MY CITY —Los Angeles—is a real melting pot. A cornucopia of ethnicities. On one street where I lived, I had Black, Indian, Korean, White, Hispanic, and Chinese neighbors. We came from diverse socioeconomic and religious backgrounds. Some families, like mine, were Christian. Others were Buddhist, Jewish, Hindu, atheist, and Islamic. Most on our immediate street were professionals—educators, writers, stock traders, importers, artists, composers, actors, and restaurateurs. Just a couple of blocks away, homes were filled with blue-collar workers. It was a rich neighborhood, not so much in money, but in cultural diversity.

In any town with a similar mix, almost everyone has a story about how they or their ancestors landed in America. Some tales are heartwarming; others heartbreaking. Our city becomes increasingly diverse, in part, by accepting refugees from every corner of the earth, including our own. While the melange in such a city is colorful and stimulating, some of our newest residents hint at a humanitarian challenge of global proportions. In the year 2001, estimates placed refugees at 14.9 million, and internally displaced persons at 22 million worldwide—not to mention those with no country. Among refugees, Palestinians are the oldest and largest group, constituting one fourth of that total population.

But another group, from Sudan's Darfur region, is particularly problematic. Recently on PBS's The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer, United States Senator Bill Frist called the situation in Darfur "currently the greatest humanitarian tragedy of our times" ("Crisis in Sudan," September 15, 2004). More than one million Africans have been displaced and over 30,000 killed in what the United States government now calls genocide. This particular brand of ethnic cleansing is based on skin color, not religion.

On other shores, Colombia's three million internally displaced persons are refugees within their own country—that is, refugees who never cross borders to seek aid under the protection of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Crammed into a slum called La Isla, or "The Island," several thousand of them live outside of society's mainstream at subsistence level—where jobs and housing are elusive—trying to piece together their lives.

The plight of refugees and internally displaced persons knows no boundaries because nearly every continent either generates or hosts them. But we are not individually and collectively helpless. Each of us has a role to play in bringing about positive change. I believe that to do so, we must think actively and, most important, pray.

Let me show you what I mean. While my experience was certainly not on the scale of either Darfur or La Isla, lots of years ago I found myself engaged in a situation that taught me some important lessons along these lines. The scene is set in a geographical area of Arizona where the Hopi Reservation is carved out of the middle of the Navajo Reservation. For many years, the boundaries were hotly disputed by members of both tribes, to the point that arguments sometimes erupted into physical combat.

Late one fall, after returning from living in the heart of the Navajo Reservation, I received a call from one of its tribal leaders. He explained that roughly a hundred Navajo families were displaced because of a boundary decision handed down by the federal government. These families were huddling against the high-desert cold in tents on the Navajo Nation fairgrounds. My friend asked me to round up food, warm clothing, and Christmas presents to boost the morale of his people and prepare them for winter. I agreed to do what I could.

Over the next week, I spent every available moment trying to gather what I could. But I hit a wall. The task seemed too great and my accomplishments too meager. I grew increasingly overwhelmed by the weights of this charge. Feeling increasingly desperate, I realized that the greatest gift I could offer was prayer. I'd always found it sufficient to meet my needs, so wouldn't that be true for theirs?

I set aside the planning and orchestrating, and began to pray earnestly. Through prayer, I sought to understand that everyone has his or her place in God's kingdom. In my prayer, I realized that this fact never changes—even when human circumstances scream to the contrary. It's a fact based on the perception of God as a benevolent Father-Mother, a God of Love, who's in control and holds everything and everyone in place according to His plan. This God of grace and goodwill provides a home and everything that is needed for each and every one of Her children. As I accepted, opened up to, this perception of God, I felt at peace. Then, I prayed to hear God's plan for His children and for the strength and resolve to follow it.

Before long, the name of a particular nonprofit youth organization came to mind. The next morning, I called and told them about the situation. Within a few days, their trucks headed for Arizona with the goods needed. Before long, the Navajo tribe found land for these families and their livestock, so they could start anew.

The plights of refugees, internally displaced persons, and those with no country raise numerous societal issues—such as homelessness, tyranny, hatred, lack of productivity, and persecution on the basis of race, religion, nationality, political opinion, or social standing. Those issues appear incredibly complex and daunting when our thoughts rest at the level of the difficulty. Thought fixed on a problem is never poised for solutions.

On the other hand, prayer cuts to the chase. Through it, one can elevate his or her thought above the situation at hand to realize that everyone is under the sole government of a benevolent God, where each possesses the dignity and stature of an heir. This prayer is not just wishful thinking, but establishes a rule of law under the divine Principle, which, in turn, undermines the bogus bullying of lawless tyrants that come in the form of the various plights we've been discussing here. Then, these words by the founder of this magazine, Mary Baker Eddy, ring true: "The best spiritual type of Christly method for uplifting human thought and imparting divine Truth, is stationary power, stillness, and strength; and when this spiritual ideal is made our own, it becomes the model for human action" (Retrospection and Introspection, p. 93).

A refugee, by definition, seeks refuge. You can look to the Bible for concrete examples of how people have successfully sought different forms of refuge from injustice. In each case, the individual's trust in God, in good, as the Supreme Ruler was vital.

Both Moses and Jesus faced extermination as babies at the hands of arrogant and unjust tyrants. As a result of her prayer, Moses' mother placed him in a basket and floated him on a gentle stream where the daughter of that very tyrant discovered and raised him. Later, Moses led the children of Israel away from this oppressive government toward the Promised Land and gave humanity basic rules of conduct known as the Ten Commandments.

Similarly, Jesus and his family escaped Bethlehem to avoid Herod's reign of terror. By example and teaching, Jesus elevated the expectation of his followers to find their refuge—the kingdom of God—within. This promise freed humanity from looking to human mercy for refuge. Instead, it illustrates that "Man's refuge is in spirituality, 'under the shadow of the Almighty,' " as Mary Baker Eddy observed (Unity of Good, p. 57).

When we discover this kingdom within, we can never lose it. It remains inviolate and reveals "stationary power, stillness, and strength" to solve these humanitarian challenges. In other words, we find refuge in an inseparable relationship to God—tucked under His protective wings. There, all take refuge in a melting pot that is rich with infinite diversity. What a mighty model for human action!