Syrian Refugees: A Boy with a Gun and a Mother Bereft (Life at Coventry Jesus Centre)

Sometimes the bottom corner of a curtain is held up for a brief while and, peering through, we glimpse another world, parallel to ours, filled with scenes of horror and devastation -  humanity at its lowest ebb.

This week it’s Syria. On Wednesday morning a young Syrian came in with a friend and sat down quietly in class. We were making pancakes and got chatting; we talked trivia: lemons and pancake mix and migrated to fruits grown in Syria. He began showing me photos on his mobile of his village back home: acres of smiling vineyards and tidy olive groves; it looked a fertile, sunny place with no signs of the bloody conflict. He looked at the photos with fondness and explained that his family had a smallholding in the village.

Flicking through his pictures, we passed family members, old men dressed in traditional Syrian headgear and then ... a young and handsome dark-haired boy, no more than nine, with a cheeky, boyish grin holding - a birthday present? You would have been justified in thinking so, looking at the cheerful look on his face. Sadly, no. He was clutching a large gun.  ‘Our country’, my Syrian friend muttered and swiftly flicked onto the next picture. 

I don’t know who the boy was; I didn’t want to ask. It was a Syrian boy and his picture told a story, a story of an unfolding tragedy, a spoilt boyhood, a conflict of adults where innocents are dragged in and learn far too quickly ‘the art’ of maiming and killing. 

Syrian refugees in Egypt

The previous day I had visited our food bank and met another asylum seeker from Syria who arrived in the UK in 2011 and has not been given leave to remain; all her appeals have been refused and she thinks she may have to leave the country soon. She was in desperate need of a food parcel.  She first arrived in Norway in 2009 with her four children but two of them, aged 18 and 16, were deported to Syria. “I have no contact with my two eldest children in Syria,” she says. “Syria is a warzone. I don’t know where they are.  I went to the Red Cross and they told me that they could only help me trace them if I gained status as a UK citizen.”

I’m struck by her dignity and courage in the face of loss and in the struggle for survival. I asked her to come back when she has time and I will help her draft a letter to her MP – the least I can do. 

Sometimes we can’t do much more than listen; sometimes there are small practical ways we can help – food bank for instance – or help write a letter. I offered to pray for her; she clutched my hands; we prayed that somehow God would find some way, a miracle, in providing a safe home for her and her two remaining children and a way to finding her lost children  – and do you think her heart was in that prayer?  

Sometimes, I think, listening is one of the most important, most effective activities we can ever engage in ... followed by prayer.