MAY 1 IMMIGRATION MARCH-SANTA ROSA

So, today I preached the gospel without words for a few hours. I left church and walked over to the little park behind the Hyatt and joined in the “Day without Immigrants” march. I thought for awhile that perhaps I was near the middle of the march, but actually as I learned later I was very much toward the front—there were thousands of people there. I walked alongside young men and women, couples, families, mothers and dads pushing strollers, grandparents—I walked with people who work in the vineyards, clean hotel rooms, cook and serve meals, do landscaping and construction work, and the whole gamut of other jobs in our community. I walked alongside a man about my age who limped the whole way—so determined was he to be a part of this march that I had trouble sometimes keeping up with him. A grandmother with her gray hair beautifully braided, dressed in a white embroidered dress, walked along with a grandchild on each hand. There were teen-aged boys with droopy pants, teen-aged couples walking hand-in-hand. There were young parents with children sleeping in strollers, and a young mother with an umbrella who shared her shade with me for a bit. I talked with another young mother at the park who had had surgery on her knee and couldn’t march, but brought other members of her family and sent them on ahead; she told me she would meet them at Julliard Park. She thanked me for being there. Just as we rounded the corner to come alongside the movie theater on Santa Rosa Blvd a man came up to me from behind and put his arm around me, “I don’t know who you are,” he said, “but thank you for being here.” “This is important. It is important for me to be here”, I said. And, it was important for me. A privilege really to walk on this march—to take my body for awhile and put it alongside the bodies of so many who are an integral part of our community and who so often are invisible. It was energizing to feel the spirit, determination, and hope that was present. I was reminded of the Christ who is always present in the borderlands and who calls us out of fear to the truth of our dignity. Later as we came into the park the man who had spoken his words of thanks came back and offered me a bottle of water—deeply appreciated. I had forgotten about the sun! To my mind we don’t need another Wall along the border. Walls we have plenty of. And the notion of sending all undocumented workers back home is laughable—just imagine the buses needed—or perhaps we’re thinking of another Cherokee Trail of Tears—this time from all across the country to our southern borders. Whatever our policy turns out to be it should be based on realities, and should honor the real contributions of immigrants and their families. And perhaps we would do well to remember that once—not that long ago—these Southwest lands “belonged” to the Spanish Empire. As one of the little hand-made signs said, “What do you mean illegal, pilgrim?” Jesus is the One who was adept at border crossings of all kinds—bringing people together, calling them into the truth of their oneness. I ponder that about him. PS/ I have only words to use in reflecting on “preaching without words”… I believe it was St Francis who admonished us to “preach the gospel and if necessary use words.”