At our ACF one-day art workshop Ich, Du, Wir – I, You, and We, we were invited on a journey of creation and connection. Each of us began with a simple lump of clay, asked to shape a living being with which we most identified. This first step revealed something profound: identity is the starting point of community. Who we are, what we carry, where we come from and where we are matter.
We were then asked to create a home for that being. Immediately, the conversation shifted from self to safe-shelter, from “I” to the environment of belonging. What do we need to feel safe? What does a true home look like? For many, especially friends from Afghanistan and Palestine, “home” was not just a structure but a deep ache, a memory of what was lost and a longing for what might one day be restored. The art they created carried stories of exile, pain, and resilience—like the mother running with her children from the darkness of the Talib.
The next stage brought us face to face with one another. We were paired—two strangers, two stories, two worlds—asked to build bridges between our creations. I was partnered with a friend from Togo. An immigrant and an asylum seeker together, seeking connection. It was humbling and emotional. Bridge-building was no longer abstract; it was a sacred act of acknowledging difference, yet daring to find common ground. It was attempting a humble entry into the sacred spaces of the other. It was a profoundly spiritual experience.
In the final step, our twelve pieces were brought together into one community. Each figure unique, each carrying its story, yet woven into a shared vision. Among them was a striking image: a flying fish with wide eyes to see, wide ears to hear, and a large heart to include all. And yet the fish wept—tears of longing and grief, because though it desired to see, it also perceived indifference; though it wanted to hear, it also recognized pain; though it longed to include, it felt the resistance of hatred and apathy.
That image has stayed with me. It reminds us that building community is more than gathering pieces together—it is about addressing the dark forces of exclusion and fear, alongside nurturing the bonds of trust and care. Integration is not automatic; it is intentional bridge-building.
Seeking their place in the community were many who still wrestle with questions of identity. Some were genuinely local, yet carried the memory of East Germany; others had Scottish roots but found self-expression in the ballerina and the dancer. Friends from Asian and African contexts, for whom butterflies and snowmen symbolized their inner selves, longed for space and the right environment in this emerging community. One American, preparing to cross the seas again, expressed distance and transition, while another with Italian roots found her belonging in the image of an angel.
Bringing all these voices together—the iceman, the angel, the dancer, the butterfly, the peacock, the fish, the fleeing mother, and the dark figures pressing in—required sincerity, imagination, and effort. It was not enough to simply place the figures side by side; the community had to reckon with fear and exclusion even as it embraced creativity and diversity. What held them together were the rivers, oceans, and trees that became connecting links, weaving distinct lives into a single tapestry of belonging-finding their space in “our safe haven”.
This act of bridge-building taught us profound lessons: that true community does not erase difference but honors it; that inclusion requires space for every story to be voiced; that beauty lies in the joining of contrasts; and that networks of care, like rivers flowing through diverse lands, are what nourish and sustain us.
Creation Tide calls us into this work: to see with compassion, to listen deeply, and to expand the horizons of our hearts. In doing so, I and You become We. And in We, we discover the beauty of a community that is not just imagined, but lived—where every voice matters, every story belongs, and every person finds a home.
As Scripture reminds us, “So we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another” (Romans 12:5). True community is not built on sameness, but on the grace that holds our differences together in Christ. When we dare to see with compassion, listen with openness, and love with enlarged hearts, we embody the Kingdom of God among us.
May we, like the flying fish in our artwork, keep our eyes open to see each other’s struggles, our ears attuned to hear each other’s cries, and our hearts expanded to include all God’s children—until I and You truly become We.
Vinod Victor
October 1, 2025
Freiburg Anglican Church 