We Who Defy Hate

Photo from jfr.org

By Rev. Terry Davis

Delivered at Northwest Unitarian Universalist Congregation on

September 25, 2016

The New York Times editorial that Jay read was also featured in Thursday’s Atlanta Journal-Constitution. The article was entitled “Refugee crisis: Would you hide a Jew from the Nazis?”

I’d like to think that I might be someone who might answer “yes” to that question.

However, looking back on the rise of Nazism, its reign of fear, and its system of evil, I wonder if my answer would have been “yes.” I wonder if my answer is more likely to have been “no” – no, hiding a Jew would be much too dangerous . . . no, I have my personal responsibilities to consider . . . no, it would disrupt everything in my life.

It seems that so many good, kind, and generous people did say no when asked to help Jewish men, women and children find safety . . . including the 17 Unitarian ministers and their wives who were asked ahead of Rev. Waitstill and Martha Sharp to go on a rescue mission to Czechoslovakia.

That the Sharps said “yes” to the invitation to help possibly makes them no more sympathetic to the plight of persecuted persons than most of us. But, perhaps the fact that they said “yes” to such a dangerous mission means that they were much more courageous than many of us.

For me and, perhaps for many of you, the line between feeling genuine concern and taking concrete action can be most difficult to cross. Abandoning one’s home and family and risking one’s life to help total strangers in a far-away country – as Waitstill and Martha Sharp did – seem to run completely counter to the messages we hear today to practice self-care and seek balance in our lives.

And, yet the Sharps did cross that line between concern and action with both fear and willingness . . . and without regard to life balance. They cared deeply about their family and, I imagine, their own lives. But they also cared about what this dark chapter in human history and what their Unitarian faith were calling them to do.

For those of you who missed the Ken Burns’ documentary Defying the Nazis: The Sharps’ War Tuesday night, here is a brief summary:

In 1939, a 37-year old and relatively new Unitarian minister named Waitstill Sharp and his 33-year old wife Martha, who was a social worker, accepted a mission from the American Unitarian Association. They were to leave their home and young children in Wellesley, Massachusetts and travel to Prague, Czechoslovakia, where a refugee crisis was mounting.

The AUA estimated that 250,000 refugees from Germany, Austria, and other regions were already pouring into what was left of the tiny democratic country.

At least 26,000 of these displaced people needed immediate immigration assistance. That is, they were Jews, intellectuals, artists, labor leaders, political leaders, and others on the Gestapo’s wanted list who faced internment and death if they didn’t somehow escape Czechoslovakia.

Armed with only $40,000, Waitstill and Martha quickly learned the art of spycraft. They undertook dangerous rescue and relief missions across war-torn Europe, saving refugees, political dissidents, and Jews on the eve of World War II. After narrowly avoiding the Gestapo themselves, the Sharps returned to Europe in 1940 as representatives of the newly formed Unitarian Service Committee, which we know today as the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee. In this role, they continued their relief efforts in Vichy, France.[ref]Artemis Joukosky, Defying the Nazis: The Sharps’ War (Beacon Press, Boston, MA: 2016), book jacket, 1, 2, 6.[/ref]

The Sharps were ordinary people who accomplished extraordinary things for humanity during a fear-filled time in our history. We might say that they were heroes or even saints, as we defined the term in last Sunday’s worship service.

And, the Sharps weren’t the only ones. As Nicholas Kristof mentioned in his editorial, there was Aristides de Sousa Mendes, the Portuguese consul general in France who issued visas for 30,000 Jewish refugees. There were others, too, who defied hate and risked ruin and death to help the persecuted.

In his article, Kristof points out that the Syrian refugee crisis today is similar in severity to the Jewish refugee crisis of the 1930s and 40s. He says that courage and compassion are needed now to help millions of displaced and persecuted Syrian men, women and children just as they were needed then. And, while asylum and financial help has been offered to Syrians by many, it still only manages to scratch the surface of what is truly required.

Not all of us can do what Waitstill and Martha Sharp did to help others in need, which included turning their lives upside down and creating a brand new set of life priorities based on their most cherished values. However, in thinking about their story and the current refugee crisis that has exploded across Europe, Turkey and the Middle East, I’m nevertheless faced with the question of “What can I do?” “What does my faith compel me to do?”

In wondering about these questions, I thought about a beautiful song written by Unitarian Universalist choir director and composer Ysaye Barnwell. Entitled “Would You Harbor Me?” the lyrics go like this:

Would you harbor me?
Would I harbor you?
Would you harbor a Christian, a Muslim, a Jew
a heretic, convict or spy?
Would you harbor a runaway woman or child,
a poet, a prophet, a king?
Would you harbor an exile or a refugee,
a person living with AIDS?
Would you harbor a Tubman, a Garrett, a Truth
a fugitive or a slave?
Would you harbor a Haitian, Korean or Czech,
a lesbian or a gay?
Would you harbor me?
Would I harbor you?

As you might imagine, these lyrics are much powerful when they are sung. And, so, I’d like to play them for you. Barnwell’s song was sung by the chorus of Congregation Bet Haverim, a Reconstructionist Jewish community located here in Atlanta and recorded live. I invite you to close your eyes and listen to them with me.

****

This amazing song strikes me as both a question and an invitation. It reminds me that to defy hate in our world can mean simply to offer harbor to someone who needs protection. And, I believe we all can offer harbor – perhaps in ways that are not as upending and life-threatening as what the Sharps did, but are nevertheless important and powerful.

We can offer harbor with our voices, our letters, our unwavering presence, and in other ways.

To offer harbor to our Syrian siblings, for example, might include educating ourselves about Islam and Islamophobia, as we are doing here at Northwest. It seems that the more we can help break the myths and misunderstandings about the Muslim faith, the more we can be a voice of reason during these challenging times.

The harbor we offer Syrian refugees might also include lending our support for increased immigration quotas. The current limit in the U.S. this year for Syrian immigrants is 10,000 people. That’s a drop in the bucket when you consider that 4.5 million Syrian refugees are in just five countries – Turkey, Jordan, Iraq, Egypt and Lebanon – and one million refugees have requested asylum in Europe just this past year.

Increasing the flow of immigrants to our country raises fears and questions. Will the influx of more people put a strain on our nation’s resources? Will it increase competition for jobs at a time when our economy is considered to be slowly recovering and still fragile? Will allowing more Syrian immigrants to enter the U.S. also open up the possibility that a few dangerous persons might slip in?

I think all of that is possible. But, as it was so plainly put by Jorge Helft, the Holocaust survivor who as a French boy was saved by one of Sousa Mendes’s visas, “Ninety-five percent or more of these people are decent, and they are fleeing from death. So let’s not forget them.”

Let’s not forget them. And, let’s not forget that for nearly all of us here, unless we are descendants of Native Americans, U.S. soil was adopted soil for our ancestors.

Most Americans are descended from people who came from somewhere else, whether they immigrated here voluntarily or were brought here forcibly as the result of the Atlantic Slave Trade.

And, somewhere in that history, I imagine that members of our families needed harbor. They may have needed a harbor from the scourge of poverty, from the pain of violence, from the fear of persecution, and from a dearth of employment and education opportunities.

My immigrant great-grandparents came to this country to escape the crushing rural poverty of southern Italy. Poor farmers with few skills, they sailed into New York Harbor and to Ellis Island at the turn of the 20th century as did many other poor Europeans. And, like so many other immigrants, they were greeted by the Statue of Liberty, a gift from France and a symbol of our nation’s freedom.

There is a familiar poem on the statue’s base, which was written in 1883 by Emma Lazarus, a descendant of Jewish immigrants. For me, it expresses what I hope is one of our nation’s ongoing values –  to be a harbor to people like my great grandparents Luigi and Rose Tripodi. It says:

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

These are words of harbor. And, while not all of America’s immigrants have been as downtrodden as the poem describes, its words nevertheless offer an ideal that I believe we can help our country still strive to be – that is, compassionate to and inclusive of all.

Which leads me back to Waitstill and Martha Sharp . . .

****

The story of the Sharps is remarkable for many reasons. In addition to working under harrowing conditions, Waitstill and Martha had to overcome many obstacles as they dedicated themselves to rescuing Jewish refugees from Czechoslovakia.

For example, they struggled against U.S. immigration constraints (at the time, only 2,000 Czechs were allowed into the U.S. each year). They encountered enormous antisemitism and deep racism. They had to obtain food and shelter and arrange for train tickets and chartered airline flights for the men, women and children they were trying to help – all while maintaining their cover. And, they were doing everything day-to-day in a chaotic environment with the German army burning the documents of all the Czechoslovakian people.

And, yet, with all of that, they still managed to provide harbor to so many people and save so many lives.

As we reflect on the courageous action of people like Waitstill and Martha Sharp . . . as we consider the massive suffering of Syrian refugees across the Atlantic . . . and as we think about the loss, pain and violence that occurred this week in our backyards of Tulsa and Charlotte, may we consider how we can be a harbor.

May we be a harbor by listening to others with an open heart and mind. May we be a harbor by showing up when those who are suffering ask for our support. May we be a harbor by defying hate, by speaking up when others are being mistreated, and by being impatient when the wheels of justice seem to grind too slowly.

May we know that anything and everything we do adds up and makes a difference.

May it be so. Amen.