Border Church
I said my last Alleluia before Lent in front of a 15-foot bollard wall topped with razor wire. On the other side of the wall there was a dirt access road and then another 30-foot wall. This in between space was the purpose of our journey. This is the space where migrants drop themselves from the top of the 30-foot wall down to the access road to turn themselves in to the border agents. They come with little to no food or water, and usually just the clothes on their backs. Our EDSD Migration Missioner Robert Vivar was there, along with my 5 Sunday School students, their adults, a couple of volunteers, and a few other visitors. I call it border church. I’m not sure if that is the official name, but what is done there is much more important than what I call it.
“Why do we need border walls?” That was the first question of the day. It had been asked earlier that morning during Sunday School by a 5th grader. It’s hard to answer the question of why we need border walls when a lot of people believe we don’t need them at all. The reason we have them is easier to answer, and it has a lot to do with fear. But that was a question for another day.
With this question in our mind, we followed a GPS pin to a dirt road west of the San Ysidro border crossing. The recent rain had left the road a bit precarious, but we finally arrived at a makeshift canvas shelter and unloaded supplies of food, water, and blankets. The next question came quickly: “Why are we bringing Ramen? They won’t have microwaves.” If our regular Sunday School classroom offers a gentle place for existential questions, this new outdoor classroom demanded practicality.
The student was right, there wasn’t a microwave, it didn’t look like there was electricity at all. But there was a two-burner gas camp stove where water was boiling, and a small table already set for communion. On one side of the chalice and paten was a case of water bottles for migrants who needed them. On the other side there was an insulated water dispenser filled with hot water from the camp stove. The spigot was poking slightly through the fence so migrants on the other side could make the ramen. The noodles would provide a bit of sustenance to those who had traveled many perilous miles in search of asylum.
The kids were observant, taking in everything Robert shared with us. But it was so much information, and so different from these kids’ experience, I could see them struggling to make sense of it all. If I’m honest, I was struggling to make sense of the enormity of the need and the complexity of the problem. Despite this, the kids didn’t shut down-they didn’t look away. The questions followed in a steady stream: “Why are there directions to get medical help?” “Why do they need blankets and tarps?” “Are there children too?” “Why are the instructions in so many different languages?”
The goal of this Family Day of Service was similar to our other ones—giving families the opportunity to serve Christ in others while at the same time learning about the experiences and challenges of those outside of our daily orbit. These are small steps to support children on their journey to figure out what it means to be a follower of Jesus. But if we put many small steps together, we end up with a solid foundation for them to build upon.
This Day of Service ended with Eucharist. Mother Dawn led the bilingual gathering, and when we got to the end- to the last Alleluias- they were easy to say. Alleluia! for the safety of the migrants, Alleluia! for the hard-working volunteers, Alleluia! for all who want to learn more and do more, and Alleluia! for the kids willing to take the time and do the hard work to make the world a little bit more like God’s desire for us.
By Erin O’Brien, Director of Christian Education