The island of Rhodes, in the Aegean Sea, has always been a gateway between East and West. As the parish priest here for the past 23 years, I have learned to adjust to the ebb and flow of the movement of people and to serve them in the best way I can. Migrants and refugees come and go, but since 2015 the numbers have been ever increasing.
As a Franciscan, I belong to the Custody of the Holy Land. I serve on the governing body of the Custody, which takes care of the Holy Places, and this has enabled me to see and know the people in their countries of origin and then oftentimes meet them again as refugees. Their passage to Rhodes is fraught with danger and it is costly.
In all this lucrative illegal business with human lives, how many drowned in the sea, we will never know. The Pope calls the sea a cemetery, and so it is. We offer what we can, the most basic necessities of life: food, clothes, hygiene products, sanitary products for women, chocolate, toys for the children. Above all, we lend an ear and offer the hand of friendship without distinction of colour, creed or ethnic origin.
This is the basis of our simple mission to those most in need. The refugees arrive disorientated and exhausted, few speak no other language other than their native Arabic. I am fortunate in knowing both Greek and Arabic and this seems to bring great comfort to them as well as being useful in helping them communicate with the authorities.
Since 2015, the support of our NGO Pro Terra Sancta (PTS) has enabled the Franciscan mission to take care of over 30,000 refugees. I feel they will remember the kindness that was shown to them in their hour of need.
This tragic war began on the Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary. I remember distinctly thinking, “Dear God, let it end soon.” Soon the number of refugees arriving from Gaza began to increase. There is no longer any refugee centre in Rhodes, and those who arrived had no alternative but to live in the parks and streets in the middle of Rhodes town.
In the warm days of October and the beginning of November, they slept in the open and washed and showered on the beach, but the days began to draw in and then came the rain and the cold. I have no doubt it is miserable living in a tent under the rain, in a park where the earth turns to mud.
Having distributed the necessities of life, I try and sit with these people, huddled round the fires they have made from driftwood in tin cans. I never cease to be moved by the fact that what little they have, they are still willing to share. It moves me that they are so grateful for the little that we give them, and that they still smile.
I am not sure I would feel like that if I were in their position. The days go on, the numbers increase, some are shipped off to other parts of Greece. The unaccompanied minors are taken care of by the authorities, and the whole cycle is repeated as more and more men, women and children are either rescued at sea or picked up along the coast.
At the end of November I left the refugees in Rhodes and travelled to Israel. The first thing that struck me was that the airport in Tel Aviv was almost empty. There were signs everywhere with images of stickmen running, pointing towards a shelter, and writing in Hebrew and English. We made our way to Jerusalem; there was a heavy military presence everywhere.
On the First Sunday of Advent we went to Bethlehem with the Custos, Fr Francesco Patton, accompanied by the Israeli army. It was all quite surreal: the roads were empty, just the friars and military vehicles and heavily armed soldiers. As we passed through the gate between Israel and Palestine into Bethlehem, we were met by more soldiers, but these were Palestinian.
The local scouts awaited our arrival and accompanied us to the Basilica of the Nativity, but there were no bagpipes or drums this year. I was moved by the many children who lined the piazza to welcome us: so innocent, so happy to see us, waving and shouting with glee as the friars moved towards the entrance of the church.
What will they remember about their childhood, I asked myself. What effect will this war have on them? The church was full to standing room only, people seemed consoled by our presence. Writing this in my room in Jerusalem, I could hear explosions in Gaza in the distance. The boom seems far away and yet in reality Gaza is quite near.
We pray fervently for peace and in our friaries every day we sing Da pacem Domine in diebus nostris: “O Lord, grant us peace in our days.” O may that peace come quickly!
To find out more about Pro Terra Sancta, visit proterrasancta.org
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