Showing posts with label immigration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label immigration. Show all posts

Sunday, October 28, 2018

"Courage for Troubling Times." A sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church.

Candlelight vigil to mourn massacre at Tree of Life Synagogue.

"Courage for Troubling Times"

Mark 4:35-41

During the dark days of World War II, the World Council of Churches adopted a symbol which had been important to the early church during times of danger, hardship, and persecution:  the church is depicted as a storm-tossed boat, with a cross for a mast.
            Over the centuries, the ship has been a prominent symbol for the church in Christian art and architecture.  This part of the church building is called the “nave,” which is the Latin name for “ship.”  If you look up, you can see how the designers of this building evoked the symbolism.
            When the early Christians tried to describe what it was like to be a Christian and to be a member of the church, they said it was like being on a ship with Christ in a storm.     The story we just heard from Mark's gospel seemed descriptive of the early church’s experience.  
            In the Gospel lesson, we find the disciples on a journey.  The journey is not one of their own choosing, but one they've been commanded to take.  
            It must have been a long day.  Jesus had been teaching beside the sea.  There had been a huge crowd gathered on the shore, while he sat in the boat and spoke in parables about the Reign of God.
            When evening came, Jesus said to the disciples, "Let us go across to the other side of the sea."  So, leaving the crowd behind, they set off across the sea. 
            The time I sailed across the Sea of Galilee, it was on a beautiful, calm, sunny day.  It was smooth sailing.  But Peter and the other fishermen among Jesus' inner circle of disciples knew from experience the danger of sudden storms on the Sea of Galilee.  As the wind and the waves fill the boat with water, the disciples are filled with fear.  They're sinking, and they’re afraid they might drown! 
            In terror, they turn to Jesus, who is calmly asleep in the stern of the boat.  The disciples woke Jesus with words we may use to address God when things get scary:    "Don't you care?"
            Mark tells us that Jesus had been sleeping through the storm.  In the Hebrew Scriptures, the ability to sleep peacefully is a sign of perfect trust in God's providential care.  So, when Jesus was sleeping through the storm it didn't mean that he didn't care about his disciples.  It showed that he had perfect trust in God to keep them all safe.
            Jesus woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Peace!  Be still!"
            The words Jesus addressed to the wind and the waves are exactly the same words he used in the exorcism of the demon-possessed man in the first chapter of Mark.   It's a forceful rebuke, as he commands the forces of the storm, saying,  "Be still.  Be calm!"
            And the wind ceased--   just like that.  There was a dead calm.
            Then Jesus said to them, "Why are you afraid?  Have you still no faith?"
            When you read through a gospel from beginning to end, you get a much better feel for what the evangelist means when he uses particular words and symbols that you miss if you read little parts of the gospel in isolation.  For Mark, faith isn't about holding correct, orthodox beliefs or living an upstanding moral life.  Faith is trust.  Fearfulness is the lack of faith.
            Mark tells us that disciples are sometimes called to do things that are risky or scary to us--  things that require that we trust in the power of God to sustain us, in spite of our fears.
            Mark wrote his gospel in a time of great persecution, under the emperor Nero.  Peter and Paul had in all likelihood been put to death by that time.  The young church was in danger of being wiped out.  So, Mark included stories in his gospel that would encourage the people in the church.

            We might like to think that if we follow Jesus, he'll keep us out of the storm.   But, as disciples of Jesus Christ, we're not promised a safe, successful, long, or trouble-free life.  He never promised it would be easy.  
I'm convinced that the storms and the struggles of life--  both on a personal level and as a church-- are part of how Christ teaches us to trust in God's love and power to save us.     If we're going to travel with Jesus, we have to weather some storms. 
            The good news is that--  when we begin to trust in God's love and saving power, we can overcome some of our fears.  We can begin to have faith we can weather the storms of life--  because Christ is with us. 

            We live in a tumultuous time—a time of great change and polarization and anxiety— in the world and in the church. But it isn’t the first time. 
            Today is Reformation Sunday, which is a good time to celebrate our history and be inspired by our ancestors in the faith.
            The outspoken Scottish reformer John Knox felt compelled to leave the British Isles after the Roman Catholic Mary Tudor rose to the English throne in 1553.  Eventually he joined a fellowship of religious refugees from across Europe who had thronged to Geneva, Switzerland.
            Geneva’s most famous resident, the French lawyer and humanist John Calvin, was himself a Geneva immigrant.  Calvin helped create an atmosphere in Geneva that was welcoming to outsiders. They established a hospital for refugees, as well as an academy for their education. Knox ministered to a congregation of English-speaking refugees.
            John Knox marveled at his time in Geneva, calling it ‘the most perfect school of Christ that ever was in the earth since the days of the apostles.’”[1]
            Calvin’s emphasis on placing full trust in God, as opposed to any earthly ruler, aimed to infuse life in the city with gratitude and faith.  He hoped that the doctrine of salvation through election would ease the anxieties of a people living in an age of plague, war, and dislocation. For Calvin and for Knox, growing in trust of God and love for God enlarged a community’s ability to respond to God’s call to love and service--  no matter where its residents came from.[2]

            Writing in the Baptist News, Alan Bean tells about a time a woman in his congregation called him in tears, insisting that he visit her without delay. When he got there, she told him how, in the middle of the night, a repressed memory from her childhood had worked its way to the surface of consciousness. She had remembered the boxcars crammed with desperate people passing through her German community and the hollow-eyed horror etched onto the faces.
            “Maybe I was too young to understand,” she told him, “but my parents and grandparents had to have known. Those people were Jews headed for the camps, weren’t they? Who else could they have been? And we said nothing. We did nothing.”[3]
             Bean writes that the Holocaust, or Shoah, has always haunted him.  “If I thought Nazi-era Germany was an aberration, I could probably move on,”  he writes. But in view of what is happening in our nation and the world today, who can think that?  Bean declares that  “the Church of Jesus Christ is confronted by an anti-Gospel once again. And once again we either celebrate effusively or lapse into pitiful silence.”

            In 1933, on the 500th anniversary of Martin Luther’s birth, 20,000 German Christians flocked to a rally in which tenets of German Christianity were celebrated.  Many German Christians happily proclaimed their support for Hitler and what he stood for.
            Even some of those involved in the Confessing Church movement initially welcomed the rise of Hitler’s National Socialists. But they came to understand they were obligated to challenge state-sponsored evil, to minister to the oppressed (regardless of race or religion), and that they might even be required to sacrifice themselves.
            In 1934, the Theological Declaration of Barmen was adopted by Christians in Nazi Germany who opposed the heresies of the German Christian movement.
           
I believe God continues over time to work in people of faith, and is working to do a new thing in our time.  I believe that this is a time of new reformation--  re-formation,  and that God is working to create a new church,  in and through us.   I believe that God wants to use us as instruments of justice and reconciliation in the world. 
Luther’s reformation came out of a righteous anger against injustices and corruption. I think many of us are struggling with a kind of righteous anger about things we see happening in our world.
Yesterday, on the Jewish Sabbath, a shooter walked into the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh.  He killed eleven people and wounded others, including four police officers.  His social media accounts included repeated attacks on Jews, references to white supremacist and neo-Nazi symbols, and attacks on the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, known as HIAS, which works with the federal government to resettle refugees in American communities.
The people at Tree of Life synagogue were carrying out the demands scripture placed on their consciences, scriptures that command Jews and Christians to care for the “stranger” or “alien,” and to love the stranger and remember that we were once strangers in the land of Egypt. (Deuteronomy 10:19)   The killer who decided that they should die for their support for immigrants was carrying out a mission based on fear and hatred.
The synagogue massacre in Pittsburgh is yet another example of the fury and bigotry on the fringes of our society. It reminds us of other active shooter incidents--some of them in houses of worship--that have horrified many of us in recent years.  It challenges us to consider the troubling frequency of mass shooting events in our nation in comparison to almost every other nation in the world.
The Pittsburgh massacre came days after the arrest of a Florida man, who allegedly sent more than a dozen pipe bombs to two former presidents, a former Secretary of State, and prominent Democratic elected officials and leaders, as well as a wealthy Jewish philanthropist-- all of whom have been singled out and named as evil and enemies, as well as CNN.  These pipe bombs put at risk the intended recipients, postal employees, and everyone who came near the packages.
We’ve heard very little about an apparently racially motivated shooting near Louisville, Kentucky a few days ago. A white supremacist tried unsuccessfully to enter a predominantly African-American church before he entered a Kroger market nearby and killed Maurice Stallard, who was there buying poster board for his 12-year-old grandson’s school project-- shooting him in front of the grandson. Then he went out in the parking lot and shot Vickie Lee Jones.
Friends, our thoughts and prayers are not enough.
So, on this Reformation Sunday, what do we hear the Spirit saying to us?
            In a blog entry a few years ago, Diana Butler Bass wrote of the Protestant Reformation movement:  “It strikes me as interesting that those who followed the teaching of the new reform movement did not come to be known as “Reformists.”  Rather, the moniker that stuck was “Protestant.”  Luther and his associates were protesters rather than reformers—they stood up against the religious conventions of the day, arguing on behalf of those suffering under religious, social, and economic oppression.
            These religious protesters accused the church of their day of being too rich, too political, in thrall to kings and princes, having sold its soul to the powerful.   The original Protestants preached, taught, and argued for freedom—spiritual, economic, and political—and for God’s justice to be embodied in the church and the world.” 
The early Protestants believed that they were not only creating a new church--  but that they were creating a new world,  one that would resemble more fully God’s desire for humanity.  They weren’t content with the status quo.   They felt a deep discomfort within.  They knew things were not right.  And they set out to change the world.”[4]        
Long ago God spoke through the prophet Isaiah:  “I am about to do a new thing.   Now it springs forth.  Don’t you perceive it?”[5]
I believe God is working to do a new thing in our time.  I believe that this is a time of new reformation--  re-formation,  and that God is working to create a new church,  in and through us.   I believe that God wants to use us as instruments of justice and reconciliation in the world.
So—on this Reformation Sunday, as we look around at the world we live in and see things that are not right, we can be glad that we are freed for a great adventure of faith.”
            For some of us, this might mean writing letters to our elected officials, demanding they stop using divisive language, and work for civility and unity. For some of us it might mean contacting local synagogues to offer condolences and support. For some of us it might mean committing to work with a local interfaith or anti-violence or anti-racism group. For some of us it might mean organizing supper conversation groups that bring people with diverse views together to bridge differences and promote understanding.  Some of you may have other ideas.
            There are ways to disrupt and dismantle racism, anti-Semitism, white supremacy, patriarchy, homophobia, Islamaphobia, ableism-- all the systems that divide us and distort our life in community and as a society.
            In the words of our Presbyterian “Brief Statement of Faith:”   In a broken and fearful world, the Spirit gives us courage to pray without ceasing, to witness among all peoples to Christ as Lord and Savior, to unmask idolatries in Church and culture, to hear the voices of peoples long silenced, and to work with others for justice, freedom, and peace.”[6]            
            In this ship we call the Christian life, we will go through some storms.  But we don't need to be afraid, because we know that Jesus is with us.  
            Thanks be to God!
            Amen.



Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor
Littlefield Presbyterian Church
Dearborn, Michigan
October 28, 2018
        



[2] Ibid.
[3] Alan Bean, “Silence in the face of evil: learning from an obscure schoolteacher who urged Karl Barth and other theologians to stand in solidarity with the Jews in Nazi Germany.”  https://baptistnews.com/article/silence-in-the-face-of-evil-learning-from-an-obscure-schoolteacher-who-urged-karl-barth-and-other-theologians-to-stand-in-solidarity-with-the-jews-in-nazi-germany/#.W9SapidRf-Y

[4] Diana Butler Bass, “Putting the Protest Back in Protestant” (October 28, 2011). http://www.patheos.com/blogs/dianabutlerbass/2011/10/putting-the-protest-back-in-protestant/

[5] Isaiah 43:9

[6] “A Brief Statement of Faith” of the Presbyterian Church (USA), 1990.




Sunday, June 17, 2018

"Seeds of Faith and Hope." A sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church.


"Seeds of Faith and Hope"

Mark 4:26-34; Ezekiel 17:22-24; 2 Corinthians 5:6-17

            “The Kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how.  The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head.  But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest is come.”
            Karoline Lewis suggests that our lives are full of parables.  I think she’s right when she says that Jesus knew this, which is why he told parables to his followers.
            “With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it?”
            Parables are a way to try to make sense of things in life, as we struggle for a way to be in the world.
            Jesus has announced the arrival of God’s kingdom, but to skeptical eyes, it seems that nothing has changed.
            Mark uses Jesus’ parable of the growing seed to encourage those in charge of the early church.   Some of these congregations were planted under adverse—even dangerous—conditions. 
            Most scholars agree that Mark’s gospel was the earliest written of the four gospels.  It was probably written around 70 C.E., shortly after the Romans destroyed the temple in Jerusalem, toward the end of the reign of the Emperor Nero.  It reflects a time of imminent persecution for those who professed the Christian faith, and Christians in Rome suffered particularly. 
            Mark’s gospel was written in a time of high anxiety.  Church leaders felt vulnerable and helpless.  So, it must have sounded like good news to be reminded that seeds are small and vulnerable, but can sprout and grow even in tough times.
            Chapter four in Mark has a series of seed parables, which teach us that God’s rule is something hidden… indirect… and surprising.   They tell us that the kingdom is near and breaking into the ordinary world where we live.   Mark wants us to know that God’s purposes—though hidden—are still present.  We need to move toward them—live into them with confidence.

            Mark gathers Jesus’ seed metaphors to help us discern God’s presence and work in small, surprising places.  In the parable of the growing seed, the seeds are a good image for how growth can happen in ways that are beyond our control or comprehension.
            In the parable of the mustard seed, a tiny mustard seed is contrasted with the size of the final tree.  Now, the fact is that a mustard seed doesn’t really grow into a tree.  The mustard plant is an annual herb that normally grows no more than six feet in height and would be considered a shrub, rather than a tree.  It’s in the imagination of the parable that a mustard seed can produce a tree with branches…and be similar to the imperial trees that symbolize kingdoms.   
            The people in the crowd gathered that day in Palestine thousands of years ago were likely familiar with the Ezekiel passage we heard today, in which images of tall, majestic cedar trees are symbols used to encourage people of Israel’s future greatness.  This would have been a comfort to Ezekiel’s original audience, in exile in Babylon.  The image of the noble cedar would have served to help encourage an oppressed people.
           
            In the parable of the mustard seed, Jesus makes an allusion to Ezekiel’s message and other Old Testament tree of life images, in which birds of the air nest in its branches, but re-works it. In Jesus’ parable, God’s promised action comes after everything worldly that claims and seems to be of great promise has failed. 
            The humble mustard seed that grows into a scruffy shrub may seem like an odd image for Jesus to have chosen, when he could have used the majestic cedar to make his point.  But Jesus wants us to know that things are different in the kingdom of God when it breaks into our ordinary daily lives.  The kingdom of God has its own time… and its own rate of growth… and happens in unexpected, surprising ways. 
            The mustard seed was a common image in ancient Palestine for “the smallest thing.”  Like the humble mustard seed that grows into a scruffy shrub, the followers of Jesus are a bunch of ragged folk-- full of doubts and fears, unable to comprehend much of what Jesus says or does. 

            We look at the news and we see images of children being torn away from their parents, children in cages.  We hear government officials quoting a scripture verse to defend policies of arresting people who are fleeing violence and danger and separating families at the border.
            We listen to the stories of people impacted by poverty and hear what it’s like to live without running water in your home and what it’s like to try to get or hold a job in Detroit if you can’t afford a car and insurance. 
            Some of you have told me you struggle with despair and have a hard time seeing the hope. Maybe some of us can relate to what Rev. Jill Duffield wrote in The Presbyterian Outlook: “What kind of people have we become?" We are doomed. I am living in a dystopian novel.”[1]
            But the scripture texts the lectionary gives us for this Sunday tell us that God does not see things as we do. They say that God looks upon the heart, not outward appearances. They say: “We walk by faith and not by sight.”  They say: “We are always confident.” The texts say: “The love of Christ urges us on. We don’t live to ourselves. We regard no one from a human point of view. Anyone who is in Christ is a new creation.” The texts say: “The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed, tiny, insignificant, vulnerable--but explosive, with the potential and promise to nurture, shade, hide, protect the birds of the air and the beasts of the land…”
            So, I’m with Jill Duffield when she says, “I refuse to live as if I am a character in a dystopian novel. I won’t give up that easily. The texts won’t let me.”[2]
            There’s a tiny mustard seed of faith that won’t give up, that keeps sprouting through the cracks of our fatigue and doubt and cynicism and fear and hard-heartedness.
            This past week, we heard several powerful people invoking Romans 13 to say the Bible commands us to “obey the laws of the government because God has ordained them for the purpose of order,” and then we heard from many parts of the faith community in response.[3]  Since then, for those with “ears to hear,” it’s been like a Bible study on social media.
            We heard from biblical scholars who explained how the verse from Romans was distorted when it was taken out of context. The Rev. Dr. Margaret Aymer Oget and other scholars reminded us that we need to consider the verse in the larger context, in which the apostle Paul argued that all commandments are summed up in the teaching “Love your neighbor as yourself.” (Romans 13:9)[4]   The scholars have been reminding us that Paul continued, saying, “Love does no wrong to a neighbor. Therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.” (Romans 13:10) 
            Biblical scholars and others have been telling us that the first two verses of Romans 13 that say, “Let everyone be subject to the government authorities” have been quoted out of context over history to support laws and policies we now consider to be unjust and inhumane.
            At various times, very unjust and inhumane policies were the law of the land. For example, chattel slavery was the law of the land, and fugitive slave laws required people to return refugees from slavery as property to their "owners." People of faith and principle who provided assistance to them were breaking the law.  In the 1980’s, the same verses were used as proof texts against the end of Apartheid in South Africa.

            The issue of immigration in our country is complicated and requires the rigorous debate in which we are now engaged. Those who wish to invoke a biblical ethic need to be guided by this test of love. There is nothing loving about prying children from their parents’ arms when families are at their most vulnerable.
            Over the past few days, we have heard from various parts of the church.  The Catholic Bishops and others have been saying you can’t be pro-life and against immigrant children.[5]  We’ve heard from Evangelicals and mainline denominations and the National Council of Churches and the National Association of Evangelicals, denouncing the separation of families and speaking for just immigration policies.[6]
            These voices from around the church have also been reminding us that the Bible shouldn’t--and can’t--be used to argue against immigration. Passages from Exodus, Leviticus, Deuteronomy and the prophets teach us to care for the stranger and the immigrant: “When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you. You shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt. I am the LORD your God.”[7][8] That’s just one reference, from Leviticus 19, but there are plenty of others.[9]
            Like Jill Duffield, like a lot of you, I don’t want to live as if I’m a character in a dystopian novel.  I want to live in faith and hope. So, I want to trust that the reign of God is bursting into history and resting on us.
            In the parables we heard today, Jesus once again lifts up the grace and power of God taking the smallest seed and transforming it into a great plant that provides shelter and sustenance for all. 
            I’ve been amazed and encouraged to read and hear the conversations about what the scriptures and our faith traditions teach us about immigration and how we are called to live. [If you’ve missed this and want to check it out, you could do a Google search of Romans 13 and find all kinds of commentary.  Also, I shared links to a number of the articles on Facebook and, just now, in the footnotes to this sermon.]
            I’ve been encouraged by all the interest in looking at immigration and some other issues through the eyes of faith.

            I believe Jesus is looking for hungry hearts, for people for whom the world’s answers aren’t satisfying, those who are willing to keep our imaginations open.  Jesus calls us to follow, and
promises: “To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God.”
            Jesus wants us to know that we can trust the forces of God’s mercy and grace and love to bring in the kingdom of God.  Don’t be discouraged by the size of the beginning… or by drought or bad weather.  The kingdom of God will come.
            God’s Kingdom of grace and mercy will come, because God creates and gives it. The kingdom of God grows in hidden, mysterious ways.  We can trust God to produce the harvest—in God’s time and God’s ways.
            As disciples of Christ, we are called to make a difference in order for God’s kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven.  With a bit of courage—and a lot of imagination, “looking twice” at the world around us—we can trust that God is at work growing the kingdom in the midst of our ordinary lives—even when we can’t see it. 
            We are invited to live mustard seed lives until all the birds of the air have a place to make a nest, until every nation cares for the poor, until nobody goes to bed hungry, until there is a lovely shaded place for all to live.
            We have been given the secret of the reign of God.  This is the Good News of the gospel. 
            Amen!


Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor
Littlefield Presbyterian Church
Dearborn, Michigan
June 17, 2018


[1] Jill Duffield, “Looking Into the Lectionary,” in The Presbyterian Outlook.  https://pres-outlook.org/2018/06/4thsunday-after-pentecost-june-17-2018/
[2] Jill Duffield, “Looking Into the Lectionary.
[4] https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/acts-of-faith/wp/2018/06/15/what-jeff-sessions-got-wrong-when-quoting-the-bible/?utm_term=.31f55dbd6511

[7] Leviticus 19:33-34


Sunday, July 2, 2017

"Holy Hospitality." A Sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church on Matthew 10:40-42


"Holy Hospitality"

Matthew 10:40-42



            July Fourth is the anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence from Great Britain.
         The Declaration of Independence states, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” Most of us are less familiar with the part of this historic document that calls the original inhabitants of our nation “merciless Indian Savages.”  (Don’t take my word for this. Google it and read the document. I think we ought to read our nation’s founding documents at least once a year anyway.)
         We need to remember that each of the signers of the Declaration of Independence were white, land-owning men.  When the Constitution was ratified in 1787, slavery was assumed as part of the way things were in the world.  The Constitution declared that a slave would count as three-fifths of a person in determining the population of a state and deciding how many representatives the state would have in Congress. 
         Not everyone was included in the vision of “unalienable rights” in the Declaration of Independence.  It wasn’t until 1865, when the Thirteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution passed, that slavery and involuntary servitude were abolished in the United States.  In 1870 voting rights were extended to all male citizens, and in 1920 women gained the right to vote.  The road to freedom and justice for all is not an easy one. 

         On this Independence Day weekend, it’s a time for us to celebrate the many things that are good about our nation.
         But we need to remember that we follow Jesus, who came to live among us, full of grace and truth, preaching a gospel of repentance, and who claims our ultimate loyalty.  As followers of Jesus, we are continually challenged to re-dedicate ourselves to his mission, to living more fully into the kingdom of God, the kingdom of justice and peace, which we also know as Beloved Community.  As followers of Jesus, we need to repent of the ways we benefit from various privileges that others are not free to enjoy, of the systemic injustices we are reluctant to challenge.

            So I think it’s fitting that this Sunday has been designated as Immigration Sunday in the Presbyterian Church (USA), and that the gospel lesson assigned for today challenges us to think more deeply about what it means to welcome one another.
         Hospitality to strangers is a major theme in the Bible. When the Hebrews wander in the wilderness, God is a gracious host and provides them with manna and water. When the Hebrew refugees finally settle down and have a home, hospitality is written into their holy law: “You are to love the sojourner,” says the book of Deuteronomy, “for you yourselves were once sojourners in the land of Egypt.”[1]
         In Leviticus, we are taught, “When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien.  The foreigner who resides with you shall be to you as the native-born among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.”[2]
         The theme continues in the New Testament when Jesus teaches that acts of hospitality are actually a prime indicator of a person’s relationship with God. “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.”[3]
         The Book of Hebrews refers back to the Genesis story of Abraham and Sarah. “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers,” it says, “for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”[4]
         Our scriptures make it clear that hospitality to strangers is fundamental to our Christian way of life.

            Regardless of our political leanings, it seems that, at the very least, followers of Jesus know we are called to be loving, merciful, and compassionate. This should include those who pick our crops and do a lot of things that most Americans don’t want to do. At the very least, we can understand the anguish that many parents experience, that they are willing to seek a better life for their children--even if it means risking their lives. At the very least, our hearts should break when we hear about children being torn from their parents by immigration raids.
         At the least, those of us who don’t really understand the issues related to immigration and immigration reform need to commit ourselves to get better informed. Some of us took a step in that direction recently when we read and discussed the book Tell Me How It Ends in our Engage! Book Group. .[5]
         Valeria Luiselli, is a Mexican writer who was dealing with her own struggles with the immigration process, trying to get her green card, when she and her niece ended up serving as volunteer interpreters for a surge of child refugees    with an immigration court in New York City during the summer of 2014.  
         Depending on how the children answered the forty questions on the questionnaire, the children might or might not be granted legal sanctuary of some sort and a future in the United States.
         The children were from Mexico. Guatemala, El Salvadore, or Honduras. “How did you travel here?” they ask the children.  Most said, “I came on La Bestia,” which literally means “the beast,” and refers to the freight trains that cross Mexico.  As many as half a million Central Americans migrants ride La Bestia annually, on top the rail-cars or in between them. Thousands have died or been gravely injured.   The train itself is dangerous, and there are additional threats from smugglers, thieves, soldiers, or policemen who frequently threaten or attack the people on board. 
         Luiselli writes that, despite the dangers, desperate people, many of them children, “chase after life, even if that chase might end up killing them. Children run and flee. They have an instinct for survival, perhaps, that allows them to endure almost anything just to make it to the other side of horror, whatever might be waiting there for them.”[6]
         Luiselli had shared some of the children’s stories with her young daughter in the course of her work, and her daughter repeatedly asked, “Tell me how it ends, Mamma.” Luiselli has no answers for her.  So far, there are no happy endings. But toward the end of the book she offers a small hint of promise. This is an informative and heartbreaking little book, and it could be a start for any of you who need to understand immigration better.

         Our scriptures make it clear that extending hospitality to strangers is fundamental to our Christian way of life.  But what does that mean? What does it look like?
         Hospitality can mean some obvious things: offering food, drink, and shelter to the stranger in need. But in the Bible, hospitality is a much deeper concept. Hospitality is an attitude, a disposition of the heart, out of which acts of generosity naturally flow. Hospitality is a habit of the heart that needs to be cultivated. In order to do that, we need to overcome our hostility toward people who are strange to us.  We need to remember that each human being is created in the image of God[7] and is a beloved child of God.

         Our Christian faith calls us to welcome the stranger, but that idea is loaded for some, in our divided country.  As followers of Christ, we need to live as if we know that our citizenship is in heaven.[8] People of faith have a heritage of radical and risky welcome that goes back over the centuries.
         When individuals and congregations chose to serve as a stop on the underground railroad during slavery in the United States of America, the church was engaging in the risky business of welcome as sanctuary.
          In the late twentieth century, churches responded to a humanitarian crisis of thousands of Central American refugees fleeing violent conflicts, which in many cases were fueled by United States government policies. These churches created the 1980’s Sanctuary Movement, born along the southern borders of the United States.
         In recent months, the number of churches who have officially declared themselves to be sanctuary churches has grown exponentially. I know of Methodist churches in Detroit and Ferndale who have offered sanctuary for refugees. In Western North Carolina, congregations who can’t or don’t want to declare Sanctuary can declare themselves as a “Supporting Sanctuary” church, pledging resources, people, and assistance to those churches who have declared Sanctuary.
         Some of us, as individuals, have provided what support we can for the immigrant community by purchasing food, diapers, and other necessities.

         I think we have a lot of ambivalence about what Jesus’ call to welcome should look like today, in our context.  What does it look like to embody Jesus’ radical welcome?
         We call this space in which we worship the “sanctuary.” I’ve been thinking about what the word means, so I looked it up and found that it can describe the most sacred part of a religious building, where worship services are held. But it also means “a place of refuge and protection.”
         I think we need to practice talking about this in loving and constructive ways. Is this a place of refuge and protection for us? Is it a place of refuge and protection for others?  Whom are we willing to welcome, in the name of Jesus?
         I don’t have any definitive answers for the questions I’m asking today, but I do believe we need to be talking and praying about them.

         As we come to the Lord’s Table today, may we be open to experience Christ’s presence in this holy mystery.  May we be fed and strengthened.  As we experience God’s gracious love, may we be transformed.  May our commitment to Jesus Christ and his radical welcome be renewed.
         Then let us go out into the world to serve Jesus by speaking and embodying God’s truth and love.
         Amen!

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor
Littlefield Presbyterian Church
Dearborn, Michigan
July 2, 2017


[1] Deuteronomy 10:19
[2] Levitius 19:34
[3] Matthew 25
[4] Hebrews 13:2
[5] Valeria Luiselli, Tell Me How It Ends: An Essay in Forty Questions (Coffee House Press, 2017).
[6] Luiselli, pages 19-20.
[7] Genesis 1:26
[8] Philippians 3:20