A group of us gathered at Border Field State Park on Sunday June 1 to protest the construction of a triple fence.

A few weeks ago, in the run up to a discussion about the Border, I started kicking around an idea that I haven’t seen anywhere else. My friend Jason Evans has started prodding me to spit it out, so this is a first attempt, to which I hope comments and discussion will flush out a forming discussion about Jesus, the immigrant.

I see at least two specific references to Jesus as an immigrant. The first practical, the second theological.

First the practical, Jesus is a Galilean and is referred to as such throughout the Gospels. Our modern conception of nation states did not exist at the time of Jesus, so neither our modern conception of “immigrants.” However, Jesus and his followers are remarked upon throughout the Gospels as “Galileans” and have an outsider status in Jerusalem because they are from client kingdom in the North. This was not a positive association for the residents of Jerusalem. Jesus was thought of in Jerusalem similarly to how Mexican and other Latin American immigrants are thought of in the U.S. based upon “outsider” geo-political status.

Now to the Theological, we learn in the prologue to John’s Gospel that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” The Trinitarian’s “Son’s” experience is that of coming to dwell among humanity. This “dwelling among” might be faithfully rendered “immigrated to.” We hear in the prologue that ” He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. ¹¹He came to what was his own,^* and his own people did not accept him.” Jesus’ outsider or immigrant status is confirmed in that his people do not recognize him. God’s identity in Jesus is as a stranger, an identity thrust upon him by those who do not recognize who he is. The divine is identified as an outsider, as an immigrant.

Seeing Jesus Christ as an immigrant gives us a lens through which we see his action in scripture.

We see Jesus consistently including outsiders in his ministry. He reveals himself to a Samaritan Woman as the Messiah. He includes Matthew the Roman tax collector, and Simon the Zealot among his apostles. He ministers with women, children, lepers, and gentiles. Understanding Jesus as an immigrant outsider helps to articulate the Christological reasoning behind the need for the inclusion of the outsider. Jesus himself was treated as, had the cultural identity of, the outsider.

Beyond that Jesus calls his followers toward an immigrant identity. “Seek ye first the Kingdom of God” tends to be heard figuratively, but the connotation is that the follower of Jesus is constantly seeking a homeland that is not her own. Christians are all united in their common identity as immigrants to the Kingdom of God, the promised future country in which the poor are uplifted, the hungry fed, the sinful forgiven, the outsiders included. As followers of Christ we are called to be immigrants seeking the Kingdom of God.

This issue is particularly salient in San Diego today because the Federal Government is planning to extend the double border fence and close off Border Field State park, the site of an annual Border Posada Pilgrimage. This park is one of the few places along the border that could be considered “proportional and humane,” the official wording of the Episcopal Church’s policy towards border enforcement. Family members can see one another through the fence, sit and have conversations. Every year hundreds of people gather on both sides for the Border Posada. The new fencing is being constructed without environmental impact study and with the Secretary of Homeland Security having voided all national laws pertaining to protecting the land including the Endangered Species Act, the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, the National Environmental Policy Act, the Coastal Zone Management Act, the Clean Water Act, the Clean Air Act, and the National Historic Preservation Act and others.

Jesus would not have stood idly by in the face of this militant exclusion of immigrants. Indeed Christians cannot identify with the governmental and cultural powers that seek to exclude. St. Benedict taught that “All are to be welcomed as Christ.” If Judea had militantly walled out Galileans in the first century, Jesus’ ministry could not have happened. We are called to welcome the immigrants as Christ welcomed all, to see Jesus in the outsiders, and to follow the immigrant Jesus in search of a place where all are free, all are saved, all are loved; we are called to seek the Kingdom of God.

Spoiler alert: I’m preaching on May 18, Trinity Sunday, at Good Samaritan Episcopal Church. and this post is a preview of my sermon-in formation.

A couple of weeks ago The Rev. Chris Chase preached about Ascension and referenced a commercial for iPods. It features dancing figures with the iconic white headphone cord and a song by the Ting Tings “Shut up and let me go.”

Far be it for a visiting preacher to critique the rector’s sermon…but I do have some serious qualms with this ad. (In Chris’ defense, he was referencing the images of dancing, rather than the lyric.) This sentiment, “Shut up and let me go,” repeated over and over again in the ad, is becoming a central sentiment of our culture. “Shut up and let me go.” The message is conveyed on campus every day by those white iPod headphones worn as students walk around in public spaces. They say, “I am busy and I can’t hear you: Don’t Bother me.” Those white cords function as a wall.

I confess, I LOVE my iPod, and I have used the headphones on bad days to quiet the noise of people I don’t want to hear, my parents or siblings on long trips. My most frequent use of headphones happens on airplanes where I resonate with Anne Lammott when she says, ” My idea of everything running smoothly on an airplane is that A) I not die in a slow motion fiery crash, and that B) none of the other passengers try to talk to me. I use my white iPod headphones to shut people out: “Shut up and let me go.” This is something we say over and over again in our culture, with gated communities and a wall between San Diego and Tijuana. “Shut up and let me go.”

This however is completely antithetical to what we learn about God as Trinity. The Orthodox Christians talk about God’s inter-penetration, God’s three-in-one-ness, as a dance. The one-ness of God is the dancing, the RELATIONSHIP. In the Gospel for Trinity Sunday, Jesus uses the standard formulation of the Trinity “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” Another rendering of Trinity that goes all the way back to Augustine, speaks of the Trinity as “Lover, Beloved, and Love Itself.” God bridges the gap of difference: God’s very one-ness is a RELATIONSHIP.

Here is the scary part. In the face of that world that says, “shut up and let me go” God is inviting us, God is inviting you, here, this morning, into relationship. You see the relationship of the Trinity wasn’t enough for God. It isn’t by coincidence that we also hear the creation story this morning. From the beginning, God has desired relationship. We are created out of God’s desire for relationship. The dance of the Trinity, the community of the Lover, the Beloved, and Love itself results in SO MUCH LOVE, that it cannot be contained and spills out into humanity, into creation. God creates our world, God comes among us in Jesus, and God comes as Holy Spirit to never be apart from us. The God who is Relationship, reaches out, bridges out, for relationship with us.

And it doesn’t stop there. 1 John 4:11 “Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another.” God calls us into relationship with one another. Again in the Gospel, Jesus calls his followers into relationship with “all nations.” God calls us to build bridges.

And yet we throw up walls. The same society that teaches us to put on our iPod headphones, builds fences to exclude our neighbor, causes us to fear others and shut them out because of differences of race, of gender, of political party, of religion, of orientation. We live in a world that excludes and builds walls. We have a God builds bridges.

This Church is working with God to build bridges. By inviting a group of students from UCSD into this space to worship, by naming campus as a mission priority for this parish, you are bridging a barrier that has separated you from your neighbors. By inviting Roman Catholics to share your space, you are bridging religious divides.

And you helped to send a group of students to El Salvador crossing barriers of class, race, and nationality. There they built a bridge. Literally, they built a bridge. There is now a bridge to a community called “El Carmen,” a community which during the rainy season was often cut off by flood waters from food and health care. Children often missed school. Now there is a bridge. You can see a picture of it.

God wants us to build bridges. Over Spring Break, with your help, we got to take God literally. Where in your life is God calling you to build bridges?

Our God reaches out beyond the self. Our God demands that we take off our headphones, we cross over the walls that our world creates to separate us from one another. We need one another. If we are to be whole people, we cannot go it alone. That is the take home of this sermon friends. We live in a deeply troubled world. The economy, the price of oil, the price of food, terrorism, war, racism, sexism, poverty, depression, anxiety, none of these things can be solved by saying, “Shut up and let me go.” We need each other. We need God, and God needs us to build bridges.

Some Salvadoran video to start your week off right.

I spent the morning reading the blog of Jesse Zink in South Africa.  I highly recommend it:

http://mthathamission.blogspot.com/

I’ve been thinking for awhile now about place. I came to San Diego seven years ago after having spent all my previous years in Denver, Colorado.

I’ve lived since then in Mexico, England, and Honduras. I’m still recovering from a couple of weeks of heavy travel, a blessed trip to El Salvador and an engaging adventure in the Northeast. Now I face my last two months in San Diego before the next big move. This thing is, I really like it here. I love my life and what I get to do in San Diego.

I stood on my roof last night as the sun set. Looking over the city, reflecting on the day. Yesterday I took a group of moms and kids down to Dorcas House. Stephanie, one of the moms really impressed me. She makes a point of exposing her kids to things like Dorcas House and Halibut with Meyer lemon salsa. I got to thinking that what I have been doing taking people to El Salvador and Tijuana IS evangelism. Church for me has happened most palpably in service trips to Latin America. Both in El Salvador, building a bridge with the people of El Carmen and in Tijuana I’ve had moments thinking “This is Church.” This is what Church means, a community of people working together to lift up their neighbors, to better their collective situation, to overcome that which divides us. Evangelism often boils down to inviting someone to church, and that’s what my whole job has been the past few years: inviting people to Church, “The Church of Building Bridges.” Up on the roof, that all came together for me. The challenging realization that whatever my call may be, it involves helping people cross boundaries and borders to be and work with one another in the crazy community of church.

Life at the age of 26 can be hard. Yes, there is a great deal of very romantic travel. I have been incredibly lucky to have opportunities to jaunt around the world, but the lack of permanence, of place, can be maddening. I wish I could commit another 5 years to better knowing the community of people at UCSD and in San Diego, to building bridges over the wall to Tijuana. I wish I could stay put. I wish I could spend time investing in relationships more deeply, working long term on social and political issues, spend time working to build and invite people to Church. Relationships and bridges take time to build. Time seems to be a fleeting resource in the peripatetic life of someone in their mid-twenties.

But I have to go off to seminary, to learn more about Church and bridge-building. I have an adventure ahead of me. I know it will be at least as challenging and exciting as the adventures I leave behind. I hope I can find community, find a sense of place, even if I have to leave it again.

We are all pilgrims, wanderers, immigrants on our way to the Kingdom of God.

(A post from last year, but i had a hard time putting it better this year, and it is a great preview for our week ahead in El Salvador)

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?This question sits heavy on our chests over the days of Holy Week. Today is Good Friday, and today the tomb is full. Jesus has died a miserable and tortured death.I just spent a week with students in El Salvador and every day we asked, “What was hard for you today?” There were a lot of answers to this question: watching our cook Mercedes cry as she explained that she hadn’t seen her daughter for three years because she had crossed illegally into the United States to try to better the family’s situation back home; listening to young people who were afraid to play in church soccer tournament lest they be caught up in gang violence; seeing depictions of bodies tortured and murdered during the war; the sights of the ongoing poverty throughout El Salvador.

David Moseley, a theologian who teaches at the Bishop’s School, has been giving a course on Jurgen Moltmann’s book “The Crucified God” during lent. Last night he preached for the Good Friday service at St. Paul’s Cathedral. His theme was theodicy the question: “where is God when people suffer?” Often we think about Jesus of Nazareth’s death on the cross as the “sacrifice to cover our sins” as if what was needed was a perfect man to die. Moltmann reminds us that in Jesus, God Himself suffers on the cross. God does not exact revenge on an innocent human, but comes to earth and reveals his love by suffering WITH us. It is God who is crucified, God who cries out in agony and feeling abandoned, God who dies. God enters into the absolute messiness of humanity and experiences excruciating loss out of a desire for relationship.

I was struck by one of the relics on display at the Centro de Mgr. Romero. It was here where in 1989 six Jesuit priests were martyred because they dared to write that God was on the side of the poor. On the night that the Salvadoran ejercito entered the theology center and executed the priests, one of them was reading “The Crucified God.” The book soaked up so much blood from the priest that it appears waterlogged. Now it is displayed in a glass case like the relics of more ancient saints, reminding us of God’s work through people who choose to follow.

The German Lutheran Theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer who died in a Nazi Concentration camp wrote that grace is costly. 70 years ago Bonhoeffer wrote against a Spirituality that provided what he saw as “cheap grace,” salvation without struggle, supposed appeasement of the need to feel redeemed. This grace is not the salvation of Jesus, who calls on us to follow him in the way of the cross. Discipleship leads to suffering because the world still perpetuates the anti-Christian systems of oppression which diminish the humanity of the ones God created and loves. Those who follow Jesus are called to throw themselves into the gear-work of the world’s machine of oppression.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord? The disciples must have asked this question of God. Seeing him beaten, thrashed, bloodied, hanging by nails through his flesh. Jesus himself asks, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” Where is God when those we love suffer? Our faith in the incarnation causes us to answer that it is God himself who asks that question, God himself who today suffers with us unto death.

God then is with the suffering of the world. The Crucified God died with the Jesuits in the UCA, He cries with the hungry children out in the campo, and is there when a teenager is murdered in the name of gang war.

Were you there? Will you be?

Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble…

After writing the post on Maundy Thursday below I attended a unique foot-washing witness outside the UCSD hospital with faith leaders from around San Diego.  You can find out more about the campaign here.

“After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord–and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.” (John 13:12-17) (see the rest of this reading)

Maundy Thursday celebrates the last supper of Jesus with his disciples, and particularly his action of washing their feet. This is the Biblical introduction of the “servant leader” paradigm. That phrase doesn’t surprise us today; we hear “servant leader” used frequently, but that frequency can limit our understanding of this passage. Jesus is doing something radical here. To be a servant in the first century meant to be of a lower degree of humanity. Whether because of gender (I wrote a whole paper in college about how Jesus is behaving here as a woman), nationality, race, or religion, in ancient Israel you were a servant because you were seen as less than fully human, less than a Jewish man. That Jesus has stooped down to behave like a servant radically controverts the expectations of his disciples and would anyone in his society. Leaders were the most highly elevated. They were carried around on human shoulders and wrapped in purple cloth. They didn’t bend down to wash someone’s feet. Jesus radically transgresses the barriers between him and those who are valued less and tells his followers that this is true leadership.

The Maundy part of this Thursday comes from the Latin mandatum, command. Jesus commands his followers to behave like him in this radical way (he has to repeat and rephrase this command a couple of times to make sure it sinks in). Whether we transgress physical boundaries like those between us and our sisters and brothers in Tijuana, or societal boundaries like those that tell us how we should look or how we should behave towards those who are different from us; we are called to radically transgress the boundaries and structures of our society in order that we might serve one another. This mandatum comes in the shadow of the great commandment of John’s Gospel: “Love One Another.” We are to love one another by breaking down the walls that separate us from those our society considers less, and in doing so we will follow the lead of the great servant leader.