[I would like to begin by saying that the use of "Swedes" is pervasive throughout this blog. What is written here are simply my conversations and the thoughts I had based on what I experienced and what I know. My sample size is admittedly infinitesimal, in regards to the Swedish men and women I met and their take on Swedish belief and culture. In truth, I know very little of Swedish culture or mindsets. Many of the Swedes I met were some of the most kind and endearing people I've ever met - Samuel, Caroline, Henrik, and Rikard I'm looking at you.]
With Misti and Jeremy asleep and the drive still ahead of me I moved through a minute or two of small talk and directly engaged the driver on the topics of my greatest curiosity. I realize this is an incredibly American thing to do, but then again, I'm an incredibly American guy so I guess it didn't matter (Besides, I knew that as a Swede he was too polite to refuse my questions).
Thought #1 (Low hanging fruit)
Tell me how you feel about the taxes which seem unreasonably high. This thought was simply a warmup - a curious flight of fancy to loosen up the driver. In all actuality, I am not all that concerned about the taxes in Stockholm, and judging by the conversation I had with the driver, neither are Swedes. It seems when Swedes pay their taxes, the government gives them the very things they promise which happen to be the VERY THING SWEDES WANT!!! What a novel idea. Not only taxation with representation, but representation that actually listens to it's constituency. (For more on this topic if you're interested feel free to check out this link: representative taxation and for healthy counterpoint check out this one on irresponsible government entanglements. It was very informative and incredibly interesting... well, incredibly may have been an exaggeration.)
Thought #2 (Not so easy)
"How do you feel about the immigration crisis from your perspective as a native Swede?" This question elicited a much less immediate answer and an unintended raise of the eyebrows (I had apparently touched a nerve). He soon responded after some thought and said, "I don't mind the immigrants at all... but they need to abide by the rules. They can't come over here and think this is their place to run - stirring up all kinds of trouble." He continued, "I don't mind them and their beliefs so much, I just don't want their beliefs changing who we are as Swedes."
This was a common sentiment among both Swedes and Immigrants. Swedes feel more than happy to embrace the immigrant - so long as the immigrant adapts, adopts and assimilates into Swedish culture. Immigrants often saw this request in a different way: they felt excluded and left out from the society at large - relegated to an ethnic enclave to spend their days constantly toiling to become Swedish - to understand how Swedish Meatballs and Cat Sauce can be SOOOOO GOOD!!!
It became obvious that while my driver's compassion wasn't lacking in the least bit, his ability to empathize was unhinged. He couldn't see where the immigrant was coming from or why they couldn't change. He didn't understand why they held so tightly to their Islamic ways and why they just. couldn't. become. Swedish.
This round of questioning made me think though, "Why is it that my driver who is a perfectly thoughtful, wonderful human being (by all accounts) could not find a connection point to empathize with the plight of these men, women, and often times parent-less children? Somehow, there was a disconnect for him. But to be fair, I think the same could be said of me from time to time. Why?
As I think back to my own situations, when I find myself continually annoyed by one segment of society or another, I find I am thinking of them as less than and me as greater than. When I lack compassion has less to do with my character and more to do with my connection to my own personal brokenness (or the lack thereof). MY brokenness in MY face drives me to look at the one who heals the broken places to their fullest extent. It's only out of that recognition of unmerited favor can I see the brokenness of others even when the cost is my own comfort and security.
The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that I can be neither truly compassionate nor truly empathetic apart from Jesus. Outside of this great grace, my selfishness is impossible to overcome. That may seem silly to many who read this, but in truth, my willingness to see my brokenness was impossible before I met Jesus. I was deeply insecure (and sometimes still can be), among a great many other things I also felt out of place in the skin that covered my body. I was never settled or at home and often was desperately lonely. I felt like a foreigner trapped in a foreign land - language unknown, home unmarked. Many who know me now (even family members) may be surprised by that confession. While I was a resident of Jacksonville Beach, Florida - I felt homeless, transient, invisible, alone... I was an immigrant, but I was blind to my status. I was an alien without hope of ever finding the dreams that would give me place, hope and joy. But in truth, aren't we all aliens?
So then, in my brokenness, I'm forced to ask this question again. Aren't we all immigrants? Aren't we all strangers in a foreign land - castaways, refugees, aliens? Whether our immigration is to the World or to Christ, this earthly existence seems constantly devoid of actual place. It's tricky, because no matter what decision you make rejection is an inevitability. Choose the World and the rejection of Heaven is staring you in the face. Choose the world in the wrong way and your rejection is from the World and from Christ. Choose Christ and I guarantee, the world's rejection is hot on your heels because we live in a world that it is fundamentally built upon layers of rejection. It embraces no one and nothing outside the lines of it's own selfish intent. We are a race of rejects who are purposed to be champions, longing for an acceptance that transcends the shadowlands of our existence and calls us back to our birth rite. We long to be conquerers, but as vagrants those dreams seem as tenable as building a skyscraper on a foundation of cotton candy.
So in a way, I too am an alien in a foreign land, but an alien in peace. It is a peace imbued by the absurdity of the cross - of a pre-existent, all loving, supreme Christ making new what was broken and displaced. It is truly absurd. It is skyscrapers on a foundation of cotton candy, or castles floating on the air.
I think I understand the plight of the refugee in a way that my atheist driver can not (Editorial note: I do speak from pride or self-righteousness, only weakness). I can understand the desperation for peace - for a shalom so deep that you're willing to risk everything just for the chance to find a satisfaction that never runs dry - for home. Sadly, there is no rest for the immigrant outside of Christ - never rest. Rest is peace and without christ there is no peace, only a spiraling abyss of darkness into the insatiable appetites of a "might makes right" existence.
My driver will neither admit his brokenness to me, himself, nor to the God he [politely] refused to believe in. So until he does, they will always be them - the unnamed masses, wrecking his existence
and hopefully in the process, drawing him to the very heart of God.
With Misti and Jeremy asleep and the drive still ahead of me I moved through a minute or two of small talk and directly engaged the driver on the topics of my greatest curiosity. I realize this is an incredibly American thing to do, but then again, I'm an incredibly American guy so I guess it didn't matter (Besides, I knew that as a Swede he was too polite to refuse my questions).
Thought #1 (Low hanging fruit)
Tell me how you feel about the taxes which seem unreasonably high. This thought was simply a warmup - a curious flight of fancy to loosen up the driver. In all actuality, I am not all that concerned about the taxes in Stockholm, and judging by the conversation I had with the driver, neither are Swedes. It seems when Swedes pay their taxes, the government gives them the very things they promise which happen to be the VERY THING SWEDES WANT!!! What a novel idea. Not only taxation with representation, but representation that actually listens to it's constituency. (For more on this topic if you're interested feel free to check out this link: representative taxation and for healthy counterpoint check out this one on irresponsible government entanglements. It was very informative and incredibly interesting... well, incredibly may have been an exaggeration.)
Thought #2 (Not so easy)
 |
| We may have apple pie, but Swedish and Caroline Hultmar's Cat Sauce may just gives us a run for the money! |
This was a common sentiment among both Swedes and Immigrants. Swedes feel more than happy to embrace the immigrant - so long as the immigrant adapts, adopts and assimilates into Swedish culture. Immigrants often saw this request in a different way: they felt excluded and left out from the society at large - relegated to an ethnic enclave to spend their days constantly toiling to become Swedish - to understand how Swedish Meatballs and Cat Sauce can be SOOOOO GOOD!!!
 |
| Cat Sauce also known as creme sauce by every other human being |
This round of questioning made me think though, "Why is it that my driver who is a perfectly thoughtful, wonderful human being (by all accounts) could not find a connection point to empathize with the plight of these men, women, and often times parent-less children? Somehow, there was a disconnect for him. But to be fair, I think the same could be said of me from time to time. Why?
As I think back to my own situations, when I find myself continually annoyed by one segment of society or another, I find I am thinking of them as less than and me as greater than. When I lack compassion has less to do with my character and more to do with my connection to my own personal brokenness (or the lack thereof). MY brokenness in MY face drives me to look at the one who heals the broken places to their fullest extent. It's only out of that recognition of unmerited favor can I see the brokenness of others even when the cost is my own comfort and security.
The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that I can be neither truly compassionate nor truly empathetic apart from Jesus. Outside of this great grace, my selfishness is impossible to overcome. That may seem silly to many who read this, but in truth, my willingness to see my brokenness was impossible before I met Jesus. I was deeply insecure (and sometimes still can be), among a great many other things I also felt out of place in the skin that covered my body. I was never settled or at home and often was desperately lonely. I felt like a foreigner trapped in a foreign land - language unknown, home unmarked. Many who know me now (even family members) may be surprised by that confession. While I was a resident of Jacksonville Beach, Florida - I felt homeless, transient, invisible, alone... I was an immigrant, but I was blind to my status. I was an alien without hope of ever finding the dreams that would give me place, hope and joy. But in truth, aren't we all aliens?
 |
| Apparently, the Aliens of Tensta like the Simpsons, too |
So in a way, I too am an alien in a foreign land, but an alien in peace. It is a peace imbued by the absurdity of the cross - of a pre-existent, all loving, supreme Christ making new what was broken and displaced. It is truly absurd. It is skyscrapers on a foundation of cotton candy, or castles floating on the air.
I think I understand the plight of the refugee in a way that my atheist driver can not (Editorial note: I do speak from pride or self-righteousness, only weakness). I can understand the desperation for peace - for a shalom so deep that you're willing to risk everything just for the chance to find a satisfaction that never runs dry - for home. Sadly, there is no rest for the immigrant outside of Christ - never rest. Rest is peace and without christ there is no peace, only a spiraling abyss of darkness into the insatiable appetites of a "might makes right" existence.
My driver will neither admit his brokenness to me, himself, nor to the God he [politely] refused to believe in. So until he does, they will always be them - the unnamed masses, wrecking his existence
and hopefully in the process, drawing him to the very heart of God.
---
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