On Being an American and a Christian…

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American, asylum, baptism, children, Christian, complicated, Detention, diverse, faith, God, gospel, immigration, Jesus, politics

Photo credit:  https://www.pinterest.com/pin/439734351090290865/

Last week, several of the interfaith clergy in our community published a litany for children in detention centers.  They requested clergy leaders read the litany in their homes of worship – not in a special vigil, but in the heart of where weekly prayer and formation take place.  The litany was beautiful, and spoke to much of my own sense of despair about our treatment of children.  But I found myself in a quandary.  You see, my parish is a diverse one.  We pride ourselves on being Christians of varying political opinions who respect one another enough to honor our political differences by kneeling as equals at the Lord’s table.  In order to maintain that sense of respect, I am very careful about how I talk about current events.  My goal is always to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ, with the charge that we should engage in politics with the Gospel always in the forefront.

But the issue of children in detention centers tugs at me at two levels.  On the one hand, this is very much an issue of politics – of how we manage the flow of immigrants and those seeking asylum into our country.  I know our parishioners are of a divided mind on this issue – as is most of the country.  The issue of our borders is vastly layered – were it not so, there would be clear, easy answers to very difficult questions.  In addition to being a political, economical, sociological issue, this is a spiritual one as well.  One’s sense of gratitude for our country’s blessings, one’s baptismal covenant to respect the dignity of every human being, and one’s understanding of Christ’s command to love God and love neighbor collide with the realities of limited resources, stretched budgets, and funding priorities.

On the other hand, these are children.  These are eight-year-olds caring for unrelated infants.  These are nursing teen mothers with no diapers or place to lay their heads.  These are toddlers who have no way to wash their hands or clean their soiled clothing.  I look at my own children, who have every comfort they could ever need, and when I imagine them soiled, hungry, deprived of sleep, and so afraid that the color has drained from their faces, my heart shatters.  I know this issue is truly complicated, and I know that philosophically we as a country need to decide how we will manage the treatment of our neighbors.  But when I am hesitant to pray for the welfare of children in detention because it is politically complicated, I realize I am failing to live the Gospel life.

I cannot say I will ever be able to pray the litany presented by my interfaith brothers and sisters.  Though it is beautiful, it is also politically motivated.  But what I can tell you is, as a pastor and baptized child of God, I am praying for those children, praying for their mothers and fathers, and praying for our own souls as we figure out how to reckon politics and human dignity – how to be Americans and Christians.  Given our country’s history, it would seem those two things fit together easily.  But to be a good American and to be a good Christian both take intentionality, discernment, and prayer.  May God bless us all as we seek to harmonize the two.

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GC79: Respecting Dignity

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dignity, Episcopal Church, gender, General Convention, immigration, Jesus, language, outcast, race, respect, sexual orientation

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly (permission for reuse)

One of the many takeaways from General Convention was the need to tend to those outside of the straight, white, male, able-bodied community.  There was a task force assembled before Convention to address issues raised by the #metoo movement.  Out of that group came many resolutions about sexual harassment and abuse, equality in payment and hiring, parenting accommodations, and eliminating bias in bishop searches.  Our African-American brothers and sisters also called for work on pay equity and broader issues, such as voter suppression.  Our foreign language speakers rallied for more translated liturgies and legislation, as well as increased interpreters throughout Convention.  Our disabled and deaf members lobbied for better accommodations during Convention.  Our LGBTQ members called for broader inclusion and more intentional expansive and inclusive language.  Our immigrant members also called for thoughtfulness about our ordination processes, noting that many dioceses are unwilling to consider entering into a formal discernment process with someone if their immigration status is not settled.

There are probably more issues I am forgetting, but what struck me about each of these movements is that they are not just General Convention issues or wider church issues.  These are issues for every parish.  At our own parish, we are struggling to provide hearing assistance to our hearing-impaired members due to lack of volunteers to run our sound system.  Having served on a Commission on Ministry (COM) in another diocese, I realize now how our restrictions around immigration could have limited the movement of the Holy Spirit.  Even the conversation about breastfeeding on the Convention floor made me realize that we all have work to do about making our worship spaces as welcoming as possible.  Having watched these issues unfold at General Convention, I am convinced that there are issues we are overlooking as well.

Jesus always struck me as someone who saw everyone – especially people that society, religious leaders, and even his disciples overlooked or dismissed.  He had a knack for seeing the marginalized, the oppressed, and those cast out or looked down upon.  He asked their stories, engaged them in conversation and relationship, he often restored them to health and status in the community.  He showed us what it means to respect the dignity of every human being.  When we reaffirm our baptismal covenant, or when we say, “The Episcopal Church Welcomes You,” how might we do a better job of bringing what we say in line with what we do?  General Convention’s work was a way of pointing us back to the work of Jesus.  How might Hickory Neck engage in this same work?  How might you engage in this same work in your everyday life?

GC79: Prayer and Presence

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asylum, Detention, families, General Convention, God, Hutto, immigration, isolation, prayer, presence, women

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly (reuse with permission)

On Sunday of General Convention, the Convention invited us to step out into the world on issues of injustice.  The Bishops gathered to protest against gun violence in the morning.  At midday, we were all invited not to a protest, but a prayer service – a service of solidarity with our sisters seeking asylum in this country.  I was a bit conflicted about the prayer service.  My parishioners have been trying to reconcile their sense of the injustice of families being torn apart at our borders, but with divergent opinions about how immigration and asylum should work in the United States.  I certainly have my opinions about the matter, but I always try to honor the diversity of our community.

Ultimately, I decided that we can always stand to pray.  And so, with a friend and her one-year old daughter, we drove to the Hutto Detention Center for a prayer service.  The Hutto Detention Center was once a prison in Texas.  It is run by a privately-held, for-profit corporation, and hosts women – some of whom have been separated from their children, but all of whom are awaiting help from lawyers as they process asylum petitions.  The day was sweltering hot, and we were in a field by the Center.  Around 1,200 Episcopalians had gathered, with a line of buses surrounding us that had brought many from Austin.  The former identity as a prison was obvious – small, skinny windows, stark, cold walls, high, barbed fences.  Songs were spontaneous at times:  We Shall Overcome, Amazing Grace, This Little Light of Mine.  There were spoken prayers, and impassioned pleas for justice.

I found myself staring out at the building, wondering about the stories, fear, and suffering inside.  I later learned that there have been high occurrences of sexual assault in the Detention Center.  As the child we were with cooed and chattered, I wondered about the hole in my heart I would feel if my children were stripped from me – children I would protect at all costs.  A portion of the crowd walked to the street to get closer and I felt myself drawn to their path.  I wanted a connection with the women inside so deeply.

As we stopped at the entrance, chants began.  “We see you, God loves you.”  “You are not alone.”  Songs followed.  As tense, cold guards stood in front of us (for whom I was grateful and sympathetic toward), I found my grief increasing.  There were rumors that the guards would have pulled the women away from the windows, so it was possible that they would not even hear us.  But as we began to move back to the field, we saw them – women waving in windows, waiving towels behind tall windows.  Later, we would find out from Grassroots Leadership that, “A woman called from Hutto after today’s prayer and told us they were glued to the windows until the last bus left the detention center.  Women inside were crying, saying they knew they weren’t alone after seeing so many people there.”

I know this is a complicated issue for many of us.  But I have to tell you, prayer, relationship, and empathy would certainly get us a long way.  Those are humans, fleeing violence, degradation, and persecution in their home countries, stuck behind cold walls, being persecuted in another country.  And for that, we could all stand to do a lot more praying.