In the 20 or so years we served overseas with Interserve, our family lived in three different countries. Each move involved planning, and adjustment to the new location, language, visa requirements and work roles.

This is nothing compared with what we’ve seen as we’ve worked with refugees in Australia over the past 10 years. As the voluntary coordinators to welcome and assist refugees from Burma to our church in Wollongong, we at first had very little idea what it might involve, but we understood their experiences had been extremely traumatic.

Our church already had a solid history of welcoming people from other nations. What started for us in 2007 as a group of three men from Burma’s Chin state has now grown into about 80 adults and 50 children, mostly from Kayah and Kayin states. Many had spent more than 20 years in refugee camps in Thailand, and many were Christians. They attend English-language services as well as their own-language services.

Take Bu*, who was born in a camp in Thailand and spent 15 years with his family there, waiting for re-location to a third country. No phone, no electricity, very few educational opportunities, and only basic healthcare. And for his parents, no way to do meaningful work.

Or Mami*. She and her 6-year-old daughter were transported out of Burma on a small boat, then by car, and on the way lost money given by poor relatives. Eventually, they were re-united with her husband who was eking out a living in Malaysia while waiting for United Nations permission to move to a final destination. That turned out to be Australia! But the stress still shows on her face.

Refugees in Australia are often struck by the relative peace, safety and order they see here, but some continue to move – they long to join relatives in different Australian cities, move interstate for work, or are forced to move when their rent is increased.

How on earth could we come alongside people with stories like these, and stand with them in appropriate ways? Even though we knew something about being foreigners and strangers, we were beginners in working with displaced people.

From the outset, we realised that it was important to raise awareness and to encourage our congregation members and new arrivals to get to know each other better. Because some NGOs in our area already assist re-settlers in material ways, we focussed on spiritual nurture and hospitality. Three of the easy English Bible studies we set up are still running after more than eight years. We also tried to involve the children and teenagers with our Sunday school and youth groups to keep the second generation engaged.

On the hospitality front, we’ve encouraged the Aussie congregation members to visit re-settlers and invite them to their homes to encourage friendships to develop. A list of tips helps the Aussies interact across cultures.

And what have we learned?

That ‘integration’ is a two-way street and both groups need to work at it, even when they are nervous at first. Much, but not all, of this is based on language issues.

That enlisting a small team is important. Aussie church members have helped in leading Bible studies, hospitality, form-filling, transport, furniture removal, and more.

God has graciously given work to increasing numbers of our friends, and they now have well-established networks of their own. Our greatest joy has been to see our friends grow in their knowledge of the Lord, spouses and other family members re-united after years of separation, and to attend Burmese weddings. Already they are making a very positive contribution to our church fellowship, and to our city.

Andrew and Muriel are CultureConnect team members.
*Names have been changed.

I’ve heard many great tales of Christian heroes that begin with someone experiencing an amazing encounter with God or some deep spiritual revelation or a huge life-changing event …

Well, my story doesn’t.

All these things may have happened somehow along the way, but my story began in a leafy green suburb of comfortable Adelaide, motionless on my couch.

And there it stayed for years.

I was not on the move. In fact, my life had come to a veritable halt as I remained on that couch, planted as firmly as the trees outside my window. While they were watered by the rain, I was watered by my own tears of fear and frustration.

“Why?” I asked God, as I studied the ceiling and waited on yet another panic attack.

But God was moving.

If there was a rock bottom, I’d reached it. When I could no longer stay alone, my gracious sister dragged me along to an English class at the local community centre. There people from many cultures gathered to learn and make friends.

And God was moving.

I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I was so lonely I was ready to befriend anything that moved.

God was moving too.

I began to realize the students needed friends as much as I did, and I started to visit them in their homes. I was always welcome. And I learned a lot as we sat and talked and drank tea and ate homemade bread.

Many of my new friends had stories from staying in the detention centre. I’d heard of other people visiting there, but I was never going into one of those places. Not if I had to be locked up with the inmates and be supervised by guards.

But God was moving in me.

This must be why I somehow agreed to visit an Iranian asylum seeker in that big modern building in Adelaide. When the door had opened and closed behind me, I realised I was in the detention centre that I feared. Not that I had much time to worry about it – I was introduced to an Iranian man who requested prayer and to come to a bible study, so I was busy organising this with my minister. He was the first of many.

I went back again and again. One Iranian man had a vision which he feared greatly, of a man in white, so he spent the next day watching violent movies to force the vision from his mind. Though the man was trying to avoid Jesus, Jesus came again to him the following night. The man spoke secretly to me of what he saw in the vision and I showed him the story of Phillip and the Ethiopian eunuch from Acts 8 in an Iranian bible. Immediately the man realized it was Jesus whom he saw and he became a Jesus-follower.

What is amazing is that this story is not unusual. God was moving in these peoples’ lives. We saw many inmates come to the Lord. They came to us too, brought by bus with the guards to our church. Some of them had seen a man in white, others saw a great light, and all I had to do was follow God blindly, and work alongside the wonderful work that God was doing in people’s hearts.

Many of the people we spent time with followed Jesus in baptism, and still today some of them live in my neighbourhood. I try to be wherever God needs me to help my friends. Whether they know my God or not, I pray that they see His love in me, whether I’m helping them with practical things, chatting to them on the phone, or sharing our homes with them like family.

I don’t have much time to lie on my couch like I used to.

At one time I wondered if God had forgotten me but I was wrong. It was while I was on that couch that God was moving, preparing me for working alongside him in this new, exciting ministry that he had planned and I would never had dreamed of.

He’s still moving now. I wonder what will be next?!

This is the story of a CultureConnect worker based in Adelaide, told by a returned Interserve Partner who served in the Arab world.

“I’m not in a good situation right now.”

Daryush stares at the floor of the church hall with glazed eyes, cup in hand (two teabags, four sugars). The words slowly spill out in broken English. He had just spent the last of that fortnight’s money on antibiotics when his caseworker called. “They move me again. I have to be ready tomorrow morning. He not explain why.” Moving means leaving his only near-culture friend and finding his way in yet another neighbourhood – his fourth since arriving in Australia three years ago. Then came an email from his family in his home country. Daryush’s parents, who are strict in their faith, know he has become a believer and want nothing more to do with him. He blinks back tears. I ask what he will do now. The cup quivers. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

*

We still haven’t become used to the weight of stories like these, a common part of our work with asylum seekers, refugees and new migrants in Sydney’s northwest. Of course, there are the stories of cruelty and oppression we expect for asylum seekers – of torture, arrest, police brutality, religious hatred. There is the constant heartache of those who have left everything and everyone to make that perilous journey to seek safety in Australia. We expect to hear that much. What we weren’t prepared for were the ways these stories continue within our own borders.

It wasn’t so long ago that our Prime Minister launched his policy of deterrence of so-called ‘illegal’ attempts at asylum with these words: “This is our country. We determine who comes here, and the circumstances in which they come.” Since then, we’ve learned what that word ‘we’ – that tiny, yet powerful word – can mean for asylum seekers, and what it betrays about Australia’s sentiments. ‘We’ decides who comes here. ‘We’ are not obliged to assess ‘you’, accommodate ‘you’, or tolerate ‘you’. When asylum seekers, refugees and others from across the seas are so framed, the gap between settled Aussies and these unsettled others begins to widen.

For friends of ours like Daryush, that gap is only getting wider. After years in a detention centre, he was released and given permission to live ‘in community’; two years later, though, I remain his only Australian friend. When I express my surprise at this, he tells me story after story of trying to strike up conversations on trains, at the shops, or waiting for the bus. “Nobody talks to me.” He laughs. “Maybe because I’m brown. Maybe they think I’m a terrorist.” For Daryush, and for thousands more, this is the distressing irony of life ‘in community’. Surrounded by Australians, there is no-one to welcome him home, no-one to talk to over a cup of chai, no-one to show him the best picnic spots, no-one to listen. Instead, unable to meaningfully structure his days, he spends most of his time alone, thinking of a family far away and waiting, perhaps, for the phone to ring.

The church of God stands ready to resist this gap between ‘we’ and ‘you’. We ourselves live in a community carved out by the unrelenting beat of God’s heart for the unworthy; while “…all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Rom 3:23), God saw fit to pursue us and to give us new life at the cost of His dear Son. ‘We’, like the refugee, could contribute little, but stood to gain so much through that love and the love of His people. And, so loved and transformed, we are now able to love and include others in the same way – not plagued by anxiety about our resources or our national security or even our awkward post-church morning-tea conversations. Instead, we are to be haunted by the stories of our spiritual ancestors (themselves a displaced people – Deut 10:18–19), by our Lord’s words of welcome for all who bear His image (Matt 25:35–40).

In our corner of this city, we’re having a crack at being this kind of welcoming church community for the asylum seekers and new migrants among us. At times, it means providing bags of groceries, mobile phone credit and other essentials, but we’ve been most surprised and encouraged by what happens when we gather around the dinner table. In this, the ministry of the roast chook and prefab pavlova, the refugee and the student can mingle with locals, and friendship and trust begins. We’ve laughed, we’ve shared, we’ve learnt new things. Occasionally, we’ve cried. Almost always, we’ve planned to meet again. And through these meals, we’ve seen people from far-off lands draw closer to the One who Himself became a refugee, if only for a little time (Matt 2:13–14).

It’s not always easy, and we are never far away from rehearsing those same tired divisions between ‘we’ and ‘you.’ But we are convinced that our commitment to both ‘word’ and ‘deed’ cannot be delegated to an NGO or a faraway mission agency. Our church – and yours – has a rich opportunity to invite refugees and new migrants into our community. Why not have a go?

*

Steam fogs the windows as we open the crockpots and serve up. Daryush, along with four other asylum seekers and two international students, has joined us to mark Persian New Year. There is red wine, kebabs, and even our feeble attempt at Persian rice. Many hours of comparing cultures and faiths follows. Daryush is quiet – this is meant to be a time when the pain of the old year is forgotten, though there is little chance of that when no-one knows what might happen to him tomorrow, or the day after. But, as he leaves that evening (leftovers in hand), he smiles and embraces me. “Thank-you”, he whispers. “Thanks, God, for you, my family.”

If you would like to know more about how you and your church can connect with asylum seekers, refugees or new migrants in your area, contact CultureConnect via cultureconnect.isa@gmail.com

The authors are Interserve Partners, serving in Australia with CultureConnect.