Today, on President’s Day, a pray-in was held in front of
the White House to protest quotas on deportations and to shine a light on the
plight of immigrants in this country.
Several, including church leaders, were arrested for their
participation.
I have a personal story to share with you regarding the
issue of immigration. You see, six
years or so ago, I was pretty firmly against any sort of amnesty, welcoming,
etc. My general view was to send them
back from wherever they came from post-haste.
It was truly a black and white issue for me. They were here illegally, thereby breaking
the law and should be treated accordingly.
The cold, hard truth, though, is that it isn’t that simple at all. For
some, it literally is a matter of life and death. And two very heart wrenching experiences
changed my outlook entirely.
The first happened about five and a half years ago. Our family was in the process of moving to a
new town where my husband had been named assistant principal of a local high
school. School was back in session, and
my husband, oldest son, and I were still living in a hotel. It was during these first few weeks of the
school year that a local industry became the location of one of the largest
immigration raids in U.S. history. Of
course, it was all you could find on the news.
But what tugged at my heart strings was what was not on the news.
You see, those workers who were rounded up weren’t just a
number. Many were parents. Parents of children who were students-Students
who attended my husband’s school-which put them squarely on our radar. As news of the raid reached the school, the
affected students understandably panicked.
Some worried about their parent
and where they were or might be being sent.
Others worried first about younger siblings who would arrive at home
alone because their parents might not be there. A few even worried about what might happen
to them.
It would be a sad situation if it ended there-but
unfortunately, it does not. When the
school reached out to the authorities in charge trying to get information for
these children, they were refused. Other law enforcement agencies reached out on
behalf of the school, but were also refused.
And so, the children were left to return to their homes, scared and
uncertain that their parents would be home for dinner…or at all…and we were
left wondering if it was actually worth it.
Our second encounter, most gut wrenching experience came a little under a year
later. We were on a vacation near Progreso, Mexico. Being history buffs, one of the things we
looked most forward to was the chance to see some of the Mayan ruins, so we
signed up for a quick tour that would take us outside of town to the ruins at
XCambo. What we got was much more than
we bargained for…and it changed us forever.
Our short trip took us a down the shoreline. Along the beach, you will find grand
mansions-fabulous homes that would no doubt suit the most exquisite of
tastes. You will also find the homes of
the less fortunate-and I use the term “home” loosely. Here in “America, the Beautiful” we would
likely refer to these people as homeless.
The homes were nothing more than scraps of tin, plywood, and
cardboard-yes, cardboard- pieced together to provide some semblance of shelter
from wind and rain often no more than five feet by five feet wide. The tide fills the bottom of these “structures”
in the morning and evening, and stagnate water fills low lying areas around
them. There is nothing-no fresh water,
bathroom facilities-none of the comforts that we tend to consider basic. Families-yes, families-as in multiple people-inhabit
these things, often subsisting on less than two dollars a day-at times choosing
which child to feed because there simply isn’t anything. And they are everywhere, as far as the eye
can see.
I saw Mayan ruins in Mexico. I did not care. What stuck in mind then and continues to
stick in my mind today is that shoreline.
That wretched shoreline. And everything I thought about immigration
changed.
You see, I just can’t do it anymore. I can’t justify herding human beings up and
sending them back to that. I can’t
rationalize putting anyone in those deplorable, hopeless, and downright
inhumane conditions. I cannot fault a
man or woman who is willing to try to escape these conditions, conditions which
affect their very lives and the lives of their children. And I
won’t.
We supposedly live in a country that believes so much in humane
treatment, that prisoners, even the most vile offenders, have rights to certain
things. How can we justify how we treat
these HUMAN BEINGS who are merely trying to escape the hopeless abyss of
despair and death that surrounds them?
How is herding them into detention camps and sending them back to
conditions that we would arrest someone for leaving a dog in acceptable and/or
humane?
As Christians, we can no longer sit idly by and allow other
human beings to be degraded and devalued
to this extent. God created these people
in His image, they are HIS children, and He loves them. As should we. And we must be His hands and feet, reaching
out to them in love, creating hope, not more hopelessness.
Today, some Christian leaders took a risk and said simply, “This
is not okay.” by having a pray-in. They
were arrested, but their efforts should not be in vain. They must not be.
Not everyone is called to be a protestor. But everyone is called to pray. Pray for these immigrants. Pray for their situations. Pray for those who are still living in the
grips of hopelessness. Pray that a
solution will be found and that good will come from it. Pray that hope will prevail. Pray that those who are called, be it to
leadership, protest, or prayer, will have the courage to get up and go.
