Exodus
- Dr. Tom Wagner
- Mar 15
- 6 min read
Faith traditions speak often about welcoming the stranger and the alien in our midst. This reflection explores what it means to see them—and not look away.
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Exodus
Last Saturday, I got more than I bargained for. It takes the passage of months, even years, to determine if an event has really had enough impact to change someone. Time will tell if last Saturday’s seismic events shifted my foundations, or just rearranged the furniture a little.
My pals, Ray and Sue, are well known in liturgical circles for their professional-grade tenor and soprano singing voices. Ray actually directs two choirs: one at a prestigious Catholic church, the other at a boys' high school. Given their talents, it made sense that they were tapped to lead music at a St. Louis, Catholic Archdiocese-sponsored prayer service. When they told me that this gathering would take place at a federal immigration detention center in Ste. Genevieve, MO, I asked if I could stow away with them. They agreed. I’d heard about places like these. I wanted to see for myself.
On the hour-long trip south of St. Louis, I drained the contents of my coffee thermos. Fueled by a pretty good caffeine buzz, the banter was lively and fun. Once we arrived, I became a roadie, schlepping speakers and the like. The rain that morning was cold, but the conversation that started in the car followed us as we set up. It was fun—meeting new people, quipping while we worked—it seemed to warm things—even if just a little.
As a crowd of about four hundred people accumulated, the rain subsided. I’m not going to say there were no young people. There were. They stood out like individual grains of pepper in a sea of salt. Here was a gaggle of brown-robed, snowy-headed Franciscan friars. Not far from them stood a wizened group of nuns, easily identifiable in their modern-day habits—polyester pant suits and sensible shoes. Snowy-headed priests, in their black uniforms, some official, some unofficial, meandered amongst the hoi polloi of we laity.
When the actual service began, I wasn’t prepared for the series of gut punches that were to land, like uppercuts, again, and again in my solar plexus. The preaching was uniformly strong. The preachers included: the head of about 1/3 of the American Jesuits, an “Episcopal Vicar” from the St. Louis Archdiocese, and a Methodist pastor, who carried herself with the authoritative dignity of a no-nonsense grandmother. But, by far and away, the words that found their way inside my raincoat, and into my heart, were the words delivered by the local Ste. Genevieve women, who serve as pen pals and advocates for scores of inmates.
I learned from them that almost all of the prisoners are the breadwinners for their families. Most detainees are Spanish-speaking, but not all. From their own wallets, these women purchased phone cards, a coveted item for these inmates. The first order of business for them is to contact their families. Almost 100% of the time, wives, parents, and kids don’t know where their loved one is being held. Shackled together by their wrists, ankles, and waists, these inmates receive no warning as they move from federal detention site to federal detention site. Even if they have made contact with their spouses and children, the frequent moves hide their whereabouts all over again. The pen pals at our gathering told stories of danger, deprivation, and brutality that led these families’ sojourn across the US border to seek a better life. In some cases, they sought asylum through the proper channels, only to be imprisoned anyway. Since these women began this work of mercy, over 1000 prisoners have passed through the facility that was catty-corner from our prayer service. Currently, they estimate that 200 souls are being housed in this makeshift federal prison.
Before the service was over, I heard this troubling story:
“I was born in Barnes Hospital, in St. Louis, Missouri. My daughter was born there, too. We are US citizens. Because we’re brown, she and I have to carry our passports everywhere we go. It hurts to be the object of hatred, online and in person. It hurts to have fellow Catholics believe that what is happening to my daughter and me is right and proper, and that what is happening to people like me, who don’t have passports, is acceptable, despite what Jesus and their church’s teaching have to say about that.”
Speaker after speaker affirmed the basic Christian social teaching that a country has the right and responsibility to oversee an orderly immigration policy. Each of the speakers also articulated the most frequently mentioned Biblical law, from both Jewish and Christian scriptures… to treat the stranger and alien in your midst with dignity, as well as to improve their lot in life. In Matthew’s Gospel, the alien is identified as Christ in our midst.
I’m sorting out how I want to respond to Christ being shackled and his family abused, right under my nose, in my own community, in my own time. I don’t give a rat’s ear about politics, but I can’t imagine not caring about people made in the image and likeness of God being treated as if they were not worthy of dignity, justice, and tangible love. I’m not sure what my “doing” is supposed to involve. For now, I know enough to hold these families close in my discerning heart. I don’t want to take forever in this discernment, but I want to plan a well-considered step in their direction.
Dialogue and Discussion Questions:
Longtime SMC readers know that “the Dialogue” section of this article is set aside for a good conversation over a cup of coffee—with a friend, with a group, or just with yourself! As always, feel free to share your reaction or reflection in the “Comments” section below.
“Quietism” is a moral approach that chooses emotional equilibrium over appropriate action. In other words, a person given to quietism will tend to spiritually bliss out while the house is burning down. Ignatius Loyola’s sixteenth century, “Spiritual Exercises,” looks for the fruits of peace, patience, love, joy (in short, “good energy”) as proof of a Sacred Calling—over a long period of time, not in the short run. In other words, a Divine Calling tends to provide a kind of deep comfort over the long haul, but discomfort in the short-term. There is an old spiritual tune that describes God as “troubling the waters.” Have you ever experienced a sense of being “stirred” to do something?
At the event described in this article, care was taken not to vilify those whose conscience is misinformed about the proper response to the stranger and the alien in our midst. Religious traditions that include the primacy of love don’t provide room for hatred of an opponent, no matter how misguided they may be. Can you think of someone you know who acts from a core of love and mercy while actively opposing an opponent with whom they disagree? Do you know what feeds this remarkable ability?
Is there any person in the world that you give yourself permission to hate? If so, have you ever challenged yourself to be mindful of this reaction? Would you know how to allow the Love in you to interact with this somatic/cognitive constellation?
Please share with the SMC community your thoughts and/or reflections in the comments below.