" Then Jesus asked him, "Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down." (Mark 23: 1-3)


This has me thinking quite a bit about buildings, and the ways in which we as people of faith occupy (or are sometimes occupied by) our houses of worship. If we are honest, we often think of our Churches as structures of wood and stone, and perhaps secondarily as the group of people who gather weekly within those structures.

One of the great benefits of living in the Collegio is the opportunity to see so many of the wonderful ways in which we use the structure that our community calls “home”. From our two weekly worshiping communities to the Refugee Center, the weekly concerts, community meetings, thanksgiving services for newlywed couples and even the occasional fashion show, St. Paul’s has without question the best-used church building I have ever seen.

But with all of this activity keeping our shared space abuzz with energy, it can be difficult to remember that it is an edificio – an edifice that houses and represents the real church body. The real St. Paul’s Within the Walls has nothing to do with walls a
One of the great benefits of living in the Collegio is the opportunity to see so many of the wonderful ways in which we use the structure that our community calls “home”. From our two weekly worshiping communities to the Refugee Center, the weekly concerts, community meetings, thanksgiving services for newlywed couples and even the occasional fashion show, St. Paul’s has without question the best-used church building I have ever seen.
But with all of this activity keeping our shared space abuzz with energy, it can be difficult to remember that it is an edificio – an edifice that houses and represents the real church body. The real St. Paul’s Within the Walls has nothing to do with walls at all. It is the people spread across five continents who will read this epistle. And it is the people in every part of Rome and around the globe who inhabit this space with their bodies, their contributions of all kinds and especially with their prayers.
The real essence of our Christian life is the continuous work of bringing what is outside the walls in, and what is inside the walls out. It is about bursting out of the locked doors of our like-minded Anglican comfort zones, wherever we might be geographically, and rushing out to bring the love of Christ into the world. And yet that essence is also in carrying the needs, the pains, the sorrows and the joys of this world into the church body to pray, prepare and work for the betterment of God’s creation.
 
 
Charles Graves IV
Young Adult Service Corps Missionary


Those of us who have been blessed to live in Rome have the great luxury of traversing some of the most beautiful and historic buildings found anywhere in Western civilization. Being new to this city, I often marvel at the casual nature with which we happen to stumble upon the Colosseum or the Pantheon, or the Circus Maximus – venues that have entertained countless throngs since the days when the first generations of Christians walked the earth.

No matter how old the buildings that surround us may be, they all - and we all - will one day be gone. Yet the mission of Christ will continue. Join me this week in considering our work of ministry throughout all of the many spaces and places that we may occupy. Pray with me that this community within the walls (and all Christian communities) may be defined not by our walls, but by the boundless love of Jesus.

Photo Album! Joel Nafuma Refugee Center & St. Paul's Church

Having just completed my first seven weeks of service here, I have the pleasure to share with you this brief Google Album with a few pictures collected in this short time. (click the first photo, then the 'i' in the top-right corner and scroll to the right using your arrow keys). A special thank you to the Global Episcopal Mission (GEMN) for featuring this blog on their website as well!