Black and White. Good and
Bad. Saint and Sinner. Sacred and Secular. Clean and Dirty. Right and Wrong.
The world presents us with
dichotomies we must choose. They help us to conceptualize things, to understand
the world around us. But, these dichotomies are often harmful.
During college, I was
presented with a dichotomy that work for God can either be evangelistic to
“save souls”, or focused on justice to transform the world.
While the two can and should
work together, I was often made to think that ministry was one or the other.
And more often than not, I was made to believe, and occasionally told
explicitly, that the work of “saving souls” took precedence over all other
ministry.
It was a dichotomy that
bothered because I felt a yearning to work for justice, but experienced a
pressure that all ministry should somehow lead to an alter call or a prayer of
acceptance of faith. It felt like I had to enter all ministry with an ulterior
motive. Carrying this motive left me feeling more like a used car salesman than
a bearer of good news.[1]
My experience as a Young
Adult in Global Mission provided me with the opportunity to do ministry in a
way that existed outside of this dichotomy. It allowed me to listen to the
voice in my heart to work for justice, and to do so in context of God’s mission
to the world, realizing that God’s new creation isn’t just a future hope for
the after life, but something that was set in motion with the death and
resurrection of Christ and something that we have a part in Here and Now.
Young Adults in Global
Mission is a year long service program for young adults in their 20s. Participants
live and serve in ten different countries around the world and practice an accompaniment
model of missionary work
Accompaniment is walking
together in a solidarity that practices interdependence and mutuality.
In practice this meant that I
did not go to Mexico to change people. I was there to learn from others, and to
work alongside others. I was there to fall in love with Mexico. I was there to
recognize that each person possesses gifts to support God’s Kin-dom.[2]
While, I may have
incidentally taught someone with my words along the way, my greater hope is
that I have shown others that U.S. citizens are no different than them – no
happier, no smarter, no better. I hope I have shown them that we are equals,
and that I have learned so much from them. I hope that I have been a subtle
correction to the centuries-old conquistador mold in which colonists,
neo-colonists and transnational corporations have plundered Mexico of
resources, sovereignty and dignity. Above all, I know that the relationships
that I took part in were full of meaning and love. These relationships were God-honoring
and life-giving.
My YAGM year in Mexico had
two main components: life with my host family and service at my work site.
After a week of orientation
to YAGM in Chicago, and three weeks in Mexico, I arrived to Tlaxcala on
September 15. Just in time to participate in Mexico’s Day of Independence
celebrations. My Mexican host family welcomed me with open arms from day one
Mamá Oliva immediately began
to call me “hijo” and “niño Josh” and the family treated me as one of their
own.
They cooked incredible meals
for me: mole, chilaquiles, memelas, tamales, tacos, pipian, and more. I would
eat until I couldn’t eat anymore and the family would still egg me to keep
eating. My Tía Norma frequently said “¿porque
no comes? Why don’t you eat?”
The family took me to local
ruins, museums and hot springs. They shared their best tequila and mezcal with
me. They brought me along to the market and introduced me to a variety of
Mexican traditions. They blessed me with the opportunity to be a part of their
daily lives. Their love and acceptance gave me life.
In addition to my family life
in Mexico, I worked at a shelter for migrants traveling from Central America
through Mexico in route to various Mexican cities, and for many, ultimately the
United States.
This shelter was located beside
the train tracks that connect Veracruz and Mexico City. The majority of
visitors in the shelter are riding on top of and between cargo trains that run
along this line. When they pass the shelter, they jump off the train and come
stay with us for up to 48 hours. In the shelter, we provide basic necessities
like food, clothing, medical care, and a bed to sleep on. About 95% of the
visitors in the shelter are men. There are also some women and families, and
some trans individuals.
My job in the shelter
consisted of helping cook and clean. I also welcomed new arrivals to the
shelter and registered them in our database. I took care of the rabbits, chickens
and turkeys we had on site. And, I talked to a number of guests in the shelter,
and heard some of their stories: the reasons they left their country, the
things they experienced on the migrant trail, their hopes for the future.
Before traveling to Mexico, I
had thought little about immigration. Immigration had always been a distant
political issue that did not bother me. The September day that I arrived to the
shelter quickly changed that. First, I noticed that one young man looked
identical to a friend of mine from Texas. Then, I saw another young guy
sporting a Texas State University hat – a state school located less than thirty
minutes from my home in Texas. Then, I met Franklin, or Franky as we called him
in shelter.
Franky approached me. He knew
that I looked out of place in this shelter, and in English asked me, “where are
you from?”
As soon as I said “San
Antonio.” He began talking to me about the Spurs (San Antonio’s NBA basketball
team) and our recent acquisition of Lamarcus Aldridge.
We then talked about local
places we had both been to like Canyon Lake and the San Marcos River.
Franky then began to tell me
his story.
Franky
is from Honduras. When he was fourteen years old, he was struck by a stray
bullet from a nearby gang fight. Franky was not seriously injured, but the
incident was taken seriously by Franky’s father. Franky’s dad, who was living
and working in the U.S., made arrangements for him to be brought to the States.
Franky did not want to go; his whole life and his family were in Honduras. But,
he felt obliged to follow his dad’s request. So, he soon traveled to the U.S. with
a smuggler.
Franky
made it across the border and moved in with his dad in Iowa. He enrolled in
High School for two years before beginning to work. Eventually, Franky moved to
San Antonio, where he began to work as a landscaper. He fell in love and had a
son.
On
July 4th of 2014, Franky’s future
would take a turn. Franky was swept up in the excitement of Independence Day
celebrations, and began drinking with friends. While driving to the store to
purchase more alcohol, Franky was pulled over and arrested for driving under
the influence. He spent the next two months in a detention center before being
sent back to Honduras.
During the year since his
deportation, Franky had been in Honduras working and saving money to make
another trip north. Franky would talk to his son on the phone, but it was tough.
His 8-year old son would ask, “Dad, where are you? Where did you go?” Franky
tried to explain the reality of the situation. He was not legally permitted to
reside in the United States and he had made a big mistake. But, it was hard to
explain. Franky longed to be back with his son, so that he could care for him
when he is sick, help him with his homework, kiss him goodnight.[3]
My interaction with Franky
made me realize that immigration was not just a distant political issue, but
rather something that affected me on a personal level. I realized that
immigrants – both those with and without documents– are my literal neighbors in
the US.
As the year went on, I
learned more about my privilege and more about the complex set of economic,
political and security factors that prompts Central Americans to leave their
countries
My tattoos started many
conversations. Many men in the shelter were interested in them and asked me
about them. A number of guys shared that they could not wear tattoos in their
countries because only the gangs wore tattoos. They shared that they hoped to
start a new life in the US and maybe get a tattoo there one day. Other men had
already spent years living in the US before deportation and had tattoos of
their own.
Another way that I learned
was through the process of registering new arrivals in the shelter. While
registering new arrivals, I asked a series of questions for our database. One
of these questions was plainly “Why are you traveling?”
Common answers were “poverty”,
“the economy”, “to get ahead in life”, “lack of jobs in my country”, “to give
my family a better future”, “to flee the gangs”, “delincuency”, “necessity.”
Most migrants left their
homes for a number of reasons: gang violence, economic reasons, reunification with
family already in the US. Unfortunately, though, very few of the people that I
met have adequate grounds to claim asylum. To claim asylum, one must prove that
one fears returning to one’s home nation on the grounds that one will be
persecuted on account of race, religion, nationality, political opinion or
membership in a social group. Neither gang violence nor economic necessity fit
nicely into these categories. Thus, for many immigrants, living in the US
without documents is a better option than working through the long and tiresome
bureaucratic process that is more likely to end in deportation than asylum.
Undocumented immigrants are
frequently abused and mistreated in the US. However, they are often among the
most noble and brave people I have met.
The story of one migrant I
met named Josué can illuminate this. Josué had just been laid off of his job
working as a bread delivery man for Bimbo. The next day local gangsters found
out that he was unemployed and asked him to work for them. He didn’t want to
work for the gangs and didn’t want to reject them, which would put his and his
family’s life in danger. He stood up for his morals and resisted violence by
fleeing his country. He made a huge sacrifice to leave his family and former
life behind.
Upon his arrival in the US,
he will work and save money in hopes to achieve the Sueño Americano, or
American Dream, which for many Central Americans is saving enough money to send
for their family members to join them in the United States
At the beginning of February,
my group of YAGM Mexico volunteers and I headed to the US-Mexico border in
Arizona to learn about immigration, border enforcement and the lives of
citizens and service workers on both sides of the border.
We visited various non-profits,
the mayor of the border town Douglas, AZ, border patrol and a court that
mass-sentences undocumented immigrants called Operation Streamline. At this
court, illegal entrants are mass-processed and deported. At the Tucson branch
of Operation Streamline, up to 70 people are sentenced a day during a trial
that lasts less than an hour. In Del Rio, TX up to twice as many are sentenced
and deported each day. Operation Streamline began in the mid-2000s when the US
decided to start prosecuting illegal entry as a criminal offense. The rationale
was likely to provide a further deterrent to undocumented immigration. The
greater effect of this court, though, has been to undermine due process of
these defendants and expand the private prison complex in the US.[4]
As I witnessed Operation
Streamline, I began to see connections between the imprisonment of latino
immigrants and the mass incarceration of US citizens, specifically young black
men. I began to read Michelle Alexander’s “The New Jim Crow,” Bryan Stevenson’s
“Just Mercy” and other works. I learned that many black men and poor defendants
are also denied due process, and are dealt long-sentences that do not do
restorative justice. I learned that the War on Drugs has provided our nation
with an excuse to disproportionately arrest, imprison and felonize minorities.
I became perplexed as I realized that our nation is fighting a war on drugs and
a war on illegal immigrants. These wars are one-sided. Wars in which we have created
the “enemy.” And more often than not, the enemy is a minority, is poor, and is
often a foreigner.
I realized that we have not been faithful to the words on which
our nation is built, “We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created
equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights,
that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
I realized that our ancestors were also once poor, minorities
and foreigners.
I
realized that we have not been faithful to the words of our faith. Our
scriptures tell stories of migrants and refugees. Israel’s exile in Egypt, baby
Jesus’ search for refuge while Harod slaughtered innocent young males, and
Yahweh’s commandments to love the foreigner, the poor, the imprisoned. I pray
that we will see that these stories weren’t just the history of a distant
people, but are rather living exhortations to us today.
The
way forward is not clear. In the midst of such injustice, it is easy to give up
hope. We are sometimes tempted to think that the work of bringing justice to the
world should be left for Christ’s return while we focus on our personal
spiritual lives now. But, New Testament
Theologian, NT Wright shares “The power of the Gospel lies not in the offer of
a new spirituality or religious experience, not in the threat of hellfire…,
which can be removed only if the hearer checks this box, says this prayer,
raises a hand, or whatever, but [rather the power of the Gospel lies] in the
powerful announcement that God is God, that Jesus is Lord, that the powers of
evil have been defeated, that God’s new world has begun” (Surprised By Hope, p.227).
Working for God’s new
creation, God’s kin-dom begins with taking an honest assessment of the world as
it is. A world full of Narcos, violence, slavery, greedy financial advisers and
CEOs, corrupt politicians, and systemic sin. It involves not shying away from
these things, but observing them and recognizing our own role in them.
As
my volunteer friend Alyssa shared, “We cannot
fight that captivity to sin if we do not first confess it. If we do not first
look critically at the institutions in which we live. If we do not acknowledge
that oppressive systems exist and we (people of the global north) benefit from
that oppression. "...we confess we are captive to sin and cannot free
ourselves." When we join our voices together and acknowledge the
broken systems and the sin in our world, we can begin the work of liberation and
grace. The work of accompaniment and solidarity. The work of listening and the
work of a holy and healing presence with one another.”
This work of accompaniment and solidarity, liberation and grace
is then carried out in each of our lives. One does not have to move to Mexico
or around the world as a missionary to begin to take part in this work. Rather,
this work is carried out in each of our vocations, whether you are a lawyer, a
doctor, a teacher, a social worker, a janitor, a financial advisor, an artists
or a pastor. NT Wright shares “every act of love, gratitude and kindness; every
work of art of music inspired by the love of God and delight in the beauty of
his creation; every minute spend teaching a severely handicapped child to read
or to walk; every act of care and nurture, of comfort and support, for one’s
fellow human beings and… one’s fellow nonhuman creatures; [every] prayer, all
Spirit-led teaching, every deed that spreads the Gospel, builds up the church,
embraces and embodies holiness rather than corruption, and makes the name of
Jesus honored in the world - - - all of this will find its way, through the
resurrecting power of God, into the new creation that God will one day make” (Surprised By Hope). Amen.
[1] This
is a paraphrase from a line of Shane Claiborne’s in his book The Irresistible Revolution.
[2] By using the word “kin-dom,” I leave out the imperial
and dominating connotations of “kingdom,” and I recognize that we are all
children of God’s growing family, which is made up of all kinds of people from
all around the globe.
[4]
Read more about Operation Streamline and mass incarceration in the United
States in my blog post “CRIMINAL inJUSTICE.”
