Dead in the Water

A week ago now, “Comprehensive Immigration Reform” failed in the Senate. 12 million people live and work in the United States without documents. We have a broken immigration system that cannot manage or deal with our labor needs, the people already here, and those on their way. People blamed the failure on the massive gap between those who called, wrote, emailed, or yelled at senators calling the bill “amnesty” over those of us who want desperately to see the system overhauled. I called, wrote, and lobbied, but I understand why the support was unbalanced. While it was easy to use the buzzword “amnesty” to shoot down this bill which was “too liberal for conservatives,” the bill represented such a weak reform that many of us had a hard time fully supporting it.

The Episcopal Church identified five priorities as the Church Policy on Immigration Reform at General Convention last summer. They are:

1. Undocumented aliens should have reasonable opportunity to pursue permanent residency.

2. Legal workers should be allowed to enter the United States to respond to recognized labor force needs.

3. Close family members should be allowed to reunite without undue delay with individuals lawfully present in the United States.

4. Fundamental U.S. principles of legal due process should be granted all persons.

5. Enforcement of national borders and immigration policies should be proportional and humane.

The immigration reform bill before the Senate arguably addressed none of these concerns, so it was hard to support. The difficulty has become that the situation is so bad currently, that ANY change seems like a good one. Any attempt to deal with the brokenness of the system is received with open arms. The proposed bill would have required a “touchback,” (the worker would have to return to their home country and wait in line as part of the application for residency), and a $5000 fee. The point system was a complicated mess which did not ensure that workers would respond to labor needs in a way that ensured their dignity. There were no measures dealing with family reunification. The bill did not address the current mistreatment of immigrants rights by U.S. agents, and the enforcement of the border was militaristic. We can do better. We have to do better.

Friday last week, the same day I read that the version of C.I.R. failed, I received an email from Honduras. One of my boys from the year I spent as a chaplain in Tegucigalpa (not pictured above because I don’t want him identified) wrote to say he wouldn’t see me when I visit later this summer because he’s heading north. In his words, “You can’t imagine where I am. I know that the journey ahead is arduous, but I believe it could change my life and the life of my family if I find work in the U.S.” These words come from a young man I came to consider a close friend, from someone I finish writing saying “love you brother.” Why can our country not see that the people arriving here each day are human beings, persons capable of love and being loved? I am scared for my friend who has a tough journey past criminals in Chiapas, border agents in Mexico and then the U.S. ICE.

The Bible calls us to “welcome the stranger among us.” (See Exodus 21:22 and Leviticus 19:34) When I arrived in Honduras I didn’t speak the language well, had no friends, and was isolated from all I knew. The welcome I received from a group of boys astounded me. They taught me that I am worthwhile not because of who I know, or what I can do, but because I am a person created by God. They taught me this by loving me and including me though I had little or nothing to offer them. Most of the boys dream of taking the skills they are learning to make a new life for their family by working in the U.S. I can do no less than seek to welcome them, and dream for a world where all are welcome.

The Holiness factor

One of the funny things about working in the Church is that sometimes God actually catches up to you. May came as a bit of a whirlwind month with travel every other weekend, the wrapping up of the school year at UCSD, a lot of planning for summer adventures, and the like. A year passed since I had returned from Honduras, and I realize now how quickly I had re-assimilated into the rushed American professional lifestyle. I can tell by the huge backlog of emails , bills, and the to do list I just mounted on my bulletin board with 20+ items on it. I have spent my life this year “running to catch up again.” (as one of my great prophets, Mr. Jason Mraz, sings) Yesterday though, I had one of those moments where God caught up.

In the midst of all of the craziness of everyday life yesterday I had an afternoon to re-read some of “Practicing Resurrection” by Nora Gallagher. In this book she narrates the internal and external journey of discovering a sense of call towards priestly ministry and the insanity of the institutional discernment process in the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles. Having finished the San Diego process in the past few months, I resonated even more with her story. The process has a top-heavy forward momentum to it. The person seems propelled toward the finish line of ordination. I have a number of friends in the Church going through the discernment process in one way or another, and at my age many friends discerning their sense of call in general. It seems that American life can have that same top heavy motion to it. We rush forward toward some goal, careening on the edge of sanity as we pursue money, status, property, the picture of family life, the right career. The “American Dream” seems always around the next bend, after the next purchase, the next pay increase, the next decision about our future. It can leave you dizzy.

That’s why I said it was funny when God caught up. Yesterday, reading, procrastinating from getting a lot done I had that sneaking suspicion that God was around. It came as a surprise. I have been busy this month and my “inner life” has suffered for it. When I was goofing around reflecting, God showed up to say, “remember me?” I struggle to explain what this is like, so as not to sound too insane. God doesn’t come to me in visions of bright light or as a booming voice, it’s more of a hunch like the sense you might get on a beautiful summer day that it might rain later. Often for me when God does “show up,” when that fleeting sense of the divine comes in it causes me to laugh, drop my shoulders, and let go of the tension of whatever I was worrying over or running through.

Remembering God helps us to let go of the drivenness of my daily life, the relentless “pursuit of happiness,” and to relax into the already present reality of our salvation, God’s love. Even those of us who like to think of ourselves as working to change the world need to let go sometimes (actually a lot of us probably need to be reminded let go more often than those who work in more conventional professions), and remember that God has greater things in mind for us and the world than we could possibly dream up, and that we are already loved by one who loves us better than we can love ourselves.

Bolder

“A walking running dancing 10 km long party” is how my Uncle Chris describes the Bolder Boulder. You see, the people of Boulder are about the strangest group of human beings that could possibly conglomerate in a metropolitical unit. Lining the streets on race day are burned out hippies, recyclers, tree-huggers, fraternity guys with a slip and slide, women in hula skirts, belly dancers, and more jam bands than at Lulapalooza. Chris and I flew to Colorado this Memorial Day weekend to run the 10k road race with my dad. Last year at this time they were both with me in Honduras. They had come to pick me up at the end of my year living in Tegucigalpa. We spent a week traveling, having deep conversations over deeper glasses of beer, and generally solving the world’s problems. On one stop we climbed into the tropical forest, and my Dad scared both of us. He climbed with such difficulty and had to stop so frequently that it was obvious he was not in the physical condition this sort of activity required. My dad has always had problems with his knees or his back, but when I was growing up he was the one charging ahead down the path when we backpacked, or encouraging me to make it up one more switchback as I cried out “I HAVE ASTHMA” (I was prone to drama at 12). Watching my dad struggle to make it up an easy path really made me worry…it made him worry to.

That night we talked about how we all needed to be in better shape. Dad particularly mentioned that he wanted to start working out. He said he wanted to be in shape for the Bolder Boulder…a 10k road race familiar to every Coloradan that happens every memorial day. Chris and I said that we’d love to run it with him the next year. Dad really started working on this goal in the fall, walking with friends, working his way up to running. This weekend we got together in Colorado and made good on the promise. AND DAD RAN!!!! Technically he ran half of the race and walked the other half, but he was walking so fast that Chris and I kept having to run to catch up with him. We finished in one and a half hours, faster than my dad had done 10k all year. “The walking running dancing 10km long party” seemed like a celebration of my dad and the work he had done to get himself back in shape. I am proud of my dad.