Yesterday was one of those days. A day like the first six months after Trump’s election where I woke up every morning envisioning death…via a rope or a gun shot. And went to bed every night with teeth clenched so tight my tongue bled.
But that was a time before I’d found productive outlets for my anger. Before I’d become resigned to the betrayal of my faith. Before I’d rebuilt a new community–when I had only lost the old one.
And that was when I first started talking about immigration. Partly I chose that topic because my daughter is an immigrant and this rhetoric and climate impacts her directly. But mostly I chose it because I thought it was where we had the most common ground to work with. 80% of Americans agree that some form of DACA protections are reasonable.
And there is no BIBLICAL reason to love borders and hate immigrants, migrants, asylum seekers, and refugees.
The last two and a half years have proven me wrong over and over. You’d think I’d be used to it. Alas, some days I’m not.
On Sunday, my Sunday Pastor talked about the Good Samaritan and immigration. She challenged us to write our own parable this week. I knew writing a parable that examined my heart for the reasons holding me back from caring about immigration would miss the point of the exercise. I’ve been writing that parable over and over for years.
But who, when excuses seem so practical and reasonable, would I actually hesitate to help? The homeless? The drug addict? The disabled? If they are all three? The MAGA hats? There is some exploration to be done there. Who might refuse my help because of who I am and the social position I hold? Difficult to answer.
But then my Saturday Pastor posted to “let your light shine” and “lead with love.” WT…when you start swearing at your pastor, even in your head, you know you are in a bad place. Did Isaiah shine a light…maybe on evil! Did Jeremiah lead with love…maybe by starting with “Love the Lord Your God?” No, that was Deuteronomy and Jesus.
So I reached for that which has sustained me. Friends, food, action, faith…
I texted my husband, “Come home and kill me.”
He texted back, “I can come home.”
We went to dinner. We went to another vigil for Jose Robles at the Detention Center, ran by Catholics this time. We came home. And I sat on the couch alone, late into the night, delaying bedtime.
And I knew the parable that reflects the state of my heart right then. It isn’t about people groups or types of issues that unite or divide. It’s about specific people…more than one…with names and faces. I’m pretty sure it isn’t what my Pastor had in mind at all.
I’m in a river. The rapids keep pulling me under. I’ve lost my life vest. I am about to drown. There are people on the shore. They say they want to help. But I know them. I ignore the rope they send me. I reject the hand they reach out. I let the lifesaver float on by me down the river without even making a grab for it.
“No!” I say. “I do not want your help. I’d rather drown.” And as I go down one last time to my death, I make sure they hear me say, “Do NOT go to my funeral! You are not welcome.”
And I felt even worse. I’ve been working so hard–praying, meditating, forgiving, looking at my own faults–so that when people accuse me of bitterness I could say with honesty, “no, you’re wrong.” And here it wasn’t just a root, but a tree fully formed. I can’t do anything right.
Is this the time where I reach for faith and it fails me? Is it no longer there? Somedays the hold has been tenuous, but can I no longer reach it at all?
And someone grabs my hand and holds tight. It’s the friend who said, “I call B.S. You are awesome and amazing.”
Another provides a toe hold. She dosen’t believe in this Divine being but she wants me to have whatever tools work for me. Her words come back to me, “You don’t have to be perfect all of the time.”
And I find my faith again in the laughter of a friend when I say, “It’s okay that you’ve reached your destination and have to get off the phone. My husband is here to keep me alive.” She knows laughter is the answer I need.
And suddenly I’m bathing in the scripture. Silly way to say it, I know, but that’s how it feels. Technically, I’m still just sitting on the couch at 2 a.m. But words I’ve long treasured come to me. Phrase after phrase. Swirling all around me as I figuratively twirl while being literally still.
“…Because they have rejected the law of the Lord
and have not kept his decrees,
because they have been led astray by false gods…” Amos 2:4
“…You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?” Matthew 3:7
“…It is finished…” John 19:30
And I pluck the last one from the air. That’s the one I need tonight. All that is happening right now. All that is grieving me and leaving others in pain and fear. All that will still happen. Has already been nailed to the cross.
I do not see it. But there is a path to redemption because what needs to die has already died. What needs to resurrect to create a more just world is already alive.
There is a power rising. A surge of love, determination, and justice. Whether you give it the name Jesus as I do, or Allah, or I Am, or humanity, or…when this is done let’s sit around sipping tea and waxing philosophical. But for now, let’s link arms and do the work of creating the possible.
Whether I’m a Termaine (not a Bible story; think Jael but even more awesome) or a Florian, I will play my part and hopefully help you play yours. It doesn’t have to be the way it is.
And for you, Sweeties, who’d rather embrace law than morality, who’d rather argue word definitions than impact, who’d rather debate people’s humanity than reach down deep inside for your own, don’t worry. We’ll make space for you, too, once we know the others are safe. And if I die, feel free to come to my funeral. It truly won’t bother me.
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll open the Birthday card.
Cedar's Commentary... 