At the beginning of December, my students and I participated in a march in solidarity with migrants in transit through Mexico. We walked 20 miles along the train tracks from Huehuetoca to the Methodist church in Apaxco, joining two migrants from Honduras: a father and his 16 year old son.
We started out well, and I naïvely thought it wouldn’t be as difficult as I had imagined. After awhile, though, my backpack started to weigh on me and the sun grew stronger. I slipped on a greasy part of the tracks. I was okay (just covered in grease), but my water got carried off by someone who had stopped to help. My boots felt tight. I was thirsty. I began to wonder if I would make it the rest of the way. We were walking such a small percentage of the journey from Mexico’s southern border to its northern border, yet we were exhausted.
I felt tired and sweaty and thirsty, and as I observed homes and restaurants off in the distance, I felt far from everyday Mexican life. My anger grew. No one should have to live this way, traveling clandestinely and running into thieves, drug cartels, gangs, and exploitative government agents, but U.S. and Mexican immigration policies make it so. I felt in my body a little of what migrants feel every day, and that cemented my frustration with how we treat other people and what our governments have done to do cause this situation. I felt that pain and fatigue in my body, and I won’t soon forget it.
We walked north, towards Mexico’s northern border. The goal is the U.S. for most and Mexico’s industrial northern cities for some (they say there is plenty of work in cities like Monterrey). As we walked, I thought of the U.S. at the end of this 40-day journey—the U.S. on the other side of the border marked by walls and the unforgiving Sonoran Desert. The U.S., my home. I thought of my family waiting for me for Christmas. Some of the people that walk the train tracks towards the north also have family in the U.S. They also think of the U.S. as home. They walk day in and day out to get back there.
Before we began our trek, I had received good news. Isaac, my partner of three years, had gotten approved for a tourist visa to travel to the U.S. After two previous failed attempts and a few years of hoping, this time he had finally been approved. I felt ecstatic—he would finally know my home and my family—and yet on this walk it felt bittersweet. As we walked kilometer after kilometer with our faces towards the U.S., we knew in a few weeks we would fly there together, but we also knew that we couldn’t take along our new friends. Why were we more deserving of a safe travel than them?
When it came time to fly to the U.S., I also thought of my friends from Deportados Unidos en la Lucha. They go to the airport to meet the three planes that arrive every week filled with people getting deported from the U.S.. I was at the airport to fly in the opposite direction. My friends are deportees who call the U.S. home (or a home) and who have family still there who miss them every day. Why am I more deserving of a trip back home than them?
The truth, of course, is that I’m not more deserving. We’re in this situation because of the unequal political and economic power distribution between the Global South and the Global North. We’re in this situation because of xenophobia and racism and racial profiling. Therefore, we can and should give a blanket to a migrant in transit and offer work to a deportee, but we also have to work to dismantle our unjust systems.
On Sunday, February 18, we celebrated Migrant Sunday in the Methodist Church of Mexico. In preparation for the day, I wrote a liturgy and an essay that were sent to all Methodist pastors in Mexico. Below is a translated version of the essay I wrote:
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Every year when we as the Methodist Church of Mexico celebrate Migrant Sunday, we have the opportunity to reflect upon what has happened this year for the migrants among us.
Unfortunately, this year brought us a lot of bad news. The U.S. government continues to deport Mexicans (among others) in impressive numbers. In Mexico, these deportees receive little or no help from the government or civil society. In September, the United States announced that it will cancel the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program, which protected from deportation certain undocumented youth. Because of this decision, many Mexican young people are at risk of deportation from the U.S. In November and recently in January, the U.S. government declared that it would end Temporary Protective Status (TPS) for Nicaraguans, Salvadorans, and Haitians, in addition to the Sudanese. The members of these communities with TPS could be deported once their protection ends and eventually could try to transit through or live in Mexico. There are already communities of Haitians that have established themselves in Mexico—especially on the northern border—when they were not able to enter the U.S.
The demonstration “One Year with Trump” was organized by Deportados Unidos en la Lucha and took place outside the U.S. embassy in Mexico City. The group brought articles collected from deportees arriving to the Mexico City airport, including the white plastic sacks given to migrants to hold their belongings.
Mexico continues to be a difficult trajectory for migrants in transit. From the southern border to the northern border, migrants in transit face violence—including sexual violence—at the hands of Mexican society, drug cartels, the government, and sometimes other migrants. The Mexican government continues to deport more Central Americans than the U.S. Many people suffer human trafficking or are mistreated by the coyotes that guide them (for example, the cases of more than 100 people dying of thirst and abandoned in the back of semi-trucks).
Thousands of migrants every year walk along the train tracks of the train nicknamed “La Bestia.” On this journey, they face extreme conditions, including violence.
Throughout this year there were also many happy and hopeful stories: the visas, residencies, and citizenships that were approved; the graduations of im/migrants or their children; the migrants that have found home in their new place of residence; the groups of migrant activists that have come together to fight for their rights; the new opportunities for work and education; and the communities that have welcomed foreigners. It is important to recognize the injustices, but it also important to celebrate the victories and the beautiful moments.
The gospel reading this week is Mark 1:9-15. In this passage, Jesus is baptized by John and receives confirmation that he is the son of God. Afterwards he spends 40 days in the desert, where he is tested by Satan. Following the desert, Jesus goes to Galilee to proclaim that the Kingdom of God is drawing near.
If we read these passage with the lens of migration, the first thing that draws our attention is the desert. The desert is an image and experience extremely present for Mexican and Latin American migrants that have crossed the desert to reach the United States. In addition, it is an important symbol in the Judeo-Christian imagination: the time that Jesus spends in the desert reminds us of the experiences of Moses and Hagar in the desert and of the 40 years that the Israelites spend there. All of those biblical figures are also migrants. Hagar is an Egyptian woman that is thrown out of Abraham’s home twice (the first time pregnant and the second time with her son) and experiences thirst in the desert as a result. Moses is an Israelite but lives in Pharaoh’s house and flees to the desert, where he lives for years, gets married to someone outside his community, and builds a whole new life. In the end, he returns to liberate his community from slavery, and he guides the Israelites for 40 years in the desert but never enters the Promised Land.
With his experience wandering in the desert, Jesus shows us his identity as a migrant and an aspect of his incarnation: he experiences with us the difficulties of life and temptation. The theme of Jesus as a migrant can be found throughout the gospels. Other gospels tell us of migrant baby Jesus born in Bethlehem, of migrant child Jesus that flees to Egypt, and of Jesus the adult who does not have a place to lay his head (Mt 8:20).
Jesus’s time in the desert follows his baptism. Baptism in the Christian life announces the end of an era and the beginning of a new era. It is significant that the time in the desert goes together with his baptism because the desert is often a space of liminality and transition. For Jesus it is a part of his transition to enter his ministry. For the migrants on their way to the U.S., crossing the desert is a rite of passage; the space of the desert marks the change between their place of origin and their destination. For those that transit through Mexico, the path of the train “the Beast” is a part of their rite of passage and their transition.
It is following his time as a migrant in the desert that Jesus goes to announce the gospel—that the Kingdom of God draws near. His good news come out of his suffering, his tribulations, and his temptation. After such a difficult and heavy experience, perhaps you and I would have offered a more pessimistic or hateful message. After a year of such injustice for migrants of all kinds, we could draw negative conclusions—that the situation will never improve. However, Jesus comes out of the desert with a message of hope and justice. His hope and his fight for justice are based on a drawing near to the human reality, and that’s how we realize that his gospel is not something empty or shallow. Jesus knows our context, but he also knows that the Kingdom of God—a kingdom of justice, love, peace, and equality—will prevail.
In the same way, we can familiarize ourselves with the situation of the migrants among us, seeing all the injustice, division, violence, and sadness, without concluding that all is lost. We can follow the example of Jesus and of activists by recognizing the reality but at the same time seeking to change the world. The migrant journey through Mexico is difficult, but there are churches like the Methodist Church “La Santísima Trinidad” [1] in Apaxco, State of Mexico, that have organized themselves to offer hospitality to migrants. There are borders that divide us, but El Faro: the Border Church[2] meets on both sides of the wall between Tijuana and San Diego to celebrate a binational Eucharist. There is human trafficking, but Dreams[3] goes into various migrant detention centers in Mexico to accompany migrants and to detect victims of trafficking. Deportations interrupt lives and divide families, but groups such as Deportados Unidos en la Lucha[4] in Mexico City and Dreamer Moms[5] in Tijuana are fighting for their rights. I invite you to investigate and get to know the reality and the inspiring work of migrants in your region.
The challenges are great and the realities are complex (Jesus knows it well), but Jesus invites us to participate in bringing the Kingdom of God on earth. This Migrant Sunday, let us celebrate the victories and the beautiful moments, let us recognize the injustices and the suffering, and let us commit ourselves to seeking the Kingdom of God and fighting for a better Mexico and a better world.
To close, I offer a litany that I wrote:
For welcome upon arriving to a new community, we give you thanks. For the feeling of being at home, wherever that may be, we give you thanks. For work and educational opportunities, we give you thanks. For policies that open doors to us, we give you thanks.
For bridges, we give you thanks.
For generalized violence that causes us to flee, we ask you for justice. For governments that deport migrants and divide families, we ask you for justice. For human trafficking and coyotes that abuse us, we ask you for justice. For communities that don’t accept deportees and returnees, we ask you for justice.
Kenya is already feeling the effects of climate change. The widespread poverty, recurrent droughts and floods, inequitable land distribution, overdependence on rain-fed agriculture, and few coping mechanisms all combine to increase people’s vulnerability to climate change. For instance, disadvantaged people have little security against intense climatic actions. They have few resource reserves and poor housing and depend on natural resources for their living. Floods and droughts have caused damage to property and loss of life, have reduced business opportunities, and have increased the cost of transacting business, as recently witnessed in most parts of the country. Climate change and variability are considered to be major threats to sustainable progress. The areas likely to feel the greatest impacts are the economy, water, ecosystems, food security, coastal zones, health, and the distribution of populations and settlements. Africa is considered vulnerable to climate change’s effects largely due to lack of financial, institutional, and technological capacity.
Has Climate change officer ( missionary )working with Pan African Climate justice alliance ( PACJA)
In order to successfully deliver the strategic plan on how to address the climate change issue, PACJA uses an approach that integrates research, advocacy, partnerships development, capacity building, and awareness creation.
Advocacy comprises the core business of PACJA. The Alliance undertakes evidence-based advocacy aimed at improving the policy and laws regarding natural resources management. The research work that PACJA supports, the partnerships it develops, and the capacities it strengthens are all supportive of the advocacy function.
Local communities that are key custodians of natural resources remain vulnerable to climate change, have low adaptive capacity, and lack sufficient capacity in the sustainable management of natural resources. PACJA mobilizes and coordinates capacity building efforts targeting the community and other key stakeholders.
PACJA recognizes the knowledge and information gap in society about climate change and larger environmental and natural resources values and threats. PACJA uses a comprehensive knowledge management approach in creating awareness of effective climate/environmental threat coping mechanisms and wise use of natural resources.
PACJA also supports and facilitates research to generate new information and knowledge that is both used internally to support climate resilience-building and natural resources management, making the same available to other stakeholders for use in a variety of ways.
PACJA recognizes the importance of developing and sustaining strategic partnerships. The Alliance continues to identify and strengthen partnerships with a variety of stakeholders ranging from small community support groups, religious organizations, civil society organizations, private businesses, government institutions, and international networks.
Are you willing to support the missionary work of helping people of Kenya with climate change issues and how to eradicate the issues that cause disaster in Kenya?
Your action today can save millions of lives tomorrow so support GOD’s work by promoting the work of Global Mission Fellows. Show your love to God and to people by supporting this mission work of addressing climate change issue.
The poem “Fern Hill” by Dylan Thomas, is a magnificent weaving of the spell we cast upon ourselves. We are enchanted by the desire for times past, for innocence, for the power of knowing nothing outside of the gate of the front yard. The last two lines of the poem read:
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea
I first heard the poem when I sang “Fern Hill” with my University Choir. My understanding of it was all wrapped up into the images of green British countryside and the pastoral nostalgia of a man’s yearning for his childhood ignorance. I did not expect these lines to follow me to Tanzania. In the small town of Tarime, desperately searching for a role to take on, this poem now reads in a tone much more sinister. It names the prison I have build for myself. Sticking to “what the research says” and the most progressive models of community organizing are what responsible people do, right? It is best to maintain a structure that is familiar and recommended. If a community doesn’t respond well then there must be something wrong with them, not the plan. Just like a mind palace, I know where everything fits and how to get there as long as no one interferes. These plans keep me green, fresh, and hopeful. They keep outsiders irrelevant and inhuman.
As long as I have these expectations and have confidence that they will be met, I am shielded from a reality in which these expectations and my supposed knowledge are not enough. Whole systems are built to protect green bubbles of expectation. Missionaries are sent out, NGOs are formed, political parties created to implement these expectations and to insist that things are better because of them.
Green and dying
So money is raised, rousing speeches made to cheering audiences, all with confidence that we can make change, that we have the answer and the means to that end. We talk about success so loudly we fail to hear the dying just beyond the fence. We fail to realize that insistence on This Way kills the chance for A Way. But who cares? We can only see as far as the green grass of the front yard.
I sang in my chains like the sea.
We create our own prison, we never reach the land because everything we touch becomes part of the green green sea and we never see the dying. For Thomas to write this, he must have at least glimpsed something beyond the “apple boughs” and the “dingle starry.” It must have scared him, for this poem is indeed a longing for those chains, for that green prison. Maybe this is not the most hopeful message, but it is a message that we must hear. As people of God we are called to step outside of the gate, to set aside answers to questions that no one is asking, and to see the dying.
The Good News is that in seeing how we destroy ourselves, we have an opportunity for life. We have opportunity to do what we fear we cannot do outside of a singing prison. If we let go of the illusion of green, we allow the possibility for spring to blossom in its time.
Seeing first hand the difficulties experienced in marginalized and undeveloped communities. Coming across several stories of despair. Seeing many of humanities challenges suffocate communities of life. Challenges that include HIV/AIDS, Poverty, Unemployment, Human Conflict, Corruption, Exploitation, etc. All those things that challenge a peaceful, sustainable, equal, hopeful, and prosperous human society across the world.
And yet, I say 2017 was a year’s worth of hope.
Theologian Emil Brunner wrote, “What oxygen is for the lungs, such is hope for the meaning of human life. Take oxygen away and death occurs through suffocation; take hope away and humanity is constricted through lack of breath; despair supervenes, spelling the paralysis of intellectual and spiritual powers by a feeling of senselessness and purposelessness of existence. As the fate of the human organism is dependent on the supply of oxygen, so the fate of humanity is dependent on its supply of hope.”
True indeed, hope gives life to our dreams and vision for humanity and our communities. Hope sustains the life in our dreams and visions for humanity. Hope strengthens the life in our dreams and vision in the midst of challenge and opposition. And more desirable, hope gives us the will to act on our dreams for humanity. Hope reinforces that will to act in the midst of challenges and opposition.
And our hope is not merely hope; I have seen the reality of things hoped for.
I have seen mothers living with HIV conceive and have healthy children–the future of an HIV free generation. I have seen people living with mental and physical challenges walk out of their homes without experiencing any discrimination or stigma. I have seen communities letting their leaders know they are not doing things that will make for a just society. I have seen people of diverse origins reaching out to one another.
The reality of things we hope for is evident in humanitarian action, goodwill, just and peaceful human intervention, inclusive and progressive action, sustainable and constructive technological across the world. The reality of things hoped for. Unity and peace among peoples. Cooperation between peoples. Transformation of health, economic and social situation of communities. Breakthroughs in holding our leaders accountable and responsive to the needs of communities and people.
As I reflect on the year 2017 and look forward to 2018, I am more hopeful. And may many others be as hopeful, sharing the hope for a ‘better’ world, acting on such hope.
Seeking to Renounce My Heterosexual Privilege As A Certified Candidate For Ordained Ministry in the United Methodist Church
April 27, 2017
I believe that God has called me to social justice ministry. If I really love my neighbor, how could I accept or ignore the systems and institutions that harm and oppress her?
I often find myself thinking/talking about my privilege, noting that I benefit because I have white skin, I was born in the US, I speak English as a first language, I am a Christian in a “Christian” nation, I never had to “come out” as straight or cisgender, etc. I recognize that there is injustice whenever I benefit from one of my identities while someone else is disadvantaged because she does not share that identity.
Nevertheless, I confess that I have been a hypocrite. While I have been willing to speak this truth, I have not taken any risks to act upon it. I have wanted to hold on to my privilege, including the privilege that comes from being a heterosexual, cisgender person.
While “self-avowed practicing homosexuals are not to be certified as candidates, ordained as ministers, or appointed to serve in The United Methodist Church,” and while “ceremonies that celebrate homosexual unions shall not be conducted by our ministers and shall not be conducted in our churches,” we make LGBTQ people (and many young people, family members, professed allies, etc.) feel less welcomed, less accepted, and less loved by the Church–and by extension, less loved by God. Imagine how this looks to someone who did not grow up in the Church or who left the Church upon feeling judged!
I continue to benefit from my privilege as a straight, cis person, while my LGBTQ friends are disadvantaged for who they are and who they love, both in society and within the United Methodist Church, and that is an injustice.
In conclusion: After a year of prayerful discernment, I have found the courage to finally write this. It is difficult for me to include this in my Candidacy file because I grew up in the UMC, I love the UMC, I am serving as a Global Mission Fellow US-2 Missionary, and I absolutely hope to one day be ordained as a Deacon, living out my call to faith-based social justice ministry through the UMC. However, I feel that I must refuse to be ordained in the United Methodist Church until my LGBTQ friends also have the same opportunities that I have, without restriction.
I hope to remain a Certified Candidate and will continue with the next step in the process (for me, the education requirement), as I pray for the Church and wait to know if the way forward will include justice for the LGBTQ community.
Thank you.
The Book of Fellows 