Recently, I heard a sermon where the pastor
contrasted “immigrant” and “refugee”.
The former leaves his or her home country to voluntarily move to a new
land. A refugee, on the other hand, is
forced to leave his or her homeland due to war, political oppression or other
danger. The difference is highlighted in
this comparative definition:
An
Immigrant is an individual who leaves one’s country to settle in
another, whereas refugees are defined as persons, who move out of one’s
country due to restriction or danger to their lives.
Immigration
is considered a natural phenomenon in population ecology, whereas the refugee
movement occurs only under some kind of coercion or pressure.[1]
The pastor commented that the families of
most of the members of the congregation came to America as immigrants. It struck me that, at least on my father’s
side, my family came as refugees. My
great-great grandparents left Ireland in the second or third year of the potato
famine 1845-1849), which resulted in Ireland’s population going from almost 8.4
million before the famine to 6.6 million by 1851.[2] About one million Irishmen, women and
children died from starvation, typhus or other famine-related diseases.
John McCarthy and Mary Ward were among
the nearly one million Irish refugees to land on American soil.[3] John and Mary were relatively lucky – they
were able to purchase a land patent and 160 acres in the Minnesota River Valley
and become relatively successful farmers.
Many emigrants from Ireland were not so fortunate.
When my brother and I visited Ireland in
the 1980’s, we stopped by the Dan O’Hara tenant house in Connemara and there
read the tragic story. Dan, his wife and
seven children lived on eight acres, most of which was planted in
potatoes. He did all right and was able
to put glass panes in the windows of his home, which resulted in the landlord
raising the rent to such an extent it could not be paid, and Dan’s family was
evicted. His wife and three of his
children died on the ship to New York.
There, instead of mountains and lakes, Dan could see only the wall of the
adjacent tenement. He died penniless and
broken.[4]
I have included in this blog before
commentary that Jesus was a refugee.[5] In addition to thoughts and prayers for the
modern refugees this holy season, let us each pledge to take such action as we
can to ensure their suffering is eased.
It’s what He would want us to do in His
name.
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