Dear Christians,

As I sit down to write this letter, I find my heart feeling genuinely pained that one of its kind has to exist. I reflect upon my upbringing as a Christian and recall the countless creeds that have been etched into the philosophy of life that I continue to hold today: Love thy neighbor as thyself. Extend mercy to the poor and persecuted. Fear not, for God is with you. And of course, the timeless: What would Jesus do? Although I certainly fail to put these sentiments into action perfectly on a daily basis, I am truly grieved by the collective refusal of many Christians to apply these core principles to the recent surge in the Syrian refugee crisis. While I cannot promise to provide a simple solution to a complex problem, I can challenge you to put aside your fears and prejudices and exchange them for the heart of Christ -- a heart that is radically open to the vulnerable and the weary, no matter their skin color, religion, or country of origin.

The facts of the Syrian refugee crisis are harrowing. Since the dawn of Syria’s civil war in 2011, more than 4 million refugees have fled the country to escape ineffable violence that has killed 220,000 people. Most refugees who have been resettled in neighboring countries live in impoverished conditions, and many refugee children lack access to an education, leaving this population especially vulnerable to further oppression and abuse. In recent months, more than 300,000 refugees have attempted to cross the Mediterranean in hopes of finding refuge in Europe, and a haunting portion of those have drowned or succumbed to disease in the process. Meanwhile, some of the most vocal Christians in the United States are intent on boycotting Starbucks for its blasphemous use of a plain red cup or preventing transgender individuals in Texas from using the restroom, and some have even suggested that we close our doors to those seeking asylum within our borders. This misdirection of our priorities is equally horrifying as it is saddening. Until we reevaluate the enmity of our hearts and change the course of our actions, we will fail to live up to our call to shine the light of Christ’s love in a world where the darkness of hate is ever-looming.

God’s command to take care of our brethren comes from as early as Genesis 4, where Cain asks a piercing question: “Am I my brother’s keeper?” God certainly does not hesitate to be equally cutting in his response: “Listen; your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground. And now you are cursed from the ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand” (Genesis 4:9-11). Although the graphic truth that God holds us responsible for the injustices we allow to persist is difficult to bear, we must remember that we were literally placed on this earth for human companionship, and our redemption as a human race is bound in the empathy we extend to one another. This idea is further illustrated in Isaiah 58, where we are reminded that the legalistic decrees we toil ourselves with pale in comparison to the urgent call to fight for, and with, the victims of human cruelty: “Is this not the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed free, and break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly...” (Isaiah 58:6-8a). Although these words date back thousands of years, they seem to come to life in the midst of the injustice, oppression, darkness, and infirmity we are facing today. Will we heed to the boldness of their cry, or will we continue to reject those in need of our compassion as our authenticity crumbles underneath a religious façade?

The life and example of Jesus (the figure around whom Christians are ostensibly supposed to shape their lives, just to clarify) epitomizes the kind of mercy we should give freely as we navigate the complexities of this crisis. During his time on earth, Jesus often forsook his own reputation and security to embrace the most marginalized members of his society--the poor, the sick, the broken, and the ostracized. His actions were not without cost; he often lost the favor of religious authorities and found himself without the riches and status you might expect the king of kings to carry. Ultimately, his unconditional compassion for humanity cost him his life. Nonetheless, he commands his followers to attend to the needs of the vulnerable, even when it is uncomfortable, impractical, or just plain hard. He promises that his image is reflected in those to whom we offer compassion, and when we love a stranger unconditionally, we are demonstrating our love for God: “ for when I was hungry you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me” (Matthew 25:35-36). Wouldn’t it be nice if the world knew of our love for Jesus from the actual love we show to actual image bearers of God rather than the unfortunate stances some of us often take in polarizing culture wars? Perhaps then we would find ourselves with a renewed understanding of what it means to “Love the Lord our God with all our hearts, all our souls, all our minds, all our strengths . . . and to love our neighbors as ourselves” (Matthew 22:37-39).

In closing, I would like to leave you with a prayer that reflects my hopes for the body of Christ in the midst of the devastation that threatens to consume us. I sincerely hope that you will develop an outcry of your very own as you ask God to fill you with His love so that you might radiate it no matter how tempting it might be to spew intolerant hate.

Loving God: My heart grieves for the lives that have been lost to war, violence and terrorism around the world in recent years. My heart grieves even more for the lives that have been lost because love and grace were not extended when they should have been. But I thank you for the divine spirit reflected in the spirits of Syrian mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters, who are all precious children in your sight. I pray that you will compel us to acknowledge the divinity that exists in those who are different from us so that our earthly kingdom might reflect the heavenly one for which we yearn. I am sorry for the moments that my own prejudice has blinded my compassion. I ask that you reach into the depths of my heart and break it for the vulnerable. I ask that you use my brokenness to compel me towards action, and I pray that you cast out my fear with your perfect love. Thank you for your promise that when the incompleteness of this world passes away, hope, faith, and love will remain. Thank you for your promise that the greatest of these is love. May we always live and act as if these promises are true.

Amen.