Have you ever been lonely?

By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion... How can we sing the Lord's songs while in a foreign land?  Psalm 137:1-4
 
I got talking once to a young man who was Anglo-Indian: his mother English, his father Indian. He had lived long periods of his life in both countries. "But," he said, "I'm never quite sure where I really belong. When I'm in India I feel an outsider, even though I was born there. And when I'm in England I sense that people view me as a foreigner."

I find that hard to imagine. I have been extraordinarily fortunate - travel apart, I have only ever lived permanently in three towns or cities, and that includes my student years. I have only ever had six homes. So it takes a real effort of imagination to relate to a person like that.

Millions of people in our world are "displaced" as a result of war or injustice. They are refugees, fleeing to the unknown for fear of the cruelties that might be done to them if they stay where they are. Often they end up in dreary camps, wretched hostels, grim holding centres - you only have to think of the squalid camps on the outskirts of Calais. 

Others have chosen to move around the world because they hope to make a better life for themselves, even though this may involve terrible risks - you only have to think of Africans drifting in open boats on the Mediterranean, desperate to get to Europe. Whatever the motive, the experience of such people is often bleak indeed.

The people in this psalm are displaced persons. It's about 600 years before Jesus, and the powerful, cruel Babylonians have come to their beautiful and historic city Jerusalem ("Zion" is an ancient term for Jerusalem, the earthly dwelling-place of God). They have rounded them up and dumped them in camps in their own country.

They aren't just homesick; they are in despair. Will they ever see their homeland again? And their captors make things worse by taunting them: "Come on then - you like singing, don't you? - give us one of your precious Jerusalem songs!" Ha ha.

I have lived most of my life in one of the world's most multi-cultural, multi-racial, multi-religious cities. London sucks in people from every part of the world. You may live somewhere smaller and less cosmopolitan. But I think the same question applies to all of us: do we ever stop to think what it must be like for such people when, for example, they walk into our churches on a Sunday?

Yes, most of them are probably with us by choice rather than coercion. But that doesn't mean they may not be lonely and sad. After all, lonely people don't tend to walk about with labels round their necks declaring "I'm a stranger here - will you talk to me?" or "You can't imagine how much it would mean to me if you were to invite me to your home for a meal!" Of course not. They come with a smile. But who can know what might be behind that smile? - what heartache, what sheer misery.

And it's not just people from far-off places: in my case there may be someone from Barnsley, or Barnstaple, or Biggleswade, who has come to London for the first time for study or work. What is it like for them?

A question for all of us: do I instinctively turn my face away from unknown faces ("Oh, someone else will talk to them"), or do I make a point of seeking them out and extending to them the love of Jesus? That handshake, that word, yes possibly that invitation to our home, may be one of the most Christlike things we have ever done.

O God, I remember the words of Jesus, "I was a stranger and you invited me in". Thank you for those who have shown kindness and hospitality to me. Help me to do the same for others. Amen.

Can you think of someone in your life who may be silently crying out for a word of welcome and an act of love?