sanctuary – Southwest Conference Blog

Here we are again.

By my account, we are here at Immigrations and Customs Enforcement for the 55th time… beginning in December 2014. We mark this anniversary – the month by month by month recognition of the entry of our friend Misael Perez Cabrera into sanctuary at Shadow Rock United Church of Christ. We didn’t know then that Misael would be in sanctuary for over 100 days. We didn’t know that we would welcome others into sanctuary. We didn’t know what it would cost our fellowship.

We didn’t know the blessings this work would bring to us either. How we would welcome Misael’s beautiful baby boy. How we would rally around a family to take a child to Lego camp, to make possible family reunions and sports teams and tutoring. How we would stand with a woman who chose to return to Mexico to be with her husband who was deported. How some of us would come to embrace a new vision of borders as a place where people can meet and learn from one another peacefully.

Yesterday, I taught a class… I’m a teacher in the way I move through the world so much more than an activist or rabble rouser. In this class we talked about the tasks and callings that are entrusted to us – personally and as part of groups and communities that we are part of. There are things that are entrusted to me, to Karen… my children, my friendships, my calling as teacher and spiritual director. What is entrusted to those of us gathered here today? To progressive people of conscience? To Christians who see the face of Christ in every immigrant neighbor, every refugee, every asylum seeker?

What is entrusted to us? The people in sanctuary, the asylum seekers who pass through our shelters and church buildings – their safety and wellbeing are entrusted to us. The idea that immigrants bring immeasurable gifts to our neighborhoods – this hopeful idea is entrusted to us. The understanding of our scripture that includes the repeated command to care for the immigrant, the widow, the orphan – this sacred duty is entrusted to us.

So here we are again. We stand here in hope, in faithfulness, in community. We persist. We pray.

Please join me in prayer. We begin in silence.

Spirit of Life; Spirit of Love:

We are thankful for the opportunity to speak here today, for the privilege of standing with our sanctuary guests. We ask for energy to work for justice, for deepening compassion, for spiritual courage. May our hope match the hope of our migrant neighbors. Give us softened hearts to reach out in friendship and trust. Be with us as we continue to advocate for our vision of compassionate immigration policy. We pray today with the confident faith of Jesus, child migrant, teacher, brother.

AMEN.

#FamiliesBelongTogether

by Jocelyn Emerson

Yesterday was a day of action to state that in this country #FamiliesBelongTogether.

It is terribly sad, disgraceful and angering that I currently live in a country where the powers that be feel it appropriate to separate children from their parents at the border. It is even more disheartening and angering when a politician misquotes the Bible, as if sacred scripture would support such injustice!

I am proud to be pastoring a progressive congregation where members participated in this day of action. I have great respect for Martha and Ray who picked up one of our church signs and went to the intersection that leads to Homeland Security ICE field office here in Albuquerque, and stood in protest. Who then moved themselves and stood outside the US Citizenship and Immigration Service office continuing their vigil and peaceful protest. Two voices — two everyday people — two people of faith who took their faith seriously, risking as Jesus risked to call for justice!

Then last night, as I was winding down my day with Stephen Colbert’s Late Show, Colbert took a moment to speak out against this injustice as well. He got right down to it, shining a light on this disgraceful policy of our government. He asked all citizens to stand against these atrocities. He spoke about the greatest gift you could give your father this Father’s Day is to call your Senators and Representatives and ask for a discontinuation of this unjust policy. #FamiliesBelongTogether

As a person of faith, as a spiritual leader, I feel that I must speak out against injustice. Jesus requires it of us if we are to seriously follow in his footsteps.

In the gospel of Mark, Jesus speaks to the disciples about what it means to the greatest, saying, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” He continues later in that same chapter, “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea…”

Jesus is about protecting our children. He is about making sure that our children, all children, are treated with Love, Respect, Mercy, Compassion. He is about making sure that children are safe, loved and protected.

He is not about tearing families apart just to prove a point, to deter people from seeking sanctuary. He is about welcoming fully those who seek sanctuary.

I believe that Martha and Ray were being Christ — doing as Jesus would do — as they stood in peaceful silent protest before ICE. I heard the voice of Christ coming forth as Colbert asked us all to stand up against injustice. I see Christ’s Light grow each time I witness someone standing in Love and Compassion against injustice, violence, hatred.

I will join my Christ Light — shining the Light of healing and transformation in this darkness. I will call on those in power to change their ways. I will continue to hold up those who risk their bodies and voices to speak out again injustice.

I will seek to be Christ in this world.

I invite you to join me….
because #familiesbelongtogether

Hope in Solving Border Issues

by Ron Cammel; a freelance writer and journalist. These are his reflections after participating in the Southwest Conference/United Church of Christ Border Immersion and Convergence events with his partner, Designated Conference Minister Bill Lyons.

Last weekend I witnessed American citizens join with undocumented immigrants to demand humane treatment for migrants. I heard stories about migrants who tried to escape violence or extreme poverty and then were jailed in the U.S. and deported. I heard stories from tearful migrants who were trying to reunite with their fathers or husbands who were locked in detention centers unsure of their fate.

I haven’t paid enough attention to the issues of illegal migration, refuge, deportations and border security. Migration is probably the world’s largest humanitarian crisis right now. Arizona is a hot spot. Now that I have connected more faces and stories to what I casually followed in the news, I find myself questioning the conventional thinking about securing borders and controlling immigrant numbers.

Also affecting my thinking is a place: Nogales, Arizona, where a formidable wall divides the city from another part of the same community in Nogales, Sonora, Mexico. A military-like presence of towers, huge lights and guards is nearly inescapable on the American side. It’s a lovely town in its own character-filled way, though not wealthy. The people seem friendly and cheerful. The tacos are awesome. The water, drinkable.

The day I visited, Mexican children stuck their smiling faces between the rusty steel beams of the wall, hoping for any reaction from those nearby. In the evening, young people sat on each side conversing. Traffic moved steadily through the one border crossing, a gateway between nations but a single road connecting an oddly divided community.

The wall continued forever in both directions through the desert, over the scrubby hills and down the grassy valleys.

I know some of the reasons for trying to “protect” the nation’s borders this way, but soon after I reached that wall I found myself praying for its destruction. It was like a subconscious reaction. The wall is so wrong, so anti-community, so anti-peace. I envisioned the city with a linear park, instead, along the border – a wavy pathway meandering both sides where children could run along and shout, “I’m in America! I’m in Mexico! I’m in America! I’m in Mexico!”

I envisioned the grey-green desert without its current blockade, where wildlife could move freely to maintain healthy ecosystems.

And I envisioned border residents moving more freely, as I assume they did before the wall went up. (I learned of ranchers unable to hunt now and homes stuck south of the wall but in the U.S.!)

Despite the wall’s imposition, it doesn’t work well. Yes, it does keep many people out. Illegal crossings are way down after many controls – sensors, more guards, more walls, etc. – were added in the past 10 years. But many people still make it to America. Drugs are transported. Human trafficking continues.

The wall fails to promote any American value, such as freedom, human dignity, equality, inalienable rights. We’ve spent $132 billion on securing the Mexican border the past decade to promote a rigid idea of security and have not addressed the reasons people are willing to leave their families and homes, risk arrest, risk dehydration and heat exhaustion and live in practical hiding in a foreign country. The security efforts have led to about 200 deaths per year in the desert. Others live in fear and are unable to reach their potential as a person because of the deportation risk.

Congress even waived 37 laws so contractors could extend the wall without pesky hindrances such as protecting water, respecting land rights and saving archaeological sites.

Could some of that $132 billion have been better spent to solve the root problems? Peace-making and true problem-solving require creative minds.

I learned last weekend about the sanctuary movement. Similar to the Underground Railroad from slavery days, it helps desperate people find work and shelter. Sometimes it helps them get to Canada, where they can live more freely. Churches, colleges and even entire cities take part. There is nothing illegal about these activities. We have come a long way from the Fugitive Slave Act.

I learned of other creative efforts to help our neighbors in need, or “the least of these.” These efforts contrast with actions like sending undocumented immigrants caught in domestic disputes to a land they barely know anymore, and taking young men caught in drug offenses to the border and ordering them to cross over where drug workers will seize upon their vulnerability. I learned of one deported man who didn’t even speak Spanish – his parents had failed to do the paperwork when he was little, and now a crime that would land a fine for most resulted in banishment from his homeland.

“Pax” and “esperanza,” someone painted on a wooden cross that activists tied to the wall. Peace and hope. There is much hope for change. Even when we can’t seem to get away from the word “illegals,” as if a human being can be reduced in such a way, a movement is stirring to preserve dignity and to challenge the powers that be to act more humanely and morally responsible.

Safe Place

by Karen Richter

In this week following the mass shooting of LGBTQ persons of color in Orlando, I’ve read much about the importance of sanctuaries, places where a person can be who they truly are. This reflection is about one of those places in my life.

The picture above is my Great Aunt Georgia’s house in Asheville, North Carolina. It’s a lovely bed and breakfast now, but when I was a kid it was just a rambly, way too large and slightly spooky old house. My aunt was Georgia Virginia Daughdrill (at least that was her full name when I knew her. She was married once before to my father’s favorite uncle. Plus – two states!). I called her Georgie. She was my paternal grandmother’s much older sister and had pretty much raised my dad. My whole life, she was the same… fluffy completely white hair, frumpy clothes, and the kind of pleasant unadorned woman’s face that people sometimes call handsome. She’s gone now, and I’m realizing now that I remain completely clueless about her inner life. I never knew her to attend church, but she sat down with the Good News Bible every night and once, when she thought I was already asleep, I heard her whispered nighttime prayers.

The house was a character in my childhood almost as much as my aunt and grandmother. It was there that I stayed up until midnight the first time. We had a freedom there, my brother and I, that seemed missing everywhere else. It’s a well-worn family story that “my Aunt Georgie says I can do anything I want.” My mother swears she came into Georgie’s kitchen once to find me licking the end of a stick of butter when I was a toddler. The house was the setting for a bizarrely diverse cast of characters – friends, neighbors, boarders – that seemed completely normal to me, just like I knew it was normal for the bread to be always slightly burned. As a very small child, I thought everyone had an Aunt Georgia. And what a world it would be if we all did.

On Chestnut Street, Dennis and I spent many happy hours searching for hidden passageways and hollow spaces, deciding whether or not the old portrait’s eyes followed us as we walked down the hallway, or compiling dossiers on my aunt’s boarders. We knew that “in the olden days,” the house had been owned by a local doctor. We imagined ghosts of former patients gliding by us in the parlor. I guess we felt so safe there, so loved and cherished by this wonderful aunt with no children of her own, that we had to invent dangers to keep ourselves occupied. Or maybe we just watched too much Scooby Doo.

One of my earliest memories is a tree falling over at this house. It was a huge tree (an oak, maybe?). When it fell, it shook the whole house. The top of the tree landed across the street. It had been diseased for some time; when it fell, a misshapen cement blob fell out of the trunk. It was like a giant’s dental filling, and it stayed where it had landed, in the corner of the yard along Chestnut Street. I wonder if it’s still there. And I wonder how big that tree would look to me now.

Aunt Georgia’s house was not what I would call child-friendly. There was no closet full of toys or bunk beds or collection of kiddie DVDs. In the sideboard, there was a shoebox of random small toys and junk that we fashioned into all manner of pretend items. In the living room, there was an oriental-style rug that became a wonderful garden of my favorite sweets. In the hall was a trunk with old-fashioned shoes and photos. Occasionally, we would pull various items out of the trunk and play ‘going to Atlanta,’ an elaborate storytelling with parties and dancing in fancy dresses. Out in the yard were snapdragons and snowballs and low bushes that became hideaways. We swung on the front porch glider and came inside just in time for Lawrence Welk or Hee Haw.

Although she always looked the same to me, as I grew older, Aunt Georgie did too. When I was in high school, she moved out of Chestnut Street and into a more practical apartment. When she closed the door at Chestnut Street, we all lost something precious.

Scripture for Today: Psalm 40.11-12

So now you, Lord—

don’t hold back any of your compassion from me.

Let your loyal love and faithfulness always protect me,

because countless evils surround me.

Prayer for Today

Spirit of Life, I pause to give thanks for places of safety. May I be that place of protection and acceptance for another!