The Opposite of Poverty is not Wealth, it’s Justice

The Opposite of Poverty is not Wealth, it’s Justice

An inflatable boat slips into a cove near Mytilene on the Greek island of Lesbos. It is packed with Syrian asylum seekers wearing orange lifejackets. They have just crossed the Aegean Sea from Turkey. One of them waves a lifebuoy triumphantly to the man wading into the water to greet them. The sun is setting. The last rays of hope are receding behind the horizon. In a few moments it will be dark, and no one wants to spend a perilous night at sea in a small craft. The UN worker or government official holds his hands high to greet them. They’ve made it! They are safe. Kind of. This poignant photo was taken by Aris Messinis in February, 2016, nearly a full year ago. Since that time we have heard countless reports of how miserable life is for thousands of Syrian refugees in Europe. Countries like Germany, Austria and Sweden have been remarkably generous, but many asylum seekers, including quite possibly those in this very photo, are still stuck in limbo. This week’s cold snap across Europe has only made matters worse. In Lesbos, snow blanketed the Moria refugee camp, home to more than 4,000 people, most of whom subsist in small tents. Some of those tents have collapsed under the weight of the snow. The UN has tried

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The Lost Art of Neighboring

The Lost Art of Neighboring

In a typical suburban home, not far from where I live, a man was recently observed carrying out modifications to his house. Neighbors saw him on the roof working with power tools and assumed he was just carrying out some basic repairs. He seemed purposeful and oblivious to their attention. When his children, both of whom suffered from non-verbal autism, didn’t show up for school the following week, calls were made to the parents’ phones. No one answered. So the police attended the family home only to discover the terrible truth about what the father had been doing the previous weekend. He had converted his house into a toxic gas chamber by rigging up a sinister network of hidden pipes. He had then closed all the windows and doors, turned on a series of gas cylinders, and poisoned his wife, both the children (aged 11 and 10), himself and the family dog. It was clinical, elaborate, pre-meditated and deadly. They were immigrants, with no family connections in town. Their kids’ disabilities made them extremely demanding. The marriage was under strain, as anybody’s would be under those circumstances. No one knows if the mother was aware of the plan. She was found alongside one of their children. And so they all died silently and unassumingly, while all around them their neighbors

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Why the Missional Movement Must Not Fail

Why the Missional Movement Must Not Fail

In 1888, the intrepid Norwegian explorer Fridtjof Nansen made the first crossing of the previously impenetrable island of Greenland. He was only 27 years old. Other more famous explorers like Adolf Erik Nordenskiöld and Robert Peary had previously attempted the crossing, setting out from the inhabited western coast and trekking eastward for about 160km (100 mi), before being forced back by the freezing mountainous conditions. Nansen tried a different and more treacherous strategy. He started from the wild and uninhabited east coast and undertook a phenomenal one-way journey towards the populated west. It meant that he had no line of retreat to a safe base; the only way to go would be forward, a strategy that suited Nansen’s dogged personality completely. His ship struggled to make landing on the craggy east coast, but once finally unloaded, Nansen and his crew of five others set off westward. There was no plan B.   If any of his crew complained about wanting to give up, he could honestly tell them the only option was to press on toward safety. It feels like that to me with those currently baulking at continuing the missional conversation. I hear some complaining that the results aren’t commensurate with the talk (whatever “results” might be in this situation); others suggest the missional movement is all a bit

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I got arrested recently

I got arrested recently

I got arrested recently. Normally that’s not something to broadcast, but actually I was trying to get arrested precisely so I could broadcast it. I got arrested as an act of civil disobedience. You see, my country has adopted an immigration policy that’s designed to discourage refugees arriving here by boat from Indonesia. This involves using the navy to intercept leaky fishing boats full of asylum seekers and towing them back into Indonesian waters. It also includes making an example of those poor souls who do manage to slip through our maritime cordon and wash up on our coastline. Those desperate people are imprisoned in detention centres on remote islands belonging to other countries and abandoned without any hope. No future, no plans, no sense of destiny. It’s my government’s way of saying to refugees, “Let that be a lesson to you!” Except this lesson or warning is also being meted out to children, and it’s the kids who suffer the most from their incarceration. Recently, over 2000 incident reports filed by the staff of these detention centres were leaked by an anonymous whistleblower. They are a catalogue of assaults, sexual abuse, self-harm attempts, child abuse and other effects stemming from the inherently toxic living conditions there. I’ve read these reports. They describe children not only being assaulted and sexually

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