Death at the Border

It was some years ago that I took this photo. At the time, I was seated on a bench just by the Chisholm Trail marker (cattle would cross at this point in the river and then would be herded down Elizabeth Street, the main drag in Brownsville).

I noticed two young men getting into the river from the Mexican side. I took their picture, and then sat back down. (You can barely make them out, in the center of the picture).

When the men reached the US side of the river, one of them managed to crawl out of the water and up onto the bank, but the other fellow--Luis, I learned his name in a sad way--floundered. I got up from the bench and began wondering what I could do. As Luis thrashed about, his companion threw him a long branch, which the man managed to grab hold of. I sat back down.

And then Luis disappeared beneath the waters.

His friend began screaming, "Luis! Luis!"

And so I learned his name, shortly after he drowned.

Some years ago, the Roman Catholic bishops of the dioceses that run along the US/Mexico border published a startling piece called "Strangers No Longer: Together on a Journey of Hope." In this letter, they argue strongly for a secure border. But they mean this in a different way than Michael Chertoff, the Secretary for Homeland Security, and the members of Congress. While those people want a border wall--a barrier between our two countries, the bishops argue for a space along the border in which all people enjoy security. Even those attemting to cross from one country to another.

People like Luis.

Familia

Rachel has raised her children and now she is a grandmother. Two years ago, Rachel’s mother passed away and her father was left alone at his ranch in a small town in Mexico. He was not doing well, physically, or emotionally, so she brought him to her home here in Brownsville, and set him up in the back bedroom. He doesn’t sleep well and often becomes confused at night, wandering throughout the house. Rachel loses her sleep caring for him, but he is, after all her father.

Sara is Rachel’s niece. Sara was born in the USA, but raised in the same small town as Rachel’s father. A couple of years ago, Sara entered the third grade. Sara’s father discovered that, for the third time, Sara was going to have the same teacher and the same books. He sent her north, to Rachel. Rachel set Sara up in the front bedroom, and sent her off to a real third grade class.

Sara require a bit of attention. But Rachel cares for her. She is, after all, family.

The lessons for me in this are too many to count, although startling to contemplate.

Yes We Did

The San Felipe de Jesús congregation did its part in this election, turning out 20% more voters than the 2004 election. They joined with Latino voters across the country in hopes for a change in the political climate—one less fear-filled, one that would embrace those who live and work amongst us as brothers and sisters, but without a legal status in the country. The specter of an “illegal alien” can indeed be frightening.

The face of a little sister from Mexico who brings and shares her hopes with us is. . .lovely indeed.

Día de los muertos (All Souls' Day)

This past weekend, while the children dressed as the spirits of Halloween, the adults prepared their home altars for the yearly visit of the spirits of those who have passed on. The feast of All Souls (November 2nd) is an ancient tradition—in the Americas, one that goes back long before the Europeans arrived—a celebration of the presence of those who have died.

The altars are elaborate; the symbols many. Tissue paper with ornaments cut into the center hangs along the edges of the altar, the better to catch the breeze, representing the breath of God moving amongst us all. There are candy skulls and pictures of skeletons dancing and playing guitar. The message is clear: death may be respected, but it is not to be feared.

A candle is lighted for each loved one who has died. One other candle is lighted for those who have died and have been forgotten. On this day, all are welcomed home.

Bright orange flowers—marigolds—are laid out in a path that leads the spirits to the altar. Incense is burned, reminding us of the transformation from death to life. Photos of the dearly departed are arranged amongst plates of the food that they used to enjoy when with us (tamales, mole, atole).

And one or two details are place here and there on the altar—a baseball cap that grandpa used to wear, the old watch of a favorite uncle. The last bit of adornment is perhaps the most important: silence. The family gathers beholds the altar in silence, and in silence receive the blessed memory of those who have gone before us.

(Altar de los muertos, San Felipe de Jesús, designed by Elizabeth Garcia and parishioners)

God Votes

Karina turned 18 just a short while ago. On Wednesday, she cast her first vote as a citizen.

A bit intimidating, that whole song and dance of showing id and signing two sets of papers and then picking a ballot. And then reading the ballot.

And making a decision.

But she did it. Happily.

God keeps sending us people like Karina. They give me great joy and hope and a grand sense of well-being.

I see it as God voting.

I think I know who God is for.

Ending Violence Against Women

Throughout the month of October we take time to reflect on violence done against women. In our border area, the violence has taken particularly vicious forms, including torture and murder.

In the midst of that curse, there are moments of promise. Groups such as the Friendship of Women offer clear avenues of escape for victims of violence. In our parish community, I have seen more and more women come forward to denounce the abuse that they have suffered. I have been encouraged by the increasing number of young women who are growing up with the expectation that they will serve their communities as leaders. I am impressed by the number of women who, even as girls, are learning about the different manifestations of violence, as well as how to respond to it.

Our parish community prays and watches, in hope, for that day when the hold that violence has upon us is broken, once, and for all.