Thursday, October 16, 2014

Hidden faces.  “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

There’s a way of life that those of us who haven’t experienced cannot quite comprehend. A shadow world, every bit as real and as vivid as the environment of light in which we reside.

We stood on the banks of the Rio Grande as a boat of Border Patrol agents pulled up. Many covered their faces with handkerchiefs or masks so we would not see their faces. Their concern:  their children and spouses. If the wrong people ID them, they’ll find their families and seek retribution.

Cameras oversee the beauty of the desert, coincidentally a birder’s paradise. No photos or lingering on the myriad diversity of wildlife, it seeks out the hidden person in the shadows, trying to make their way to the U. S. without “presenting themselves,” as one border patrol agent put it. Striving for anonymity, staying quiet, avoiding detection, hoping to blend into community and stay in the shadows.

A woman takes the abuse of an angry, alcoholic partner, bearing bruises in silence, remaining hidden until the evidence fades. A shadow life shared by women at all economic levels, in every society.  (Men, too, suffer in these shadows). Down on the border police are not called, for the shadows may be multi-layered.

Borderlands Landscape

Anonymity saves lives and opens doors. Many Christians receive hate mail for giving water in Jesus’s name. Anonymity protects their homes from vandalism and breach, and harsh words from angry neighbors.  But still they work, they care and they minister.

The heartbeat of Christ flows through the Valley like the rushing waters of the Rio Grande. Christians living in the light – pastors, priests, community activists, young and old, attorneys and retired folks  – reach a hand of hope and compassion to every sector of Valley life.

So we pray. We pray for the beleaguered border patrol who get portrayed as merciless, who quietly shampoo children’s hair and pick out the lice. They hold crying babies and change diapers while their colleagues save people from downing in the rushing river.  And they hid their faces from us. We pray for children finding refuge after witnessing their family members murdered by gangs.  We pray for the workers, for strength and courage.

We’ve seen and heard so much this week. We’ve listened and learned.  We’ve learned there are times to be silent and a time to speak, all woven together in this place at this time.

We leave this place, knowing that as we leave the place the shadows remain and we must speak. And we ponder, “What is the next step?” We will each find our next steps in diverse ways, but I know we will each move forward, lifting our voices in all manner of ways, because the shadows will not (and should not) allow us to forget.  

Janet Hahn