She now lives in the US with her British immigrant husband, where she tries her best at, but (as ever) mostly flailing awkwardly into, neighbor love.
On her blog she writes about living toward the kingdom of God wherever we find ourselves, seeking justice, and finding neighbors all around us–even in places we didn’t know to look.
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You tend to write incredibly thought-provoking blog posts. So, I’d like to focus on four of them and ask a few follow-up questions.
From
your blog post on the vetting process for immigration to the US:
Your
husband is an immigrant and you mentioned that he had to be thoroughly vetted
before coming to the US. From your experience, what’s the most misunderstood
part about the US immigration process?
There is quite a bit that is misunderstood, and the biggest
is probably just how complex US immigration is. Even just figuring out the
starting point for the visa took several hours of research. We probably put in
30 hours or more researching the process and working out how to complete it as
quickly and effectively as possible. Information is difficult to find and
decipher. People seem to think there is just a line to join, but that is not
the case at all. SO many people were surprised that, as a spouse, and maybe
because my husband is from somewhere seemingly non-threatening like England, we
even had to apply for a visa for him.
People tend to be surprised how long, in depth, and
expensive the process actually is, and incredulous when I share that this is
the easy route. Marrying an American is the easiest way to get a green card,
but the process is still complex, expensive, incredibly thorough and in-depth,
time intensive, and anything but easy. Refugees, for example, take at least 2
years, even for expedited cases, but usually more like 5–10, and are checked by
a total of 6 government agencies – whereas my husband only had to be vetted by
two. Even the ‘easy’ routes for US immigration are difficult.
What
was the most personal aspect of the vetting process?
We had to present birth certificates, extensive travel histories,
proof that our relationship is legitimate and not a sham marriage, plus my
husband needed to submit background checks from every country he’d lived in for
more than six months. Much of it was quite intensive, but it was probably the finance
parts that felt the most personal. There is something that feels intensely
personal about printing off 12 months of bank statements, three years of tax
returns, and official reports of any assets, and sending that in to the
government.
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| Beth & Daniel Watkins |
What really stuck out was the amount of misinformation from
well-meaning people. It was kind of incredible the number of people with no
knowledge of the vetting or immigration process who tried to give us advice.
And when we would share about the process, it was surprising, still, how people
were reluctant to believe how much time and effort it took.
We were also very lucky that my husband is fluent in
English, and that he has a background in understanding bureaucratic language.
Some of the instructions were difficult to decipher and we really felt for
people who were applying who didn’t have those advantages.
One thing we took away was amazement with those who go
through the process without visible anxiety. While we celebrated making it
through each step of the process, all 11 months, we never fully relaxed until
we’d landed and he made it through the final interview. After we were approved
by the embassy, and picked up the provisional green card from them in his
passport, packed up our home and boarded a flight to move countries, we were
still on edge until he came out of the interview and joined me in baggage
claim. Even if you have all of the correct paperwork and green card, it’s still
up to the discretion of the border guard to let you in, and so we didn’t feel
like we could relax until we made it through that final hurdle.
From
your blog post on Johnnie Moore’s letter regarding his decision to stay on
President Trump’s Evangelical Advisory Council (EAC):
You
take issue with Moore’s main point that only those on the EAC have a “seat at
the table of power” to influence decision making. You wrote that the make-up of
the EAC (mostly white) “doesn’t reflect the make-up of the kingdom of God.”
Would you elaborate?
For a religion that follows a Middle-Eastern man living at
the margins of the Roman Empire, it’s always surprising to me how easily some
of his followers forget Jesus was far different from them.
But it’s not, not even in America. The evangelical church in
America is 76% white – which is less white than mainline protestant churches
overall (source); people
of color tend to be more religious than whites, and POCs are driving church
growth across the country – and yet they are conspicuously absent from the
council. This council claims to represent American Christianity to the
President – but it doesn’t look like
American Christianity. A more accurate name would be the White Evangelical Advisory Council. That’s not the same thing, and
to me, it doesn’t reflect the Kingdom of God that is made of every tribe and
tongue, and dominated by no tribe or tongue.
Second, this isn’t just representation for representation’s
sake – I’m not trying to get 24% of the council to be non-white for the sake of
it – but a core feature of Christianity is the elevation of voices the world
counts as unimportant. Jesus was very intentional in amplifying those on the
margins, putting the last first, and this council only represents the dominant
culture in America.
But this is bigger than just representation, it’s about
whose voices are heard through that council. If you’re sitting at that table
representing Christians, you better be amplifying the voices that are
marginalized, and speak for the ones Jesus identified himself with – the
hungry, thirsty, prisoner and immigrant. You can’t claim to represent
Christians and the Kingdom and really only be advancing the interests of
straight, white, middle-class men – especially as the one we follow said the
first would be last, and the last would be first. I see no reflection of that
on the council, and have no reason to believe this is the voice of Christians
in America – or anywhere, for that matter.
You
state that the current make-up of the EAC’s table “shows a narrow view of how
the kingdom and change and progress comes.” How so?
I elaborate on this in my essay a bit, but Johnnie Moore’s
statement was essentially, that to make change on Christian issues, you need a
seat at the table. And I think that’s just wrong from the start, in part
because most of us never will have a seat at that table. So, if what he says is
true, it kind of implies the rest of us shouldn’t even try, because very few of
us will ever have the ear of the President.
Also, it’s not even true. The early church thrived in spite
of the hatred by the Roman government and an active campaign of suppression –
it’s in the book of Acts! Historically, too, Christianity has thrived in spite
of governments and worldly powers, like the thriving underground church in
China right now.
But more than the argument about effectiveness, this seems
to me to be a departure from a Christian idea of how the Kingdom comes. If,
suddenly, the only way we can make a difference, or be faithful to our call, is
with a seat at the President’s table, then what do we do with Church history?
And what about Christ? The government of Jesus’ day killed him, and John the
Baptist before him, and the disciples after him. They didn’t just not have the
ear of the government – they were actively despised and pursued by government.
Were these failures? Or was that how the Kingdom came?
To me, a Christian theory of change that hinges on having
the favor of government isn’t a Christian theory of change at all.
You mention several individuals and groups that, despite not having a seat at the table (of power) went on to implement major social change. Then you go on to say: “I think we forget neither Rome nor the Sanhedrin gave Jesus a seat at the table.” Why is this significant, given today’s culture and political climate in the US?
I think all of the above matters because that thinking –
that we need to have the ear of the powers and principalities rather than be
standing as a bold witness in spite of them – has crept into our Church
culture.
Perhaps it’s always been this way, but these days it seems
many people are ambling to the top, and by doing so, making compromises for the
sake of power. American Christians are far less likely than they were even five
years ago to condemn a political leader for moral failing (source),
pastors willing to speak out about racism in America are being forced to resign
(source)
leading to other pastors unwilling to speak up against white supremacy and
racism, not wanting to jeopardize their jobs. Pastors and prominent Christian leaders
defend Donald Trump for morally reprehensible statements and behavior. People
are making compromises for a chance at having a seat at the table, and
supporting political agendas that harm the poor and benefit their bottom line.
They excuse evil for small gains because of this thinking
that we have to have a seat at the table. I think we desperately need a
re-think, and to affirm that having positions of power is not a Christian goal.
Jesus didn’t scramble to the top. He astonished the scribes
as a child, but didn’t work his way to the top of the Sanhedrin. Jesus
interacted with Roman soldiers and state tax collectors, but he wasn’t in awe
of Rome’s power, and didn’t boast to reason with Pilate. He didn’t need to be at
the top to heal people, to perform miracles, to feed the hungry, to challenge
society’s conscience, to forgive sin, to bring in his Kingdom.
That should be comforting to those of us who follow him. We
don’t need the world’s approval or success to be faithful followers of Jesus
and see his kingdom. We’re called to faithfulness, not success. And, more than
that, I think we need to be really careful that our pursuit of success doesn’t
compromise our faithfulness to a Savior who seemingly couldn’t have cared less
about political power or gain. Those are the footsteps we’re to follow.
From
a blog about when not to quote Jeremiah 29 (“I have a future and a hope for
you…”)
In
times of trouble you wrote: “It (the quote from Jeremiah) doesn’t mean I get to
offer easy answers to my friends who have known some of the greatest evils,
heartache and hardship in the world… We don’t get to quote this verse to others
in pain and go about our lives. We are called to the hard work of suffering
with those who suffer.” How do we accomplish this?
That is a big question, and one I asked myself a lot in my
years overseas, and am still asking now. As with so much, I think a lot of it
comes down to relationship, and being willing to do the work of grief and
lamentation.
On a systemic level, we need to build relationships with
those who suffer at the hand of society, so we can better understand their
suffering, their hopelessness, their grief. And be broken with them. Spend time
listening and trying to understand if we can’t identify with their life or
their pain. And search, honestly and openly, to any hand we may have in the
suffering of others. Repent, if such is the case. Not justify or excuse pain,
but accept the pain of others, and grieve with them. Then, we have work to do
to dismantle the causes of suffering, but not before we’ve sat in pain and
grief and have stopped blaming people for their own problems, and searched our
own hearts and lives to see if we have any part in the suffering of others.
On a personal level, we need to hurt with our friends who
are hurting. It means not looking for someone to blame, God or our friends, not
being quick to jump to the promise of hope and redemption, though those are key
and important. It means we’re willing to do the necessary work of grief and
lamentation to get there. Otherwise it’s cheap grace. A microwave meal version
of nourishment.
It means understanding that God doesn’t cause or prevent our
suffering, but that he is with us in it. God being with us is the good news,
but it doesn’t diminish the hurt or the suffering. The church should be a place
where the hurting find healing, but aren’t told they shouldn’t be hurt, or
should already be over their hurt by now. I would love it if the Church had a
reputation for being a place for people who are hurting found comfort, the
broken find healing, and the hungry are fed.
You
wrote “Pain doesn’t need easy answers, and it can’t be fixed by them. It needs
faith, hope and love shared in an embodied form.” How can the local church
accomplish this goal?
There are lots of ways, and I’m sure I can’t even imagine
all of them. I think one heading it might fall under, is solidarity with those
whom Christ showed solidarity with. The poor, the sick, the broken, the
hurting, the stranger. If we show solidarity with those on the out, we can be
an embodied form of hope. A people who value people our society has said have
little or no value. Can you imagine? If God’s people made a point of gathering
around and flocking to people who are without hope? Looking inward is
important, and looking outward equally so – and realizing we are the
in-between. We are not fixed people fixing broken people. We are broken people
walking with broken people.
I grew up hearing a lot about being Jesus’ hands and feet.
Jesus fed people who were hungry, healed people who were sick, welcomed those
who were unwelcome. Can we embody that? Can our churches be known for that? Can
church people be known for helping single moms, seeking for all in their
communities to have a safe place to sleep and enough to eat, as people who care
for the earth, who speak truth to power, who admit mistakes and dismantle or
subvert systems that harm people? There are a million things the local church
can do to reach this lofty goal, but all of it must come from knowing their
communities, listening to the people who have real needs, and willing to be in
it for the long haul.
From
a blog about having to choose between right belief or serving others.
In
this particular blog post, you gave the example of World Vision losing
thousands of child sponsors because of their initial stance on same sex unions.
“If our seemingly pure principles and beliefs keep people hungry and poor, then
I think we’re wrong.” What would you say about the white evangelical movement’s
propensity to support candidates who say they are “pro-choice” while having
histories of voting against legislation that would help the poor?
I was one of those white evangelicals for a while, so I understand
the heart, and also, in my case, the misinformation informing my politics on
the issue. I know the hard anti-abortion position comes from a place of deep
care for the unborn, and a desire to be a voice for the voiceless, and an
affirmation that life is precious to God, both of which are commendable and
good.
I was incredibly challenged, though, by Sister Joan
Chittister’s words on the subject, that have really informed my thinking: “I do
not believe you’re opposed to abortion that makes you pro-life. In fact, I
think in many cases your morality is deeply lacking if all you want is a child
born but not a child fed, not a child educated, not a child housed. And why
would I think that you don’t? Because you don’t want any tax money to go there.
That’s not pro-life, that’s pro-birth. We need a much broader conversation on
what the morality of pro-life is.”
Preserving life doesn’t stop after the
womb. If the leaders I’m electing support legislature that keep people hungry
and poor, stuck living in unsafe neighborhoods, without access to proper
healthcare, working multiple jobs and still unable to make ends meet, shutting
down family farms to profit agribusiness, polluting the earth that feeds us, that’s
not being for life either, is it?
From what I can gather, to be pro-life in the way Christ
taught is to affirm that life is precious to God, and to be a voice or the
voiceless. In everything. From birth, through death, regardless of status or
position. For me, that conversation is so much bigger than abortion – and we do
ourselves a disservice when we limit it to a person’s stance on just that one
issue.
What
was your own faith journey like?
I was raised in a Christian household, and have been trying
to follow for Jesus as long as I can remember. In high school I was really
involved with church and youth group, and about that time I felt ‘called’ (I
use that term loosely these days – I felt it was what God wanted for me, but
also what I decided I wanted to do) to full time ministry. At some stage,
feeling burdened for vulnerable kids and places with a very small or no
Christian presence, plus a fascination since childhood with Africa, I decided
that meant full-time missions. I went to a Christian University, majored in
Cross-Cultural Studies, waited tables for a few years after graduating to pay
off my loans. I was accepted with a mission’s organization and did the
requisite training, then moved sight unseen to a closed country in North Africa
to work with street boys and learn Arabic.
That was the start of six extremely beautiful, wonderful,
hard, and breaking years overseas. I experienced interrogation, expulsion,
three days stuck in a city at war, evacuation, and eventually serious health
problems. I ended up in three different countries, though that was never my
intention. I only ever wanted to put roots down in a place, and that was never
able to happen. I worked with street kids and refugees, trying hard to help
them generate their own income, have some hope, and be self-sufficient in
places and situations where every odd was stacked against them.
We were forced to move back to the US a few months ago
because of my health, and we don’t see being able to move back overseas anytime
in the foreseeable future.
All of that to say, my faith journey took me to places and
through experiences I never expected. It rocked my theology in ways I never
would have dreamed, and I am so, so grateful. There is much I’ve had to unlearn
about what Western thought and tradition, that was sold to me as Christian
belief. I love Jesus deeply, I hope I always will, and I desperately want to live
my life doing unto those hungry, naked, poor, and prisoner as I would unto my
Savior, while resting in the promise that His love for me is not conditional,
in the hope of the coming kingdom, and trying hard to be a part of ushering it
in wherever I find myself.
Is
there anything else you’d like to mention?
If folks want to keep up with me, the best way to do that is
over at my blog. I’m also on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. I send out A
Neighborly Newsletter every two weeks, where I round up bits of the
internet and a few thoughts encouraging us to love our neighbors, and even our
enemies, better. You can also download my free mini ebook For the Moments I Feel Faint,
about fear and my first two years overseas as a single woman in a predominantly
Muslim context, here.
T
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