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.