Though Jesus is God, he chose to be born as a human being in a conquered nation, subject to the authority of a far-off emperor who never even knew he was alive. His mother gave birth to him on a journey, in temporary housing far from her relatives.

We are far from our Father’s home, living as exiles and aliens in a world where every day reminds us we don’t belong and aren’t welcome. And we long for the city God is preparing—our everlasting home with Jesus our Savior, who died and rose again to make us God’s children.

During the early years of our ministry among refugees, we saw how difficult it was for them to trust anybody. And they had good reason! In the countries they had left behind, there were plenty of people trying to take advantage of them—corrupt police, government officials looking for bribes.

New Americans may ask: Where would they live? What work would they find? Would they have enough food, clothing, money? At home they had family and friends who would help them if they needed it; but who would help in the new country?

Refugee and immigrant children face everyday unknowns, as they start school in America this month or next. Think of what it’s like to have to understand, to work hard, to achieve—when you already feel like your world is upside down.

Refugees and immigrants to the U.S. aren’t used to this kind of care. They are living with a system where numbers mean everything—how many people are being admitted from your country this year? How many months or years must you wait to get an answer on your application? How much support can you find to sponsor a loved one? Their humanity gets lost in the numbers—but not to God.

Rejection is something new immigrants face every day. It happens at school, at work, or with next-door neighbors. God forgive us, it sometimes happens even in the church! People turn their backs; they say hurtful things; they refuse the kind of courtesy and care that everyone else gets naturally. And every time it happens, it hurts. 

God took care, that first Pentecost Day, to reach the many foreigners who were staying in Jerusalem for the holiday. He gave the first believers the ability to speak in the heart languages of all the people who heard them. They learned about Jesus in the same words their mothers and fathers spoke to them—the language of their hearts.

Immigrants to this country often face a challenge of trust. Many have come out of dangerous situations where they learned to trust no one—not even friends or family. They suffered betrayal by people close to them—some going to prison, some even to death. And even in the U.S., there are still con artists who deliberately prey on them, because they know that newcomers don’t understand how everything works.

Do you ever feel like you don’t belong in this world? Jesus said as much when he prayed to the Father for us, the night He was betrayed. He knew that the very next day He would be leaving the world through His death on the cross to save us, and he was concerned for us. So He prayed.

Jesus understands the special needs of children—how vulnerable they are, and how easily hurt. That is one reason he commands us to let the children come to him. In the arms of their Savior, they will never be lost or out of place. They have a home forever in the heart of him who died and rose again to save them.

For refugees and immigrants, almost everything about their lives is a new beginning. A new language… a new city… new foods and customs… new work… new friends. The newness can be overwhelming. When it is, we call it culture shock.

How amazing, that God should love us enough to come into this world as a human baby, to share our lives in all their pain—even the hardest experiences! In Matthew 2 we see Jesus as a refugee—a toddler, barely old enough to walk and talk, torn away from his own country because his life was in danger.

When you work (as my family does) among people who have suffered greatly from war and life as refugees, you see the effects of the damage done to them—and it isn’t pretty. Thank God for his wonderful gracious love in Jesus, our Savior.

The common theme in facing supernatural darkness is fear—fear of creatures who hate people and have the power to harm them. But living in fear hurts. It constricts your life—affecting everything you do, from what you call children to the way you speak or dress or celebrate. Who can set people free from this fear? Only Jesus.

“Harassed and helpless” are very good words to describe what it feels like to be a refugee. You are in a country you never intended to live in, and however kind people are to you, you can never quite figure out how things work or what you’re supposed to be doing next. The very language your new neighbors speak is strange to you! And every time you turn around, you make a mistake. You need help. Where will you find it?

I remember the early years of our Vietnamese ministry, when we were doing much the same sort of things CFNA is doing now. We collected food, clothing, household goods, and other necessities, and distributed them to newcomers who needed them. We taught classes in English, citizenship, and home health care, so that our people could learn as quickly as possible how to get what they needed in their new country. And constantly we faced the question: “What are these—these few resources we have—among so many?”

In chapter 7 of his Gospel, John states so casually that the Jewish leaders were out to kill Jesus! He says it like you’d mention the weather—something to be aware of, something to plan for—but otherwise no surprising big deal.

The light is for everybody! If you are living and working in the same house, of course, you can share the light! In fact, it would be strange if you didn’t. Hoarding light is ridiculous. You want to put that light high.

Worries about ghosts and spirits are common among people who move to the United States. They may have grown up believing in powers that may harm them if they don’t do all the right rituals. This leads to a kind of slavery, where you have to do this or you can’t do that because it might bring bad luck to your family.