Dec 15 – “These things must be seen and must be told” — Pope Francis to 31 Jesuits in Myanmar

Friday, December 15

Pope Francis has adopted the practice of visiting with Jesuits who live and work in each country to which he makes a formal visit.  Last November 29 he met with  31 Jesuits in Myanmar and, on December 1, with 13 Jesuits in Bangladesh.   Here are a few lines.

Post # 1:  Francis in Myanmar 

Continuing to speak about refugees in the Myanmar meeting, the pontiff recalled meeting a man in a refugee camp during his April 2016 visit to Lesbos. The pope said the man recounted how his wife had been killed before his eyes by terrorists.

“These things must be seen and must be told,” Francis told the Jesuits. “These things do not come to the living rooms of our big cities. We are obliged to report and make public these human tragedies that some try to silence.”  (   When he speaks of refugees, Francis reminds me of the Muslim poet Warsan Shire.

Post #2 – Warsan Shire, “Home”

This is the second Warsan Shire poem for the Work Day/Hard Time list. Her words remind me of Isaiah 58, yesterday’s first scripture. As always, it’s best to read the poet out loud, with pauses but I find it a lot harder, than most Work Day posts, to read these words out loud.


no one leaves home unless

home is the mouth of a shark

you only run for the border

when you see the whole city running as well

your neighbors running faster than you

breath bloody in their throats

the boy you went to school with

who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory

is holding a gun bigger than his body

you only leave home

when home won’t let you stay.

no one leaves home unless home chases you

fire under feet

hot blood in your belly

it’s not something you ever thought of doing

until the blade burnt threats into

your neck

and even then you carried the anthem under

your breath

only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets

sobbing as each mouthful of paper

made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.

you have to understand,

that no one puts their children in a boat

unless the water is safer than the land

no one burns their palms

under trains

beneath carriages

no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck

feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled

means something more than journey.

no one crawls under fences

no one wants to be beaten


no one chooses refugee camps

or strip searches where your

body is left aching

or prison,

because prison is safer

than a city of fire

and one prison guard

in the night

is better than a truckload

of men who look like your father

no one could take it

no one could stomach it

no one skin would be tough enough


go home blacks


dirty immigrants

asylum seekers

sucking our country dry

niggers with their hands out

they smell strange


messed up their country and now they want

to mess ours up

how do the words

the dirty looks

roll off your backs

maybe because the blow is softer

than a limb torn off

or the words are more tender

than fourteen men between

your legs

or the insults are easier

to swallow

than rubble

than bone

than your child body

in pieces.

i want to go home,

but home is the mouth of a shark

home is the barrel of the gun

and no one would leave home

unless home chased you to the shore

unless home told you

to quicken your legs

leave your clothes behind

crawl through the desert

wade through the oceans



be hunger


forget pride

your survival is more important

no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear



run away from me now

i dont know what i’ve become

but i know that anywhere

is safer than here


Warsan Shire


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