One December Sunday when I was a child, my Sunday School teacher Mrs. Watts put all the half-used candles she’d had us bring from home into a giant pot in the church kitchen and turned on the fire. When I asked what she was doing, she said making new Christmas candles, and when another student asked skeptically, “Why would we do that?” she pointed her wooden spatula at us and said slowly and clearly, “Because class, God doesn’t make junk! Each and every one of you has the light of God in you. Remember that!”
It’s been 47 years since Mrs. Watts told us “God doesn’t make junk.” I wish President Trump, who on Tuesday called Somali immigrants “garbage,” had heard her message.
At almost the exact time the president was deriding Somalis as “garbage” who come from hell and do nothing but complain, I was in south Minneapolis having a conversation with a man from that country.
The emphasis on family, education and opportunities is what comes to mind when I think of my Somali neighbors.
We are the same age. And our kids are the same age. His dreams for his family are my dreams for mine. When he first came to this country he worked as a laborer. He eventually went to college. You may have thought he’d have complained about the Minnesota winters, but he said, “The work opportunities and the chances to go to school makes the winters not so bad. As long as my family has opportunities, that’s all we need.” We were sitting in a sauna as we talked, and his only complaint was that it could be hotter.
The emphasis on family, education and opportunities is what comes to mind when I think of my Somali neighbors. For two years I coached little league and middle school baseball in south Minneapolis. The Somali kids were focused and light-hearted ball players who would rather be on a soccer pitch or a basketball court, but they made the most of it. Their parents made sure they were on time and ready for practice and games. They made sure their kids helped clean up and wouldn’t let me carry anything over 10 lbs. These parents stood out in part because they didn’t complain that their kids weren’t getting enough playing time, they didn’t complain about their batting order position or that their kids weren’t pitching or dispute any calls from the umpire. They complained only when my practices went over and caused their kids to lose study time.
In 2020, as the funeral for George Floyd was being held at the chapel on the campus of North Central University in Minneapolis, I sat across the street under the shade of an oak tree. There were several thousand other mourners grieving with me. College students who’d driven up from Missouri passed out water bottles; some people just walked through the crowd providing free hugs. But there were Somali neighbors who walked through the crowd passing out their comfort food: sambusas. It was well above 90 degrees, but those hot, savory stuffed pastries were perfect for the moment.
A Somali family that joined me in the shade told me their story of being in a refugee camp in Kenya and then coming to America. They only wanted a chance at a better life for their children. The only complaint I heard from that family — and, really, it was more of a lament — was “Why does this killing happen in America?”
My Somali neighbors may have come from hellish situations, but they are trying to create a little bit of heaven for their families here.
My Somali neighbors may have come from hellish situations, but they are trying to create a little bit of heaven for their families here in the United States. It has not been easy for them here in Minnesota. Their mosques have been set on fire, they have faced discrimination at work, at school and on playgrounds, and now many of them face arrests and deportation. And yet they persevere, they raise families, they work like mad, they study, they organize, they run for office, they advocate, and they refuse to give up on the idea of America. My Somali neighbors inspire me. They remind me of the best of this country.
By telling us that each of us has the light of God in us, Mrs. Watts was communicating a bedrock principle our faith. Given that the signers of Declaration of Independence wrote, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal” and “that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,” Mrs. Watt’s declaration that God doesn’t make junk also aligns with a bedrock principle of our country.
Whether it takes him going to a Sunday School class or familiarizing himself with our country’s foundational documents, I hope the president soon learns that God doesn’t make garbage. God only makes beautiful things.
And my Somali neighbors are beautiful.
G. Travis Norvell
G. Travis Norvell is the pastor of Judson Memorial Baptist Church in Minneapolis and an adjunct faculty member at United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities. He has served as an American Baptist pastor for 25 years in both small towns and urban churches.