Same time next year



Look who's moved into the neighborhood?



I live in a predominantly white county. That’s not a matter of pride so much as a statement of fact: there are mostly white people who live around here. There are some Hispanic but most of them live in the western part of the county working for agribusiness giant Seneca Foods. But around the year 2000, a new demographical wrinkle began to develop in Barron, the county seat. Jennie-O’s Turkey Store, known to slaughter 27,000 birds a day, began to hire Somali refugees hailing from the Twin Cities. Barron, like many small towns around here, has a Catholic church and a smattering of other Protestant congregations spread around the city. But now it has a mosque as well because while in the early days the Somali commuted here to work at the plant only to return to their families in Minneapolis or St. Paul on the weekend now nearly 700 of them live here – 20% of the entire population of Barron! What would the town fathers in 1869 think today if they knew that among the descendants of the German and Norwegian immigrants who now reside here also lives a small slice of Africa? A mosque in Barron County? Who would have thunk it?

A few years ago our fellowship partnered with a few others to help create The Well International, a ministry’s whose sole purpose is to serve our Somali neighbors in the name of Jesus. We do this primarily through tutoring, English training and relationship building. It’s a slow process given that the Somali are among the most resistant to the Gospel worldwide. But we feel we must do what we can to love our new neighbors even though we are separated by culture, language, outlook, history and religion.

One of the first things we tried was cold-call on Somali apartments and residences at Christmastime delivering gift bags full of small household products, fruit, dates (they love dates) and candy. We didn’t really see it as a “witnessing” opportunity (although a few years we included Bible verses in Somali in the bags and one year we actually distributed the Jesus movie in Somali on DVD). It was more like taking a batch of cookies to your next door neighbors in order to make them feel welcome in the neighborhood. We would split up into teams of 2 or 3 and take 7 or so bags between us and then randomly knock on Somali doors and give a spiel that went something like this:

Salaam Aleikum [A traditional Muslim greeting that means “Peace be onto you”]. In our country it is traditional to bring a gift to our friends or neighbors at this time of the year and we were wondering if you would receive our gift as a gesture of welcome to our community?

Just like any kind of soliciting adventure, sometimes there was no one home, sometimes the answer was no in no uncertain terms and sometimes they would simply take our gift, say “thank you” and close the door. I learned early on that some Somali were touched by my offering of “Salaam” while others were offended that a man who was not a Muslim would say such a thing. But without fail each of us would have a story or two to share at the night’s end. As much as the thought of going out into my own neighborhood to randomly drop in on some of my white neighbors makes me squeamish, this venture I always found good fun. We couldn’t nor wouldn’t dare go to Somalia but God in his providence has moved a small tribe into our own backyard.

This is how I came to meet Hassan and his wife, Abdah, and their large brood of children. (Note: While I have no illusions that many people read my blog, I want to safeguard the identity of this family. So while they are real people who live in Barron and have heard the gospel on different occasions from various Christians, these are not their names). The first time I knocked on their door was 2008 accompanied by Akram (an Egyptian staffer from the local YWAM campus) and my daughter, Emma. We were greeted by a kindly woman with a beautiful smile. I went through my brief presentation and she enthusiastically said, “Yes and thank you!” A gaggle of children were peering around the corner at us, giggling in expectation as to what we had brought. She even went so far to invite us in for tea but we graciously declined knowing we had other doors to knock on (besides Akram told me it would not be good form for two men to be having tea in a Somali woman’s apartment even if one of the men had his daughter in tow). When she shut the door we could hear the screams of delight coming from her children as they tore open the bag.

The following year I and two young girls from Refuge stood outside their door but this time we had been assigned to them and in addition to our Christmas bag for their family we were bringing additional gifts for their children. After repeating a variation of my pitch I use every year since we started this little good will campaign, we were warmly welcomed into their apartment and the kids like horses chomping on their bits waiting for the starting bell to ring tore into the goods just as soon as we bid them good night.

In 2010, our fellowship “adopted” their family for this campaign and a week before Christmas, my family and I with the monies we had received went shopping for their children. We picked up school supplies, candy, nuts, dates and other items as well as lots of socks (most American kids would frown at this sort of thing but we were encouraged to put this on the top of our shopping list). We then drove over to Barron and just like I had the two years before stood outside their door and knocked. Shortly, all of us were sitting on one side of their small living room while on the other side sat all of them, smiling awkwardly at one another. Abdah quickly offered and served us tea as I tried to make small talk with Hassan and his children. The obligatory seasonal comments about being excited for Christmas were out as well as anything related to that day. So, we focused on our kids, their names, their year in school and what each was involved in. It didn’t help that I had a low-grade fever so I really wasn’t in a chatty mood but after our tea we left our gifts, bid them “Salaam!” (apparently they are Muslims who appreciate the gesture) and departed into the cold December night. As I left, I slipped an envelope containing $300 into Hassan’s hand with the hopes that it would help toward their rent that I knew they were behind on.

This past Christmas Wade and Jessica (the Directors of The Well) decided that after a five or six year run they wouldn’t do the Christmas bag campaign. After all, the Somali are no longer “new” neighbors in town. But a week before Christmas, Hassan called me. For several years I volunteered for the Barron County chapter of the Salvation Army and had occasion to speak with him by phone whenever they were behind in their rent so I assumed that this was what this conversation was going to be about. But no, he was calling to ask when I planned to stop over that week. “Jeef, no, no need rent,” he said in his thick Somali accent. “For the kids! For the kids!” This was a curious development – a Muslim man who has a picture of the great black stone in the Kaaba on his living room wall – inviting this follower of Christ to bring Christmas gifts for his children. Some Somali imans have stated on the internet that for a Somali to receive a Christmas gift is an offense punishable by death. So, how could I say no? “Thursday,” I said and informed everyone at dinner that night that tomorrow we were going shopping. This is how I found myself for the fourth year in a row standing outside their door surrounded by my family laden with bags of the usual stuff for Hassan and Abdah’s children. We had other folks in Barron to visit that night so we didn’t arrive until nearly 9 o’clock. Their youngest had already gone to bed and Abdah, who now works at the Turkey Store, was clearly up past her bedtime but they were gracious as ever. We hadn’t picked Ed up from Kansas City yet so we just told them that he was off at college there. But out of respect for Abdah we cut our visit short and left soon after but not before hearing the squeals of their older children as they opened up the bags.

Admittedly, our once-a-year visit to their apartment is not the basis for a long and lasting friendship. Perhaps if we lived in Barron we’d have opportunity to see each other more regularly at school functions or at the Kwik Trip in town. Of course, we could invite them over for dinner at some time in the future and maybe the fact that he called me this past Christmas is an indicator that were we to do so they would accept our invitation. I’m sure it’s hard for them, too. After all, we may be some of the only Christian people they know by first name. Still, a bridge, flimsy though it may be, has been built by minute gestures like ours (several other individuals and families in the Christian community also have contact with them) and who knows what may come of such small acts of kindness and neighborliness. Perhaps more than we know. But for now, it’s “same time next year” to Hassan and his family. I think it more than coincidental that for four years running I’ve stood outside their door the week before Christmas bearing gifts. It is a prophetic picture of what God in Isa (that is, Jesus) is doing - knocking on their front door that he might come in and “[then] we will share a meal together as friends” (Revelation 3:20, NLT.)