Advent Two: Shepherds and Strangers

I grew up as far from Bethlehem as one can imagine, in a gracious, well-groomed suburb of New York City, a world of quiet, green backyards, live-in help, excellent schools. My home wasn't far from the Chappaqua neighborhood where Hillary Clinton lives. My field hockey team played Chappaqua's every fall. It was even closer, as the crow flies (across the Long Island Sound and East River) to the childhood home of Donald Trump in beautiful Jamaica Bay.

Shepherd, Arthur Allen Lewis, 1927, NY

I lived with my grandparents in the only non-traditional, non-two-parent household I knew. My grandfather, a first generation Italian-American, had built the house and others in the neighborhood. He kept some of his contractor supplies in a locked shed in the back yard, kept tools in the locked garage, kept his basement workshop locked, his office off the driveway locked, kept a large TV turned loud in the master bedroom, also locked. He traveled through the house with the jangling of keys and, depending on the level of inebriation, with loud, sometimes obscene proclamations about whatever caught his eye or sparked his simmering anger.

My birthday was two weeks before Christmas, but I never had a party, mostly for fear my grandfather would ruin it. In some strange, childhood way, I considered our school Christmas parties my own; my name, after all, is Carol. I imagined every Christmas carol we sang was a birthday present for me. Strange idea, I suppose, but I was a strange kid, always watching from the edge of things.

Christmas, for me, wasn’t so much about decorations. Most years we had a tree, but some years not. If our grandfather decided on outdoor decorations, we’d all be drawn into hours of unhappy compliance with his whims.

It also wasn’t much about presents. Most years there’d be just one gift, usually something practical: a winter coat. A pair of boots. Occasionally a good surprise would surface, but usually not. No reason to lie awake at night, wondering and hoping.

Christmas cookies? We had some, but my grandmother baked year round: bread, pies, cookies.

For me, Christmas was more about the carols: songs of mystery and longing, of promise fulfilled, exuberant celebration.

In third grade I earned a small Sunday School Bible of my own by memorizing the books of the Bible and I started setting the Christmas story beside the already memorized carols. I was struck by the bit about Herod and the babies, the flight to Egypt to escape Herod’s jealous wrath. I felt a kinship with Jesus, living in the shadow of a malevolent, unpredictable power.

I also felt a kinship with the shepherds, partly because I would have loved to have a lamb or two of my own, but more because they lived outside, as I would have been happy to do. As I grew older, I realized they were outsiders like me, not quite part of the community around them, marginalized strangers, tolerated but not quite welcome.

The more I lingered in the stories of Christ’s birth, the more I saw a growing cast of outsiders: Mary, am unmarried teen, suspiciously pregnant. Ragtag shepherds, running through the dark to share a ridiculous story of angel choirs and strange pronouncements. Old, extraneous Simeon, not quite ready to die. Strange old prophetess Anna, offering words quickly forgotten.

Even the wise men, the mysterious Magi: weren’t they outsiders too? Neither Jews nor Romans, travelers from some unknown land, carrying inappropriate gifts, setting off that chain reaction of jealousy, suspicion, and slaughter.

I saw in those stories hope for an outsider. Did God choose outsiders deliberately? Or were they the ones who were watching, and waiting, ready to hear something new?

Rahab, CMDudash, 2010, Idaho

When I got around to tackling the genealogy in Matthew 1, I found more outsiders. In the middle of endless names of men, there were just a few women: Tamar, a Canaanite, whose two evil husbands died, whose children, Perez and Zerah, were the product of pretended prostitution. 

Then Rahab, a Canaanite prostitute rescued from Jericho. 

Ruth, a Moabite, great grand-mother of King David. 

Bathsheba, mother of Solomon, recorded as the wife of Uriah the Hittite, although Solomon’s father is listed as David. That one short sentence carries a reminder that Bathsheba was unfaithful to her husband and David arranged for Uriah’s death to hide the resultant pregnancy.

All four women were outsiders, alien in some way, with the hint of scandal attached to their names. If Matthew’s goal was to convince readers that Jesus was the ideal choice as Messiah, those weren’t the names to use. But if the goal was to say “God uses outsiders and redeems broken families,” those names are deeply comforting.

Comforting as well was Mary’s song, the first Christmas carol:

His mercy extends to those who fear him,
from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones    
 but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things    
 but has sent the rich away empty. 

I still go back, sometimes, to the question that troubled me as a skinny kid, in my baggy hand-me-down sweaters and itchy, too-long wool skirts: Was it that God chose the outsiders? Or were they the only ones ready to listen?

We've just lived through an election cycle with lots of talk about outsiders and insiders, rich and poor, power and poverty.

Donald Trump presented himself as a challenger to establishment values, leading his followers in cries of "drain the swamp." Many who feel excluded from the halls of power voted for him, hoping he would feel their pain and protect their interests.

His early cabinet picks demonstrate how much of an insider he is: billionaire Betsy DeVos will be steering public money toward private charter schools. Billionaire Steven Mnuchin, ex-Goldman Sachs banker who made a fortune from the mortgage meltdown, will be working with Todd Ricketts, owner of the Chicago Cubs and son of the founder of TD Ameritrade, to change the tax code in favor of the ultra rich and fight regulation of the financial industry.

Ellen Chau, wife of senate Majority leader Mitch McConnell, is also daughter to James Chau, whose fortunes were made in shadowy deals shipping commodities, dirty coal and, at times, illegal drugs for Communist China. As transportation secretary, Chau will be in position to relax safety regulations and trade barriers that hamper the family business.

The list goes on: a tangled web of influence, conflicted interest and unimaginable wealth. Policy will be shaped by men and women who have viewed poverty from a penthouse terrace or the tinted window of a limousine.

While Trump surrounds himself with wealthy insiders eager to reward their wealthy friends, the real outsiders struggle. Hate crimes toward immigrants and people of color have been on the rise, despite frantic PR attempts to discount that reality.

Not far from my current home, women and children seeking asylum from violence in Central America have been held in a prison-like detention center, some for over a year, where they allege intimidation, sexual assault and threats of separation from their children for seeking attention for their cause.

Refugees from around the globe cry in crowded camps, hold children tightly on crowded boats, wait to hear if there is room.

Who hears them?

Who will speak for them?

As my life becomes more comfortable, as I find myself surrounded by a loving family and caring friends, as I find my cupboards and closets full, I wonder: in my riches, am I less able to hear?

If I'm less able to hear the cries of the poor, am I also less likely to miss the good news?

Am I less likely to hear the voices God sends that aren't part of my comfortable circle?

The Pharisees shielded themselves from those they considered "unclean," surrounded themselves with people who agreed on the same rules, applauded the same values.

At the same time, they aligned themselves with the immoral power wielded by the Roman oligarchy, enamored by the wealth, the influence, the hope of using that enticing power to shield themselves from an uncertain future.

Inside their self-protective bubble, they missed the coming of the one they claimed to seek.

Worse, they sought help from Roman oligarchs to crush their own Messiah.

As scripture and history make crystal clear, attempting to manipulate the future by alignment with ungodly power is a speedy route to great destruction.

Just years after the death of Christ Jerusalem was flattened, Pharisees scattered.

Too many of our church leaders spend their days surrounded only by members of their churches.

Too many who claim the name of Christ shut out any voices except those who claim the same political brand, the same self-protective stance.    

Who do I speak to first, at the close of our Sunday service? Those who have been there for years, or the pierced and tattooed newcomer, standing awkwardly at the back of the sanctuary?

Syrian Kurdish refugees entering Turkey.
DG ECHO, Creative Commons Licensing.

Who do I befriend: the person most like me, or the wanderer most in need of welcome?

Do I shelter myself from outsiders like the shepherds?

Would I welcome strange prophets, or weary travelers, carrying unexpected treasures?

In this season of lights and food and gifts, what can I do to keep my heart open to the humble and the hungry?

What a grief it would be, to find my stomach full and my own heart empty.

To be an insider in things that don’t matter and an outsider in the family of God.

This is the second in a four part Advent series, much of it a revision from a 2012 post: Advent Two: Outsiders In.

Other Advent posts:

Advent One: Post Truth?, Nov. 27, 2016

Advent One: Hope beyond Terror, Nov. 29,2015

Advent Two: Listening in the Desert, Dec. 6, 2015

Advent Three: Blessed Singularity, Dec. 13, 2015

Advent Four: For You, Dec. 20, 2015

Advent One: Hope is Our Work, Nov. 30, 2014

Advent Two: Peace is Our Promise, Prayer and Practice, Dec. 7, 2014

Advent Three: Love is the Air We Breathe, Dec. 14, 2014

Advent Four: Joy is the Song We're Given, Dec. 21, 2014

Advent One: Rethinking Portfolios, Dec. 1, 2013
Advent Two: Resisting Idols and Injustice, Dec. 8, 2013
Advent Three: Redefining Home, Dec. 15, 2013

Advent Four: Rejoicing in Mystery, Dec. 22, 2013

Advent One: How Do I Know? Dec. 2, 2012
Advent Two: Outsiders In Dec. 9, 2012
Advent Three: Question. Fruit. Dec. 16, 2012
Advent Four: Sing Alleluia, Dec. 23, 2012

Advent One: What I'm Waiting for, Nov. 26, 2011
Metanoia,  Dec 4, 2011
Voice in the Wilderness,  Dec. 11, 2011
Common Miracles,  Dec. 18, 2011

Walls, Welcome, Mercy, Law

On the road to Croatia, Stuart Sia, Save the Children

The world is on the move, with more migrants than ever before, crossing borders, deserts, seas in
search of safety, food, water, opportunity, or the chance to reunite their families.

While those journeys start far away, the causes of the journeys are often close at hand: agricultural policies that have shifted whole people groups from their ancestral lands or priced out small scale farmers; weapons sales escalating ancient conflicts; extractive industries forcing removal of villages; sea-level rise flooding island nations and coastal cities around the globe.

I listen with great sadness to the political posturing around deportation or the fabled wall to protect our southern border.  

This fear and hatred of the immigrant: will it ever end?

On this continent, WE are the immigrant. All of us except the tiny percentage of remaining pure-blood Native Americans.

We would do well to keep that reality in mind. As Exodus instructs: “You shall not wrong or oppress a resident alien; for you were aliens in the land ” (Exodus 22:21)

My own earliest US ancestor was a pre-Revolution Welsh shipping clerk who sold alcohol to native Americans in port cities from Philadelphia to New Amsterdam to Albany. Parts of the family continued on to Canada, not to return until sometime in the 20th century, traveling unchecked over the border in both directions.

Another ancestor arrived in Ellis Island in 1903, with no papers to his name (he was three) and no documentation beyond point of departure. Another arrived from Ireland in 1914. He married a Swedish girl born in North Dakota.

Legal immigrants? Given the laws of the time, that wasn’t hard to accomplish. Early laws excluded Chinese, “lunatics,” or those visibly contagious. Beyond that, the rules were loose until sometime after my relatives arrived. None of them had birth certificates, passports or other papers. None of them were deported, or made to wait months in detention camps.

Our current route to legal entry is very different: confusing, restrictive and in many ways far out of step with the dangerous realities so many migrants are fleeing.

A chart created by Reason magazine gives some idea of the daunting maze facing anyone hoping to join our great nation (click on the chart to read it in a new window). For most of our relatives, if they tried to enter now, the answer would be “Sorry, you’re out of luck.” Wait time? For some years, or decades. For others, “approaching infinity.”

According to Deuteronomy 10:18-19 “For the Lord your God...loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing.  You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

The word translated “stranger” could also be foreigner, alien, sojourner. In Greek it's translated “xenos”, the root of our word “xenophobia”: fear and hatred of strangers or foreigners or anything strange or foreign.

Read through the history of our immigration laws and trace our xenophobic roots. Outright bans on Chinese, then Asians, quotas for “less desirable” nationalities, even now discussion of different rules for people of certain backgrounds or religions. Attempts to reform inadequate laws have been stalled for decades, as farmers struggle to find seasonal workers and children seeking safety wait in limbo in crowded detention camps.

Christians have always wrestled with the challenge of unjust laws that oppose the demands of righteousness. Quakers smuggled escaped slaves; German Christians hid Jewish neighbors. Today, many congregations befriend and aide undocumented immigrants living in fear of deportation.

Child Migration Continues

Yes, we have laws. But when we balance law and mercy, which should win?

In puzzling over this, I came across a conversation hosted in 2010 by the Patheos Cross Examination series. Nine Christian leaders were invited to share their thoughts on illegal immigration and deportation. Unfortunately, links to the full conversation are no longer working. Mark D. Roberts, Presbyterian pastor and professor at Fuller Seminary, summarized posts by all participants, with his own observations and questions on each. 

The discussion, though long, is worth reading and considering, as is Roberts’ discussion, near the end, about how it’s possible for Christians to start from such different points of view and draw such conflicting conclusions.

If we start from loyalty to law, then deportation seems a reasonable solution. But we still might ask: have we ever broken a law? Does the punishment in this case fit the supposed crime?

If we start from a place of economic concern, then research might be the best response: economic analysis shows that immigrants, legal or not, help our economy thrive, and every immigrant, legal or not, pays taxes that exceed services gained.  The Economic Policy Institute offers a roundup of research and concludes

[t]o the extent there is something to fear, it stems from not providing legal status to unauthorized immigrants, and from guestworker programs where workers have limited rights and are tied to one employer. A useful framework for thinking about this is that any situation where workers’ individual bargaining power is reduced is going to put downward pressure on their wages, and therefore also on the wages of workers in similar occupations and industries. . . .

There is a fairly broad consensus that the present value of the long-run net fiscal impact of unauthorized immigration, at all levels of government combined, is small but positive—meaning that immigration reduces overall budget deficits. . . .

Unauthorized immigrants are a net positive for public budgets because they contribute more to the system than they take out.

If we start from a place of fear, would it help to read that economic policy report? Or would more information about the vetting process for refugees  or about crime rates for immigrants help put that fear in perspective? And what of instructions to “fear not”? If perfect love cast out fear, would love of the stranger quiet our concern?

When the alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien.  The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land . . . . (Leviticus 19:33-34 and 24:22 )

Mark Roberts suggests we might start in Genesis: with the knowledge that we’re made in the image of God. Not just those who look most like us. Not just those who speak our language.

If all human beings bear the image of God and therefore are to be treated with dignity, then this surely includes those who are in the United States illegally. So called “illegal aliens” are, first and foremost, sacred beings created in God’s own image. Thus they, like all of humanity, should be regarded as sacred and treated with respect.

Another starting point, also from Genesis, is the vision of fruitfulness, or human flourishing.

Those who “take the side” of undocumented workers often speak as if they care mainly or exclusively about the fruitfulness of these people. Those who are concerned about the well-being of the United States often seem to care about the fruitfulness of our citizens to the exclusion of others. A biblical perspective, I believe, inspires us to shape a world in which all peoples in the Americas (and beyond) would have the opportunity to live truly fruitful lives.

Beyond these starting points stands the teaching of Jesus:

Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me’” (Matt 25:31-40).

Notice who is included among those who received tangible acts of love: the stranger. The Greek word translated as “stranger” here is xenos, which can also mean “foreigner.” It denotes someone who is an outsider, who doesn’t belong. Jesus identifies with the xenos to such an extent that welcoming the xenos is welcoming Jesus himself.

In the parable we know as “The Good Samaritan,” Jesus paints a picture of the archetypal xenos (from the first-century Jewish point of view) who loves another xenos, and thus becomes a model for all who would follow Jesus. In the kingdom of God, that which divides people from people fall away, replaced by love that knows no national or ethnic boundaries.

Starting points shape our understanding.

So do end points.

What’s our goal?

Strong nation?

Robust economy?

Just society?

Obedience to the call of compassion?

When candidates offer to round up illegals, deport millions, build bigger walls, what grid do we use to evaluate the vision?

When we offer those words to God in prayer, what answer are we given?

Prayer (by Reverend Enock De Assis)

Dear God, our journey through life is long and hard.

We cannot make this trip alone; we must walk together on the journey.

You promised to send us a helper, your Spirit.

Help us to see your Spirit in those you send to journey with us.

In the refugee family, seeking safety from violence,

    Let us see your Spirit.

In the migrant worker, bringing food to our tables,

    Let us see your Spirit.

In the asylum-seeker, seeking justice for himself and his family,

    Let us see your Spirit.

In the unaccompanied child, traveling in a dangerous world,

    Let us see your Spirit.

Teach us to recognize that as we walk with each other, you are present.

Teach us to welcome not only the strangers in our midst

    but the gifts they bring as well:

    the invitation to conversion, communion, and solidarity.

This is the help you have sent: we are not alone.

We are together on the journey, and for this we give you thanks.

Amen.

This post is part of a series on What's Your Platform

Beyond the Party Platform July 24, 2016

A Different Way July 31, 2016 

Election Fraud and Rigged Elections, August 10, 2016 

How Long Will the Land Lie Parched? August 21, 2016 

Other posts on immigration: 

About that Banner Photo, November 11, 2011

Epiphany and Philoxenia: Entertaining Angels, January 4, 2015