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Freedom of Belief

23 June 2023

4 min read

Away from home, cut off from home

As Refugee Week concludes, Belle Tindall moves beyond the headlines and learns the story of Azer and the thousands of churches who are providing a sense of home for those who have fled theirs.

Belle Tindall

Belle is the staff writer at Seen & Unseen and co-host of its Re-enchanting podcast.

Welcome Network

No refugee alone – that’s the vision, that’s the hope, that’s the end game.

That is what is fuelling Welcome Churches, a charity that is encouraging, equipping and resourcing local churches to support refugees up and down the country. In the past twelve months alone, over one thousand churches have partnered with Welcome Churches to help ensure that their corner of the UK is a home fit for the people who are seeking sanctuary within it.

As a result, nearly eighteen thousand people have been welcomed into and supported by local churches in the past year.

One of those people is Azer.

Azer came to the UK in 2022, along with his wife, to study in Birmingham. The plan was to stay in the UK for two years, complete his studies, and then return home to Iran with the qualifications he needed to obtain a promotion in tow. However, just two months into his time at the University, Azer found that his bank account had been frozen, and he was unable to pay his fees, and therefore attend his classes. After assuming that this was down to some kind of technical fault, or perhaps a legal complication, Azer was horrified to learn that it was the Iranian authorities who had intentionally cut him off from his finances. Not only that, but they had also raided and seized his home in Iran, as well as raiding the home of his wife’s family.

He and his wife had been targeted.

Azer and his wife are Christians, which is a dangerous thing to be in Iran. Christian gatherings are prohibited, and any rumours of secret Christian activity is heavily monitored. In fact, practising Christianity can lead to imprisonment for ‘crimes against national security’. The pressure that Christians are under in Iran has led Open Doors to rank it as the eighth most dangerous country to be a Christian in the world.

Azer describes it this way,

Being a Christian in Iran and participating in the communities will have consequences, such as prosecution or execution. Converting from Islam to Christianity will have a price and your life is entitled to be taken by Islamic government agents. That's why house churches are held secretly. Absolutely, you fear. That's why everything is done in confidentiality regarding the worship services, and Bible readings.

As Helen, an Engagement Officer for Welcome Churches, says, ‘for some people it (Christianity) is literally life threatening, the persecuted church is a real thing’.

Despite the immense risks, Azer’s wife covertly practiced her Christianity while living in Iran, keeping Christian literature in her home. Something which, it seems, did not go unnoticed. As a result, returning to Iran is no longer a safe option for Azer, nor his wife. When asked how it felt to learn that his own government had targeted him and his family in this way, and to realise that his home could therefore no longer be his home, Azer described it this way,

We felt like all the organs of our body dismembered, and on the other hand, like something inside you has been lost which was your identity obtained during past years by your efforts. A mixture of helplessness, frustration, being thrown into the void, and implosion inside. Dealing with losing all your possessions and all your plans is very hard. Like somebody who survived after an earthquake and lost his family and home. On the other hand, feeling your life is in danger is harder to tolerate. We feel at any moment you can be killed by the agents. These threats last for a long time which is more difficult to cope with.

Because of the profound dangers that Azer and his wife face, they have applied for asylum here in the UK. Azer speaks powerfully of how being a refugee feels,

Even though being an asylum seeker carries legal status all over the world, you immediately have no social status and must navigate this extreme loss of identity in an unknown territory. Sometimes I cannot talk, think, or even concentrate and my wife and I often feel lonely and homesick for our parents and siblings.

The UN Refugee Agency reports that in November 2022 (the most recent statistics), there were 231,597 refugees, 127,421 pending asylum cases, and 5,483 stateless persons in the UK. Each with their own stories, their own fears, their own hopes. Each one having to juggle copious unknowns on a daily basis, navigating risks that many of us cannot fathom. The depth of emotion in Azer’s words as he speaks of his experience, it is hard to comprehend such trauma multiplied by such huge numbers. Yet, that is the reality that many local churches are coming face to face with, supported by Welcome Churches.

Believing that refugees are people to be supported, not problems to be solved, churches have been providing for their new neighbours in numerous ways: providing toys, clothes, food, warm spaces, games nights, social hubs and so much more. They have taken the biblical mandates to ‘welcome strangers’ and ‘love their neighbours’ incredibly literally, showing hospitality to people of all faiths, and none.

Of course, there is a political component to this that cannot be ignored, and one of Welcome Church’s core values is institutional justice for refugees and asylum seekers, believing that the Church/Christians should be at the forefront of ensuring that the Home Office is in a position to hear every case presented to it and respond with compassion. As Helen says,

It’s not for us to decide the validity of their claim. But neither is it for us to deny the validity of their humanity.

This Refugee Week is an opportunity to move beyond headlines, statistics and culture wars and ensure that people are seen, and stories are heard. It therefore seems only right that Azer gets the final word,

We ask Humbly that the UK (government) put themselves in our place, and then judge and treat us. In the meantime, we are thankful for all the love and compassion we have received from most of the British people. We pray to God to help and give us the power to reciprocate for this nation in the future.

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Care

Change

Justice

25 June 2025

4 min read

Four things I’ve learnt from working with prisoners

Here’s why I care about the incarcerated

Daniel Bey

Daniel is the regional director, Asia Pacific, for Prison Fellowship International.

Female prisoners hug their children who have climbed across a table to them.

Prisoners hug their children during a visit.

PFI.org.

It was my mother who first sparked my curiosity about engaging with prisoners. As a volunteer prison counsellor, she held bi-weekly meetings with incarcerated individuals, listening to their stories, struggles, and moments of hope. Over family dinners, she would share the situations these people found themselves in and how counseling was breaking through the emotional walls they had built around themselves.

However, for most of my life, such a prison ministry was never something I considered pursuing – certainly not as my career. I’m a Christian and a verse from the Bible had guided me through life:

“For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink…I was in prison, and you came to visit me.”

The last part of that verse was the one I had often skipped over.

Four years ago, this verse resurfaced in my life and this time, it wouldn’t let go. I was convicted of how I, and much of society, including the church, have often overlooked this desperate need within our communities.

That conviction led me to work at Prison Fellowship International (PFI). I work alongside others who believe in redemption and grace for those the world has forgotten.

PFI is a movement of more than 120 partner prison ministries worldwide working to restore the lives of those impacted by crime. It does that by sharing the Christian Gospel and God’s love with prisoners and protecting their children from increased risks of trafficking, child labor or following in their parent’s footsteps.

As I’ve walked this road, I’ve realized why caring about prisoners matters. It’s not just a good deed, but a vital part of caring for the least and forgotten in our society. Here are four truths that have shaped my thinking.

Compassion looks past the crime to the person

In a world that often defines people by their worst mistakes, compassion calls us to look deeper. Many individuals behind bars have been shaped by lives of poverty, trauma and injustice who made poor decisions. In places like Sri Lanka and Nepal, I’ve encountered people imprisoned for stealing food to provide for their families living in desperate poverty. These stories reveal a wider context of inequality, where systemic injustices and lack of access to healthcare, education, or employment drive people towards choices they might not otherwise make.

While I do not excuse nor diminish the harm caused by crime, we must hold space for both justice and mercy. We must choose to see beyond someone's crime and into their heart to recognize their humanity and believe in the possibility of restoration – for them as an individual, for the victim and for our communities as a whole.

Families are the silent, forgotten victims

When someone goes to prison, it’s not only the individual who suffers; their families, especially children, often quietly bear the weight of that loss. I recently met 11-year-old Su Lin in Cambodia. Her dad is imprisoned, and her mother left the family in the care of their grandmother. When the burden of caring for them became too great, Su Lin’s brothers were put up for adoption. She doesn’t know if or when she’ll see her father again or whether her mum will ever return.

Her story is heartbreaking, but just one of millions. Around the world, children of prisoners are shunned by their community for crimes they did not commit and left isolated in cycles of poverty, trauma and often, generational crime.

Daily, I have the privilege of working with PFI’s network to support children like Su Lin, but so many more slip through the cracks. When we forget prisoners, we also abandon their families, the silent victims who deserve care, hope, dignity, and a chance at a brighter future.

True justice restores, not just punishes

I’ve seen first-hand how forgiveness, accountability, and a path to restoration can heal not just prisoners, but entire communities. In the Solomon Islands, a culture deeply rooted in a strong, connected community, this type of redemption is being lived out.

There, before prisoners are eligible for parole, they are invited to participate in Sycamore Tree Project, a PFI program that aims to foster healing and reconciliation through restorative efforts. When all parties are ready, local religious leaders facilitate a reconciliation meeting between the offender and victim, often joined by their families and community leaders. These difficult yet grace-filled conversations lead to healing, accountability, and forgiveness.

Our findings have been powerful: reoffending rates in these communities have dropped dramatically. This is what radical reconciliation looks like – messy and challenging, but life-changing.

Faith calls us to love the forgotten

At the heart of faith is a call to love those whom the world has cast aside, including those behind bars, so often labelled unworthy and left behind. With many correctional systems still prioritizing punitive justice, I believe we are called to deeply reckon with how we can advocate for grace in a society focused on punishment.

Prisoners are not beyond hope. Their families are not invisible. Their futures are not sealed. Together, we can bring light into the darkest places in our communities and societies. In doing so, we discover the depth of true, lasting justice and mercy.

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