Karen González, an immigrant advocate, points to the story of Joseph in Genesis 37 as an example of God’s love and protection for foreigners:
[Joseph] suffers a series of misfortunes as a vulnerable foreigner. Joseph’s story is powerful and effective because it raises questions about the goodness of God in the midst of suffering. It also depicts the human tendency to alternate between loving and fearing strangers. In his story we see the Egyptian society’s movement from fear to love and then back to fear again….
Without recourse, as an enslaved person in a foreign land, Joseph does not receive due process. Instead, he is thrown into jail for a crime he didn’t commit. The unknown narrator of Genesis states that God always sees Joseph and remains with him. Twice within the span of three verses we are told that “the Lord was with” Joseph, blessing his work and giving him favor with those in authority over him (Genesis 39:21–23)…. Nonetheless, he spends years unjustly imprisoned, largely forgotten by his foreign captors….
For many immigrants and others on the underside of history, God’s presence in suffering isn’t about complex theological arguments about theodicy or sovereignty or how bad things can happen to good people. For them, God’s presence in suffering is what enables them to live. Indeed, for many who suffer, Christ on the cross offers the comfort of knowing that they serve a God who himself has known great sorrow and suffering. [1]
Fear leads to scapegoating while friendship leads us to welcome Christ in our midst:
Fear has become the default in the current immigration conversation in North America, even for followers of Jesus, who are called to love our neighbors as ourselves. The Bible speaks to the need for philoxenia [love of foreigners] repeatedly, from Exodus all the way to Hebrews: “Keep loving each other like family. Don’t neglect to open up your homes to guests [strangers or foreigners], because by doing this some have been hosts to angels without knowing it” (Hebrews 13:1–2)….
When we open ourselves up to friendships with immigrants and take intentional steps to know and be known in mutuality, we widen the circle of our affections. Suddenly, immigrants are no longer a burden or a drain on our economy, but a Ruth, a Hagar, or a Joseph to be loved. They become multidimensional people to us—friends who enrich our lives with their very selves. We welcome them and simultaneously welcome Christ and his joy. Indeed, when the Egyptians welcomed the Israelites, they welcomed God and God’s blessing into their midst. And when they rejected the Israelites and oppressed them, they rejected God’s very self, even without realizing it.
Jesus often comes to us in disguise, as he himself says in Matthew 25: he is sometimes a prisoner, a sick person, a naked person, a hungry person, a thirsty person, or an immigrant (verses 35–36). If we learn anything from Joseph and his suffering, it is to welcome and embrace Jesus in disguise. [2]
Reference:
[1] Karen González, The God who Sees: Immigrants, the Bible, and the Journey to Belong (Herald Press, 2019), 100–101.
[2] González, God who Sees, 108–109.
Image credit and inspiration: Vaishak Pilai, untitled (detail), 2020, photo, India, Unsplash. Click here to enlarge image. The crude cross etched into the wall becomes the mark of our human impulse to name a scapegoat, revealing how easily we point toward another what we cannot bear in ourselves.
Story from Our Community:
I am a recovering high-control, conservative evangelical. As I read the meditationabout Abraham’s call, Brian McLaren’s description of faith made me think that true faith isn’t anything until we let go of the certainty of what we think “is.” It doesn’t matter if we are right or wrong about what “is.” As long as we hold on to our certainty, there is no room for faith. The discovery that “the opposite of faith is not doubt but certainty” is one of the most freeing discoveries of my life.
—Barry H.
