When the crew of LÉ Niamh recently rescued several hundred immigrants from the Mediterranean Sea we as a nation were proud. They do a difficult job on our behalf and must witness harrowing scenes and the emotional cost involved should not be forgotten. They must be given continuing support. When we consider the desperation of so many fleeing persecution, war and poverty, we do well to reflect on our own history. For centuries the peoples of Europe, Irish included, were part of a process of colonial expansion where they marched into other people's countries all over the world uninvited. In some cases they left or were forced to leave; in others they remained to the detriment of the native populations whose traditions and cultures have been almost extinguished. We see this in the negative impact on the Aborigines of Australia and the native tribes of Canada and the United States — countries where millions of Irish descent live and prosper.
For Christians the plight of immigrants is a challenging issue. At the very heart of the Judaeo/Christian faith story is the event we call the Exodus when the Hebrew people broke free of slavery in Egypt. Its origins lie in their earlier experiences of famine when they, a nomadic people, migrated in numbers to Egypt, the super power of the day. Bible records suggest that initially they were welcomed but this changed and they were exploited. (Scholars will debate the historicity of some of these events but they reflect a pattern that is well authenticated.) The Jews have a powerful memory of the Exodus when God instructed Pharaoh through Moses “Let my people go.” As they fled they believed that God provided for them in the wilderness with ‘manna from heaven’, a phrase that has become part of our everyday language. In his second Letter to the Corinthians St Paul refers to the Exodus and that wilderness experience when he defines the Christian’s responsibility for others: “There is no question of relieving others at the cost of hardship to yourselves... The aim is equality; as Scripture put it, ‘The man who got much had no more than enough, the man who got little did not go short’.”
The Christian approach does not advocate a return to poverty but it does make the case for balance and that could well mean a reduction in standards of living, hardly a vote winner for politicians who survive on the vain promise that we can have more and more.
On New York’s famous Statue of Liberty there is an inscription which reminds us of how our people were treated in the past: “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Our pride in what our navy has done does not remove from us the moral and Christian challenge to do more. We must be realistic because there are limits to what we can do. It has to be based on our ability to provide the necessary housing, educational and other services. But it must also confront the prejudices that characterise immigrants as scroungers, benefit seekers, and worse. Fleeing Eritreans for example are largely Christian people trying to escape from one of the most brutal regimes in Africa and it is a disgrace that they are demonised for seeking safety for themselves and their children.
As Christians we are called to show real compassion to people like these and make life better and safer for them. That is not easy, as Fr Henri Nouwen points out: “Compassion is hard because it requires the inner disposition to go with others to the place where they are weak, vulnerable, lonely and broken. But this is not our spontaneous response to suffering. What we desire most is to do away with suffering by fleeing from it or finding a quick cure for it.”