I Can Hear Mexico Calling
Following the call as a YAGM through the ELCA
I, along with three other YAGM volunteers, attended a conference this week on faith and migration given by the Fraternidad Teológica Latinoamericana (Latin American Theological Brotherhood). Together we met with people from all over the Americas—everywhere from Argentina to Canada. It was heavy, and we were met with more questions than answers as we discussed the realities and natures of migration in each of our countries. Unfortunately, the consensus was that although some countries treat them better than others, no country in the Americas treat immigrants and asylum seekers well. The conference was planned long before there was any word of the caravan of asylum seekers from Central America and yet that became the tangible focus of the conference. There are now more than 7,000 people crossing borders in search of refuge from the violence and corruption of their homelands and in search of the human rights that they have been denied. At the conference we discussed our call to react to the issue of migration from the perspective of Christian theology. One of the presenters focused on the story of Ruth and Naomi to illustrate the intersection between faith and migration. In the story of Ruth and Naomi, Naomi left her home in Bethlehem because of a terrible famine. She moved to Moab with her husband and two sons. There her sons each married a Moabite woman, one of whom was Ruth. After Naomi’s husband and sons died, she heard that the land in Bethlehem had been restored and she decided to move back home. She told her daughters-in-law to stay in Moab, but Ruth wanted to go with Naomi, famously saying, “Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God” Ruth 1:16. Naomi left Bethlehem grieving the state of her homeland and moved back grieving the loss of her husband and sons. Ruth, having lost her husband had no rights in her homeland of Moab, and so decided to follow Naomi to Bethlehem. Ruth accompanied Naomi in her grief and in her travels. Ruth and Naomi represent the vulnerability of women in migration, having to rely on the kindness of strangers, gleaning the fields for food, and trusting in the grace of God. The people in the caravan seeking asylum each have a different story for why they are leaving their country. It might not be because of famine. It might be because of oppressive governments, gang violence, economic disparity, or family reunification—all of which the United States government has had a hand in whether it be by supporting dictators (such as the Oswaldo Lopéz Arellano of Honduras, Efraín Ríos Montt of Guatemala, and Revolutionary Government Junta of El Salvador), funding cartels, imposing oppressive companies upon Central American economies such as the United Fruit Company and Standard Oil, or the separation of families. I learned during the conference that 90% of women are raped during the process of migration. People do not flee their country because they think it will be fun. They flee their countries because they believe that whatever they encounter could not be worse from the reality they were living at home. Caring for the foreigner, for the migrant, and for the refugee is not only a civil responsibility. It is a spiritual responsibility as the people who seek asylum today walk the same footsteps as our spiritual ancestors. For Jesus, who came from the line of Ruth, was also a refugee. Just as I believe that God walks with the asylum seeker, I believe that we are called to walk with them in whatever ways we can—physically, emotionally, spiritually, and politically. Maybe we are called to the openness and accompaniment of Ruth, saying to the traveler, “My home can be your home…”
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Brené Brown is one of my biggest intellectual crushes! I’ve been reading one of her books, Daring Greatly, which talks about shame, courage, and vulnerability. I decided to read this book because I thought it would be an uplifting read from a familiar voice. Little did I know that she had so much to say to me right now.
There are beautiful and difficult things about every experience. I love my job at Casa Refugiados and I really enjoy my host family. However, these first two months in Mexico have been really hard. Since arriving in Mexico, I’ve had pinkeye, caught a bad cold from a baby, struggled with catcalls and machismo, cut myself on a fence, burned myself, gotten lost, and gotten bedbugs. My primary states of being have been distracted and exhausted (which is the exact reason for pouring boiling water over my hand). I had been beating myself up about why I haven’t been handling this transition better, and was frustrated that I was having so many issues in Mexico. Then I started reading Daring Greatly and a different voice spoke to me. It said, “Of course you’re struggling! You threw yourself into a foreign land away from all the things that were comfortable for you. You moved in with 20 people you had never met before, and started a new job. You spend 95% of the day speaking a language other than your mother tongue. You are learning to navigate a city that is home to more than 23 million people… You have dived deeper into the pool of pure vulnerability than you ever have before.” This voice sounded like a mixture between my mom and Brené Brown. It was telling me, “Be kind to yourself. Give yourself some grace. Treat yourself as you would treat others in this situation.” Part 1 was acknowledging my vulnerability—whether it was to germs, people, bugs, or buses. I realized that I am essentially vulnerable 24 hours a day. Part 2 was embracing this vulnerability and finally reaching out to tell people where I was/am at. This meant getting medicine from the pharmacy, explaining to people that I have food allergies, telling myself that it’s ok not to say ‘hi’ to everyone if I don’t feel safe, and talking to my host family about how to get rid of bedbugs. I found bedbugs in my bed the day before my birthday. I was homesick and exhausted and didn’t have the energy to deal with bedbugs (which I’ve never had before). I had to talk to my host family about it as well as my country coordinator. I told my work supervisor so that I could take off work to clean my room and asked one of the other volunteers if I could stay with her and her family. When I told this long list of people what I was going through, I expected to receive grumbling about having a problem, needing to take off work, and imposing upon other people’s lives, but that’s not what happened at all. To the contrary, I was met with concern and compassion. The volunteer and her family welcomed me with open arms and offered that I could stay with them for a month if I needed it. My supervisor let me take off work. My coordinator and next-door neighbor offered to help me deep clean my room, and my host family ordered a new mattress. Don’t get me wrong, this past week was awful, but after embracing being vulnerable, swallowing my pride, and asking for help, I finished the week feeling like I have a support system—like I have friends and a community here. I was spending so much time focused on trying to be independent that all I was left with was exhaustion and loneliness. When I finally showed people how I was falling apart, I entered into a community where I didn’t have to be independent to be empowered. All of this has made me wonder what this means for community building and healthy relationships in other contexts… What would happen if we embraced our own vulnerability in the same way that we embrace that of other people? |
AuthorMy name is Kathryn Ophardt. I am spending this year in Mexico City as a Young Adult for Global Mission with the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America. During this year of service, I'll be working with the non-profit, Casa Refugiados. Archives
October 2018
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