I've heard the guardians of political correctness castigate users of the word refugee to describe the victims of Katrina. As if refugee was a derogatory term. As if a refugee was an undesirable acquaintance. As if being a refugee was being less than, downgraded, labeled with the low.
Count me in.
The literal definition is: "one that flees; especially: a person who flees to a foreign country or power to escape danger or persecution." The fleeing part, in this case, may not be especially true. (Not fleeing appears to the the problem, either by choice or by circumstance).
The root of the word comes from Latin: refugium; a person who seeks refuge.
I do not diminish the suffering of hurricane survivors, but I count myself as a refugee, running for safety. Would that we all would determine to seek refuge - to be refuge hounds, sniffing around for the safe place, the safest place.
If you are not a refugee, why not? Have you found it? I haven't. Yet.
There are places, mostly people, where refuge is close; I can feel it deep, like a puzzle piece almost fitting. My marriage, my kids, some friends. When I am with these people I feel safe and protected; refuge is close.
When I worship, I can feel it. Swirling around touching my deep places, prompting laughter and tears and love. Refuge is close.
These are the prophecies and promises of another place: heaven, paradise, the Bosom of Abraham. I'm looking for that place, and one day I'll find it.
Until then, I run.
1 comment:
Luke 9:51-56
In classes and in discussions I've overheard at meals, people [christians] talk about how the hurricane and the floods are God's punishment for the evil that is "the Big Easy."
It's the Jeremiad come back to haunt, in a very ungraceful manner.
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