To be delivered tomorrow at St. John’s Church, Bisbee and St. Stephen’s, Douglas. Both churches are near the Mexican border; one within eyeshot (a mere 10 blocks from the port of entry into Agua Prieta). Because of my twelve weeks with them and my intention to preach one, overarching story over these twelve weeks, I am using the lectionary for the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany rather than for the Feast of the Presentation.
Matthew 5:1-12
1.
Last week, we heard about Jesus calling his first disciples and explored just how radical that calling was; and how our call to follow Jesus today is similarly radical.
Last week, also, we contemplated the meaning of evangelism—that part of our call known as the good news.
How are we supposed to proclaim it? What actions are we called to take?
I argued for context: the good news we proclaim and the actions we take are defined, at least in part, by our social and historical contexts.
As I drew my sermon to a close, I stated that our context here in southeast Arizona is defined by a geographic border.
This border is one of the many things that defines each of our lives—ourselves; and our neighbors. That means, when we look outwardly, thinking about the mission Jesus has left for us, the good news we proclaim and the good deeds we do are defined by this border too.
What, then, is our good news? In our particular, border-defined context, what message should we proclaim and what actions should we take to tell this part of the world that Jesus’ Way of Love is alive and well; and that it will prevail?
Just how do we demonstrate God through Christ to the world around us?
Anyway, that was last week.
Today, I want—and the Gospel compels us—to dive deeper.
2.
So, I’ve been reading an eye-opening book over the past couple of weeks by an Arizona man named Todd Miller. It’s called Storming the Wall: Climate Change, Migration, and Homeland Security. And, in good journalistic fashion, this book outlines just what the subtitle says.
Climate change is affecting our world. Sea levels are rising. Massive storms, unlike any in recorded history, are predicted. Of the first 16 years of the 21st century, 15 were the hottest on record.
An important corollary to climate change is migration. Because of rising sea levels and the advent of superstorms, people are being displaced from their homes on a massive scale: climate refugees, Miller calls them.
And this massive-scale displacement is not going to diminish any time soon. Rather, given the anticipated rise in sea levels globally, we can expect migration—the numbers of displaced people all over the world—to increase significantly throughout our lifetimes and the lifetimes of our children and even our grandchildren.
At the same time, Miller observes, many of the wealthiest countries around the world—countries with the resources to make them best able to help climate refugees—the U. S., Australia, Iceland, Poland, and several others—are clamping down on their borders.
Do you know that our country’s annual operating budget for border security is over $20 billion? This is in addition to the construction of the wall, with a recently updated price tag of $11 billion.
That’s a lot of money–$20 billion a year!
I wonder how many refugees our country could accommodate with that kind of money, or how much work towards environmental sustainability we could accomplish. . . .
So, anyway, this is where the “Homeland Security” part of Miller’s subtitle comes in.
And this is where his book resonates most keenly with us.
3a.
For, I’m sure we’ve all experienced Border Patrol checkpoints.
For me, it’s never been an issue; maybe for you too.
I drive towards the armed agent in the familiar forest-green uniform slowly, only somewhat conscious of the staggered, decreasing speed limits confronting me every few feet; and, arriving at the booth, I roll down my window and nod when the agent makes eye contact.
At this point the agent usually waves me through with a statement along the lines of, “Have a good day, sir.”
Occasionally it has been a little more involved—like one time on Imperial County Highway S2, the old stagecoach route between Interstate 8 and Warner Springs, California, when an agent engaged me in a more detailed inquiry.
“Where are you coming from,” he asked; “and where are you going?”
After a fairly brief conversation in which I explained I was traveling from Yuma to Temecula, I got the familiar, “Thanks. You have a good day, sir.”
Point being, to a stop, from my perspective it’s always been a polite exchange with never much else; I hardly notice the guns and Billy clubs they carry.
But I’m white—as in Caucasian. And I drive a late model vehicle. And, like it or not, the Department of Homeland Security is allowed to profile people according to race and perceived wealth.
My Border Patrol checkpoint experiences have always been benign.
3b.
However, to a person of color, the Border Patrol checkpoint experience can be downright intimidating, frightening, and even traumatic.
In his book, Miller tells the story of Joshua Garcia, whose “pulse quickens every time he approaches a U. S. Border Patrol checkpoint” (p. 145). Miller explains:
Garcia has done nothing wrong. He is also a U. S. citizen. But he feels that sense of dread . . . Maybe this time, as on many occasions, they would just wave him through. Perhaps he’d be able to continue on his way back to Tucson as the harsh afternoon light softens into dusk. He hopes that is the case, because he has two kids from the youth council with him (146).
As Miller narrates, Garcia and the two youths were returning to Tucson after spending the day in the Tohono O’odham Nation. There are Border Patrol checkpoints on every paved road out of the sovereign nation.
To cut to the chase, that day did not go well for Garcia and the children. Miller continues:
When Garcia lurches ahead and finally reaches the authorities, they just wave him over to a secondary inspection. . . . Garcia slowly drives into the secondary inspection site. He drives to where the armed agents are standing. . . . [when] he hears a forceful, a commanding voice yelling: “Get out of the vehicle!” The voice is urgent, as if there are explosives somewhere, as if there were a bomb, as if someone were in danger (150-51).
So, Garcia and the kids complied; only to be commanded, once they were out of the car, “Get back!”
Then, seeing an agent begin to search through one of the kid’s backpacks, Garcia said, “We don’t consent to a search”;
To which the agent, armed with his Billy club and pistol, briskly walked toward Garcia and shouted in his face, “Get the <expletive> back!”
Eventually, Garcia and the kids were allowed to go on their way. But Miller cannot help but wonder—me too—if the verbal assault traumatized the kids.
And there’s this: I cannot help but wonder if Joshua Garcia is feeling displaced from the land that he and his family for generations have called home—in effect, a domestic refugee.
Fear and violence (or the threat of it) are the means often used by Border Patrol agents to police our borders today.
And if Miller’s predictions about climate change’s effects on migration come true, fear and violence will only increase in the generations to come.
Does this police-state scenario sadden you? Does it leave you feeling—I don’t know—maybe kind of hopeless?
4.
On that note, let’s check back in with Jesus.
Last week he called his first four disciples and set off with them on a mission to proclaim the good news and heal the sick.
And now, here, today, he offers us an example of what it is to proclaim the good news: today Jesus begins to deliver his Sermon on the Mount. And he says:
- Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
- Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
- Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
And so on.
There’s hope here. And it’s not just some pie-in-the-sky hope, idealistic or imagined. It’s real. As real as the geographic border that defines our southeast-Arizona context!
In fact, we’ve seen hope already, today, in the things I’ve said. You may not have noticed it, but it’s there—if you just look in the right places.
So, to point these out, in the first place, remember that Jesus’ original audience was full of people who were oppressed politically—people like Joshua Garcia. Many of them lived desperate lives, struggling continually to find hope.
In the second place, notice that these beatitudes are in the indicative mood, not the imperative. What do I mean? They’re statements, about the way things are, in the present—not commands; not attributes to which followers of Jesus should aspire (which is how they’re usually interpreted).
In other words, there is hope for those who are presently being displaced by the political machine.
In the third place, recall the ground we’ve covered with Jesus over the last few weeks. There are two conflicting powers at work in the world. One, the Way of Domination, is the way by which the world by and large operates. The other, the Way of Love, is the mission Jesus has left for his followers to do.
Putting these “right places” together then: The Way of Domination may very well be holding us or our neighbors in a position where, like Joshua Garcia, we are poor in spirit, mourning, and meek.
But(!), the Way of Love, a. k. a. the kingdom of heaven, is gradually overcoming the old Way; and thereby, simultaneously, the meek are being comforted: the meek presently are inheriting the earth!
Do you see? When the Way of Domination is at work, people are reviled, made meek, downtrodden, etc.
But when the Way of Love is at work, blessings prevail, hope overcomes despair, the meek—the Joshua Garcias of the world—inherit the earth.
***
The Way of Domination controls our borders through fear and intimidation and violence.
And we are called to respond to this Way of Domination with the Way of Love.
What does our response look like?
Offering meals to asylum seekers camped on the Mexico side of the border?
Yes, no question! And, please, keep up the good work!
But to push back a little, what about offering sanctuary to an undocumented person?
Now it becomes a little more difficult, eh?
Our southeast-Arizona context confronts us with difficult questions. My exhortation to you as a community of Jesus-followers; and especially to the Bishop’s Committee and wardens as you consider leading this congregation through these questions, is this:
Walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself for us, an offering and sacrifice to God.
Where we see the Way of Love at work—where we proclaim it and demonstrate it through our actions—there hope overcomes despair.
Vivens in sacerdotium 