MOSAIC, MELTING POT, or QUILT

Picture is the logo for Children's Camps International

Being an immigrant gives one an automatic feeling of belonging to something bigger—a feeling of global citizenship perhaps. This was especially true for me being born in Northern Ireland and immigrating to Canada.

But Northern Ireland officially belongs to England, so as a citizen of that country; I feel genuine love and a sense of loyalty to Queen Elizabeth II. Besides, she’s been a wonderful sovereign and deserves my respect.

Thing is, ask any resident of Northern Ireland if they’re Irish and they’ll say, “Of course I am.”

And I too love Ireland, and feel linked that great and charming culture of beating bodhráns, flutes and penny whistles. I am Irish. Period. I can live on tea and potatoes quite happily.

So coming from those six small counties in the Northeastern part of that island called Ireland, I feel Irish, British, and of course Scottish. To the horror of my youngest son, I also love the sound of bag pipes. It was my Scottish ancestors years ago that the English moved onto Irish farms when they supplanted the Irish that were living there. But that was centuries ago. Time to move on.

Add to that the loyalties I gained when we immigrated to Canada. As a kid I grew up in the Niagara Peninsula and my friends were usually first or second generation Canadian. Like me their roots were British, or Italian, or Polish, or from any one of several shifting sections of Europe at the time. I grew up listening to all kinds of dialects and smelling the aromas from the neighborhood of tomato and basil, of cabbage rolls and highly spiced sausage, of home-made wine, and stronger coffee than I was ever used to. So different from spuds, tea and cabbage. Seriously, my mother was a wonderful cook.

Add to that the music I listened to from across the border in the United States. Detroit’s rhythmic and blue sounds of Mo-Town music got me through my teens. Groups like The Temptations, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, and my all-time-favorite, Marvin Gaye and his song 'What's Going On'.

The Vietnam War took place during my childhood. As a pre-teen just as I was becoming aware of the world, I'd watch the six o’clock news and I see American soldiers being beaten while they marched through the streets of Hanoi. That scared the life out of me when I was 12 years old. Those young POW’s were from just across the border, and I felt a kinship.

A couple of weeks ago I talked about the Canadian Cultural Mosaic. In the United States they refer to that wonderful blending of immigrant cultures as The Melting Pot.

A mosaic is a beautiful art form to view—all sparking colors and depth of contrast. The melting pot gives the sense of warmth, a full stomach, and comfort. Either way, it’s a good thing. As someone not born on North American soil, I’m just plain grateful to be here.

But I’m also a citizen of a place greater than Canada or the United States. I belong to the family of God. Heaven is stamped as my home on my eternal passport. Talking with a friend, Hilary, yesterday made us both think of the metaphor Quilt in regards to our heavenly citizenship—something beautiful that’s been stitched together with all sorts of materials and also giving warmth and comfort, and belonging.

I met Hilary Beard when I worked at Trinity Western University. At Trinity we worked in a community that had one common belief—belief that Jesus Christ is the only way to God. As we were chatting on the phone about Hilary’s new work with Children’s Camps International, I got to reminiscing.

"Do you remember the summers at Trinity?"

"Oh, yes," Hilary replied in her soft British accent from Zimbabwe.

That was when the regular under-grad students went home. Then students from all over the world came to our Christian university for summer studies or conferences.

Separately or sometimes together on warm afternoons, we’d slip out of our respective offices at lunchtime and head over to the cafeteria. I remembered often grabbing my favorite sandwich and drink, then sitting out on the patio overlooking Trinity’s beautiful grounds. A bright Coca-Cola umbrella above us provided shade. And there we'd watch the world go by.

Christian pastors, reverends, ministers, priests, lay-workers, from churches and missions all over the globe would parade past, on their way to their sessions or to stroll among the grounds. I’d catch their language, not understand it, but delight in its rythms and cadence. Their clothing—especially from Africa or Asia was a flash of color and intricate design. I took pride in belonging to this greater citizenship. I know Hilary did too.

From my small office in my house I try to follow the path God has set me on, to be a writer. From here my objective is to show Jesus Christ to all people, but to also show the beauty of Christ in someone from another land.

Hilary is doing the same thing but from another direction. She works to bring the message of Christ to all parts of the globe by working with CCI. She is also working to bring the stories of those in other lands back to us. Each one of those stories is like a tiny piece of a great and wonderful quilt. It warms us all.

Hilary wants to take the quilt that the Lord Jesus Christ has stitched together. She wants to make it bigger, to place it over people in far off lands--especially children--to cover them too, with the warm love of God. Amazing work is being done these days. I'd like to tell you more about Hilary in the days ahead. But for now, here's one of those samples of that Quilt the Lord has stitched together.

Children's Camps International