In the intergenerational Sunday School class that meets in a musty basement room of a Northern Virginia church, there are three people battling chronic and terminal diseases right now. But when the first call went out for prayer requests this Sunday, a woman stood up and asked us to pray for the refugees.
Fifty years earlier, she and her husband had spent time in the Middle East, and she was worried about the fate of people we might return to war-torn countries.
Roy, an older gentleman (who I know voted for Trump), spoke up, too. He had recently been tasked with teaching a citizenship course for immigrants.
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