Rejected Faith

Christianity needs to have more words for “faith.”  I want to write about the fact that this Borderlands trip was only the second time in my life where I felt a sense of the depth, and even more so the necessity, of a faith that God is somehow, in some way, present amidst the most despicable treatment of human beings.  The other time was the year I worked at a homeless shelter in Baltimore.

What I want to say is that the stories I heard and the conditions I saw in the Borderlands forbid me from discarding “Christianity” as solely a spineless institution bound to the self-interest and corruption of political and economic powers, which for the most part is the embarrassing reality of a man-made tradition that claims to represent the word of God but in fact gives legitimation to the interests and will of men.  One example: the Mexican-American bishop of Brownsville, Texas who has yet to prove solidarity with the poverty, suffering, and lack of opportunity of the mestizo people trapped in the Brownsville borderlands by strategically placed, militarized checkpoints.  Another example: in my own pursuit of becoming a “master of theology” I have and will inevitably continue to participate in a game of touting my knowledge of technical vocabulary and abstract theories, tempted by the prospect of “universal truth” that comes with the comfort of privilege, too busy in the library to consider the truths that are known on the streets of Harlem, in the shelters of Baltimore, in the colonias of Cameron County, TX.

Mary holding the brutalized body of Jesus in San Fernando Church, San Antonio; the paint has faded from Jesus’ knees from the constant touch of prayer

What I need to express is the overwhelming feeling that I could not shake as our group reflected together on the Stations of the Cross at the Basilica of San Juan.  It was the simultaneous realization that I am not spared from pain and suffering, I don’t have to deny my own experience of the metaphorical burden of the cross that is felt in different ways by us all.  The image of Jesus’s last moments—the pain of a mother watching her son suffer, the relief brought by a friend’s hands lightening the load of the cross, repeated depictions of falling and having to get back up, alone—these are relatable portraits of very human experiences to which everyone can connect their own stories.  But as I reflected at the station of Jesus falling for the third time, I could not shake the image of the mother of three daughters whose two hands were severed in a preventable maquiladora machinery accident.  How does she get back up?  Where does she find the strength to pick up her cross once more, with no physical option for continuing to support her children, when her “worker’s compensation” lasts only a few months, and then the rent and cost of food in the colonias will be too much to bear?  It was these sorts of questions that we eager seminarians asked the female leaders in that bedroom meeting in the colonias, that we asked the woman who had fled to the United States in a tire, in hopes of a better future for her son.  Where do you find your hope, when you are defined as cheap labor, when everyday you agonize over the future suffering of your children, when you are denied public lights by a state that is the fifteenth richest economy in the entire world?  The unwavering answer by every single individual we have talked to on this trip has been just one, whispered word: faith.  A faith so deep, so real, and so subversive, that all I can try to do is keep telling these stories of suffering, survival, and an unwavering faith in God that are not my own.  I can bear witness.  And I can continue to demand that the Church, that theologians, that any person claiming a Christian faith, speak, and more importantly act, out of the recognition of the Galilean principle of which Virgilio Elizondo reminds us: what human beings reject, God chooses as God’s very own.

The Eloquence of Maps

By Elizabeth Bukey:

Dr. Machado, who organized our pilgrimage to the border, is fond of telling students how important maps are. They can help us understand why wars were fought, the value of certain locations, and, often, tell us something about the mapmaker’s worldview. Certainly the map I found on a postcard in San Antonio speaks volumes about how Texans see the world, and the borderlands in particular:

A Texan Map of the United StatesAs you can see, Texas has swallowed up most of the United States and Northern Mexico, with the other continental states relegated to insignificance. (Alaska and Hawaii don’t appear; Puerto Rico and the other territories have certainly not been considered at all.) This self-centered worldview is not really that unusual in the U.S.: New Yorkers certainly are guilty of thinking the world revolves around us.

I was more struck by the way the borderlands are completely missing. Brownsville is, after all, a fairly large city, but it’s cut off. South Texas has been erased. The countries with the highest poverty rates in the Texas are gone. The “no-man’s land” between the Mexican border and the internal Border Patrol checkpoints has been left off this map, just as it has stayed hidden from most of the people in this country. The borderlands, it seems, do not exist in the “Texan’s Map of the United States,” just as they do not exist in the “American” imagination.

When our group visited a curandera this week, I was told I had problems with my eyes. I don’t know about my physical eyesight, but I certainly have realized how blind I have been to the reality of the border. I hope that your eyes—like mine—are starting to open.

The Desired Change

In the early morning we gathered together, watched and listened to our stories.  A morning mist rose as the sun broke through the rising dew.  As we walked our bodies split the clouds.  Placed next to a Texas highway, we proceeded through the stations of the cross.  The Basilica de San Juan falls in a Texas plain land, that stretches out underneath highway and trucking routes.  As we moved, the city of San Juan slowly came to life.  We were largely silent and reflective; being the middle of the week, we had already gone through several busy days of conversations and presentations with local South Texas and Borderland organizations.  This was a time for us to place our context into a faith story.  From Pilate’s sentencing to Simon’s lifting of the cross, our voices re-collected and re-categorized our experiences of the past week.  Jesus’ passion might speak directly to individuals’ confrontation with power in their lives.  It might speak of the failures of humanity and the strength in gathering together our selves.  Picking up pieces we’ve dropped to the ground, overflowing from our arms, we are charged by this story to muster enough honesty to continue broken, imperfect and weak.  Our re-presentations of the stories you’ve read about – the maquiladora workers, the union organizers, the comite de apoyo, the small San Antonio Pastor, the refugee center – all of these memories place Jesus’ power against that of a force displaced through bureaucracy and lines of authority.  And as we reached the tomb, as we reached the final procession, Dr. Machado brought us together, asking us simply, “What have we learned?  What do you do about it?”

I have found my theology challenged in this borderland.  We met recently with Mike Seifert, the lead organizer of Equal Voices, a non-profit organization coordinating ten different non-profit social justice and community development organizations.  Mr. Seifert, in the time we spent with him, made it clear that he was infuriated with the passivity of the church in South Texas.  He and the other leaders he works with across the borderlands, have confronted churches on many occasions, finding little commitment; acquiescence to a disinterested religious life of social concerns seems to have taken hold.  I can sympathize.  It seems this statement accurately characterizes my home church in Kansas.  Now, I do not want to make statements concerning church participation or church activity within the United States.  To reconcile Mr. Seifert’s anger, it would be useful to focus on the social empirical reality of our country.  You have seen, in this blog, our reflections on real life stories.  You have read real life suffering, and real life pain.  Were these stories new? Are you surprised these conditions exist in and are caused by the United States of America?

The stories we have come across are not unique, however, in their experience of poverty.  To use common and inadequate stereotypes, one might find the “third world,” in the “first world” of New York City.  Children all throughout this country suffer from hunger:  1 in 4 children in the United States is at risk of hunger.

But how many communities have you witnessed as trapped?  How often do you hear of youth committing suicide because of stunted dreams?  The Latino community in the Borderlands is a community assaulted from all sides.  Every day operations, such as going to the store, or going to school, or going to work are activities that are ridden with crushing anxiety. So what can I do?

I asked Kellyann Conners and Stephen Tickner this question last night.  Late, we had a night free where we might decompress a bit.  As we played cards, our game slowed and the conversation deepened.  Loud sighs filled the air.  Oftentimes we become overwhelmed with the impressiveness of these problems.  How do several seminary students speak a theological, just, social truth to debilitating maquila power?

In everyday actions:  from the products we buy to the way we talk about immigration issues and the truth of NAFTA’s economic repercussions. We have come to understand that all of us are caught in violent struggle.  I don’t assume we end consumerism, I ask we merely begin to think about how we are operating in the world.  Yet is that enough? For many of us seminarians, we will make large decisions in the upcoming years as to our life direction. I don’t assume everyone will have the same passion for the Texas borderlands as I do.  After organizing with an IAF organization in San Antonio last year, this trip sits well in  furthering my life education on this space and place.  Yet, as Dr. Machado put so well in a reflection earlier in the week, our communities cannot respond to things that they don’t know about. Undeniably, those who have seen and heard of this space (certainly unique if not in its poverty, then in its militarization) carry with them charge to continue telling this story.  Again, as we reflected on this responsibility during the same reflection, it became obvious of our return: our ability to leave this space.  Questions of how we use our citizenship become extremely important:  how we vote, how we engage in our community, and what sort of institutions we create. Start conversations with family members on what poverty looks like in your community.  Educate yourself concerning the cracks in this nation that speak of disturbing truths.  Only when we know this land can be begin to change this land.  For certainly, as has been said, the churches we create are emblematic of the communities we desire.

I don’t claim to be any farther along this path than you all; I claim to begin this muddling through, this difficult yet important process of being a witness to all of the realities that exist in our country. These are tangible small steps that begin to suggest the undeniable structural and ideological change that needs to occur to bring justice to all of our communities.

Youth….”A New and Unsettling Force”

I feel called to work on the role of faith communities in social movements to end poverty, led by the poor.  Martin Luther King, Jr said, as he initiated the Poor People’s Campaign:

“We can’t back up, we will overcome. We are overcoming because ours is a revolution of the mind and heart. –César Chávez” A sign at The Union of the Entire People (LUPE), founded by César Chávez, in McAllen, TX.

“The dispossessed of this nation…live in a cruelly unjust society. They must organize…against the injustice, not against the lives of the persons who are their fellow citizens, but against the structures through which the society is refusing to take means which have been called for, and which are at hand, to lift the load of poverty. There are millions of poor people in this country who have very little, or even nothing, to lose. If they can be helped to take action together, they will do so with a freedom and a power that will be a new and unsettling force in our complacent national life.”  (MLK, Jr, 1967)

I have burning in my bones just a little taste of the rage that must burn in the undocumented youth and their families, and indeed the whole Latin@ community.  Immigrants and Latin@s are the object of so many injustices and downright hate.  Consider the youth.  Half of the population in this S. Texas county are under 23.  Immigrants and Latin@s are, on average young, young people with vigor that can be developed as leaders that bring about change.   Immigrants have as core values buying land, building houses, and staying, committed to creating a better life for their families.  US Hispanics are hard-working, in fact, the hardest-working people group at this time in our country—look around at who’s carrying, cleaning, picking, and sweating these days.  Numbers of Latin@s in the US are increasing rapidly, becoming majorities in many areas.  And they are culturally a communal people, valuing strong communities, families, and relationships.  I recognize potential in all these factors for a base for a “new and unsettling force”, a social movement that can lead change for the most poor in society, if the silent rage, youth, hard-work, relationality, and growing numbers can be made purposeful and leadership developed.

Youth….trapped

“Jesus sees his mother” (John 19:26-27) in the Stations of the Cross at the Basilica in San Juan, TX. Mothers grieve and protest the plight of their undocumented youth.

“My daughter graduated from college last year, an excellent student, but now she can’t get a job in her degree because she is undocumented.  She’s lived here for 21 of her 23 years of life, worked hard in school. But now, there’s no hope without the DREAM Act.”

“He’s a good boy, a good student. But without his immigration papers, he can’t get a professional license.”

$37,000 for one half acre

Two mothers described to our groups the ceilings forced upon their young adult children, who have lived their whole lives in the US but are undocumented.  We’ve heard many stories this week of people being trapped:  Three families living on a bone-dry, polluted half-acre that cost them $37,000. One woman telling how she came to the US inside a tire.  Trapped.  Suffocating.

Border Patrol and the fence between Texas and Mexico. The fence cost $2million a mile to build. There are 20,000 Border Patrol on the border at all hours.

If you’re undocumented in the Rio Grande Valley of South Texas, you’re literally trapped. There’s no “spreading your wings and flying” if you are young, and no American dream.  Because the DREAM Act has not passed, undocumented students graduating from college cannot be hired.  The DREAM Act would grant legal status after 6 years to graduates of US high schoosl who complete a college degree or military service. Undocumented immigrants can’t attain professional licenses.  One literally can’t leave the Rio Grande Valley in South Texas because the Mexico border is to the south and 70 miles north, there is an unavoidable police checkpoint, where documents are checked and the undocumented arrested.   Most don’t even drive a car because if pulled over, they will be arrested and deported.

18-year-old Joaquin Luna

Trapped, Sweltering, suffocating.  Where is hope? On November 25, 2011, the day after Thanksgiving, 18-year-old Joaquin Luna committed suicide.  Joaquin had lived in Hidalgo County, TX since he was 6 months old but was undocumented, and he killed himself in despair because he could not complete his dream of going to college and becoming an engineer.

On our Borderlands trip, we are no longer in Mexico.  The conditions described above are specifically US.  And the cognitive dissonance it is creating for me is horrible.