Yours is the Kingdom: A message to migrants at the Southern Border

Earlier this month I traveled to the Southern border with a group of faith leaders from around the country. The trip was hosted by World Relief and designed to give all of us a broader and deeper understanding about the history of migrant crossings, shifting border policies and ultimately how God is and has been at work in and through the movement of people.

On the first morning we were there, we gathered at the San Diego World Relief office and with our metal chairs in a semi circle, opened our Bibles to the Sermon on the Mount and read together from Matthew 5:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.”

I tried my best to let the words of Jesus speak to me in a new way but I was restless. I’d heard this passage many times but it didn’t necessarily spark a new thought or provide an “a-ha” revelation. After some brief reflection we moved on. 

Later that day we drove to a remote area of the border wall that separates San Diego and Tijuana, Mexico. We were standing on the California side and immediately I noticed the tangled barbed wire that stretched for miles on top of the pillared cement beams. Border Patrol vehicles were circling on a sandy hill up ahead and though it felt like we were standing on a remote plot of land, the surveillance equipment above reminded me we were not alone. 

Pictured: Liliana Reza, Director of U.S Mexico/Border Engagement with World Relief. Photo by Steven Eng

I walked closer to a different part of the wall, with steel beams shooting close to 30 feet into the air. With my nose almost touching the metal, I peered through and saw a man’s jacket tangled on the ground. The barren stretch of land on the other side led to another wall (yes, there were two walls) and from there I could see cars zipping home on their evening commute in congested Tijuana, like nothing was out of the ordinary. 

We were touring an open air detention center that just a few months ago was full of a steady stream of migrants from around the world-people fleeing from war, failed states and desperate situations. It was now empty, in part due to the most recent restrictive border policies enacted by the Trump Administration. 

After often dangerous journeys lasting months, migrants made it to this point and would be held between the two walls until they encountered border patrol, often with the hope of seeking asylum on coveted U.S. soil. The wall, the barbed wire, border patrol and surveillance equipment communicated much about what it means to try and enter the U.S. In order to step foot in this land of promise, one must quite literally face many giants and even then, there are no guarantees of a world made right. 

Propped against the towering steel wall sat humble make-shift tents where over the last several months volunteers and relief organizations have shown up with supplies, food and toys to pass through the bars as migrants waited-sometimes for hours and sometimes for days. Mothers, fathers, and at times unaccompanied minors waited in the open air with nothing more than a backpack on their backs and a portapotty planted in the dirt. 

Photo by Nathan Hughes

And as I stood there, literally between two countries and two kingdoms, it hit me. 

These are the mourners who weep because their journey is long and they have said good-bye to their beloved home and family, not knowing if they will ever return. These are the mourners who have nowhere to sleep. These are the mourners who shutter at the unknown ahead- the danger of detention centers, and the risk of losing everything they own. These are the poor in spirit, battling depression, fatigue and discouragement. These are the meek- skeptical to lift their eyes to receive a cold drink because their trust has been battered, bruised and taken advantage of by bad actors along the way.

And as I stared at this now empty plot of land, once full of the mourners, the poor and the meek in search of tangible signs of welcome, Jesus’s words came alive. I could picture him sitting on the sand, just like he did thousands of years ago, with border patrol circling in the background.

This time HIS nose was touching the cold steel wall and boldly declaring to everyone past, present and future:

“Blessed are you who are poor in spirit, for yours is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you who mourn, for you will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for you will inherit the earth.”

While federal policies have greatly altered access into “the Kingdom” of the United States, I serve a God whose Kingdom is a safe haven for all. There is no barbed wire, steel beams, or men and women with guns. In fact, there are no border walls at all. All are welcome, celebrated and profoundly loved by the humble King himself. 

We long for the day when the world is made right for good, and when suffering has permanently ceased. In the meantime, we hold out in faith, as Jesus whispers throughout history to the mourners, “Yours is the Kingdom.”

Oh we long for that Kingdom to come. We work for it. We pray for it. We hope for it.

Policy of the Heart: What we can learn from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. on Inauguration Day

On Monday we celebrate the work of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. on the same day we will inaugurate our next President. I can’t help but feel it’s a strange clash of history. And while we are no longer in the midst of the Civil Rights movement the question that Dr. King consistently asked, “What does it mean to be a good neighbor?” continues to be the lingering question of our time. What policies will be enacted that either embolden or diminish our neighborly affection, particularly for the most marginalized in our society?

Some would say neighborly-ness (if you will) is about advocating for policies that positively impact people’s lives. And I believe that to be true. As in Dr. King’s day, the fight to end segregation was vital and demanding justice from the government was a non-negotiable. Eradicating segregation by law has paved the way for integration in all sectors of society and we continue to see the positive ripple effect of unjust laws being dismantled.

However, we should not be naive to think there is not a policy of the heart that needs altering along the way. While segregation is illegal by law, prejudice that leaves our communities divided, and should I say segregated, still remains to this day. Ending an unjust policy does not eliminate irrational fears of the other, pride and even hate that ultimately break down neighborly affection-something Jesus calls His followers to embody.

In Dr. King’s Sermon, On Being a Good Neighbor, he warned against ignoring the policy of the heart, particularly from moderate white Christian Americans. In an effort to advocate for the vulnerable “millions of missionary dollars have gone to Africa from the hands of church people who would die a million deaths before they would permit a single African the privilege of worshipping in their congregation.” (Strength to Love, 27) While a public policy may be rightfully decimated, policies of the heart must always be scrutinized.

President-elect Donald Trump has vowed to change policies that will negatively impact millions of refugees and immigrants living in this country, ironically our newest neighbors. Whether he wants to construct different parts of the border wall, reimplement the Remain in Mexico policy for asylum seekers, prioritize mass deportation for millions or greatly reduce the Resettlement Program for refugees fleeing from war (and the list continues), his policies will hurt our immigrant neighbors. 

Unlike the Good Samaritan, we must not cowardly pass the most vulnerable on the outskirts of our society by ignoring “a bruised and beaten brother.” According to Dr. King, we must be willing to give up comfort, prestige, and even our life for the welfare of others. The Good Samaritan risked his life to be a good neighbor and Christians are called to do the same.

I work with newcomers everyday from around the world who are fleeing life's most dire circumstances. I can tell you that newcomers from various legal statuses are often left to fend for themselves. Many are forgotten. Whether they are navigating underemployment, loss of community, school systems that don’t meet the needs of their children or literal mental and physical wounds from real-life battlegrounds, these are who are laying on the road to Jericho and many are passing them by.

And just like demanding the end to segregation, we must demand an end to policies that negatively impact immigrant’s lives. We must uphold policies that welcome the most vulnerable in our global society even if it is a risk to ourselves. Call your senators. Host a documentary night. Add your name to the list. Go to Washington. Protest!

But at the same time, we must examine the polices of our hearts. Where fear of the other is rooted, remember that the perfect love of Jesus casts out our fear. Where prejudice might remain and the comfort of our circle keeps us from extending simple acts of love to our newest neighbor, we must ask God for an expanded vision for His global Kingdom. And where hate might have taken root, remember that love and light consume all darkness in the end. Hate never wins.

As we celebrate the work of Dr. King, and embrace a new President this Monday, let’s be holistic policy makers for the most vulnerable among. us. Let’s fight to change laws and hearts. Dr. King, even at the expense of his own life, showed us what that looks like.

Breaking Bread and Political Tribalism: A response to the Election from a Refugee Center

The day after Donald Trump was elected to be our 47th President, I went to work with a tightness in my chest. As a Director of a Refugee and Immigrant Center in Cleveland, Ohio, where we serve upward of 400 people a week, what would the mood be like? Would there be sobbing, cheering or something in-between? Could my staff, right-then-and-there write letters to our Congressional leaders, call our local news station or organize a trip to Washington D.C.? It was time to find out. 

I walked into the front door and saw our volunteer Jim, one of our many retirees, smiling like he always does with a bowl of candy to pass out to guests. I passed our early childcare center and could see young children dressed as fire fighters and veterinarians cleaning up before circle time.

When I got down to the basement cafe I remembered it was time to celebrate our Afghan friend, Bakhtavar, who recently became a Citizen. Forty people huddled around to clap while she wove an American flag, pausing for pictures with her tutors who had diligently worked with her over the last several months.

To my surprise, nothing seemed out of the ordinary-just a day marked with small, discrete moments of hope and joy, like any other typical day at our Center. 

The following day was our staff Thanksgiving. Our cafe manager, Hanan prepared a gorgeous turkey with layers of seasoned vegetables, rosemary sprigs and roasted garlic-a true work of art. Staff members, many of whom come from refugee and immigrant backgrounds themselves, all contributed to the meal- hummus, grape leaves and pistachio pudding (to name a few!). We needed two plates to sample the smorgasbord of traditional dishes.

Here we were, feasting together in a basement post election- across linguistic, religious, socio-economic, cultural and yes, even political lines. As I scanned the room, I knew there were a range of emotions about our new President elect, but the overwhelming sense of peace and belonging felt palpable. It was at this moment that I knew sharing a meal was exactly what we were supposed to be doing- a small but mighty act of mutual blessing.

While I acknowledge varying political views (among our staff, volunteers and even within the refugee and immigrant communities we serve), Donald Trump’s consistent dehumanization of immigrants on national platforms, the threat of mass deportations for millions of people, and a vow to halt refugee resettlement on day one of taking office, will inevitably impact the work we do. I mourn what this could mean for resettlement agencies and nonprofits across the country and for the most vulnerable among us-many of whom are fleeing from war and persecution. We will have a lot to navigate in the days ahead.

But as author and priest, Tish Harrison Warren shared in her latest article for Christianity Today, in the face of big world problems and divisions it’s tempting to want big answers and big solutions. But following the example of Jesus, we are actually called to model what Jesus did by enacting small, discrete, faithful, solutions right in front of us. And eating together is one of them.

Sharing a meal is a declaration of our shared humanity. Unlike the echo chambers of social media, there is space to give and receive, talk and listen, express fears and empathize. Sharing a meal is an admission that we are all in need of nourishment for our bodies and souls-we are finite and dependent on something outside of ourselves. Sharing a meal is a celebration of community and a provocation to the political tribalism where we all too often fall prey.

Eating together in the wake of an election can feel like a minuscule response to what feels like an existential crisis, but as Jesus modeled, it has the power to change hearts and ultimately, the world. Jesus ate with tax collectors, prostitutes, friends and foes. He welcomed children, the down-and-out and no matter what important thing was on his agenda for the day, he knew the vital importance of pausing with his disciples. Eating in community was central to Christ’s ministry and to the new Kingdom of God where all are welcome.

This week I contemplated what I would do if Donald Trump came to the Center. Would I have my five talking points ready? Would I lift my fists, ready to defend the people I have given my life to serve? No. I honestly think I would invite him to pull up a seat and eat with us. I would pass him a plate of falafels, Syrian fattoush salad or maybe my favorite Afghan dish, Kabuli Pulao. This is the beauty we experience everyday and I’d want him to experience it too.

Would he share the meal with us? That would be up to him. But the humble invitation to eat would be his for the taking and my prayer would be that He could taste and see, through dining together in a basement at a refugee and immigrant center, a Kingdom vision that can never be taken away. 

In the face of big world problems, let’s feast together. Like Jesus showed us, it can change the world-one heart at a time.