My uncles live in Green Valley, Arizona, where they attend The Good Shepherd UCC church. You might recognize the welcome expressed on their web site . Last Sunday, their good friend and pastor Rev. Randy J. Mayer preached the following, and I thought it very resonant for us in San Diego as well. Careful, it made me cry at work…
Looking to the Future with Joy : Luke 3:7-18
The great contemporary preacher, Barbara Brown Taylor once said this about this season before Christmas called Advent, “It’d be nice to take a taxi straight to Christmas but we must go through the wilderness, the dark days of Advent first.”
Isn’t that how it feels to you? You want to get to the celebration, but there is a lot of hard work left to do. You want to get to the vacation, but there are still a few weeks to pass through before you can even think about it.
I know I feel that way this Sunday. I want to start talking about the baby Jesus wrapped in swaddling clothes, or the angels we have heard on high, or at least the shepherds who watched their flocks by night. But here we are still out in the wilderness with John.
John the Baptist, out in the darkness, near the Jordan River crying out about the brood of vipers, the society that had lost its way, lost its purpose and was wandering in the wilderness. He demanded a change of direction, to move in a new way. There was death and destruction all around, murders were common place, the rulers controlled the people with fear and terror. They taxed and pilfered, tortured and maimed the people into submission. The light of hope was barely hanging on. The people were so beaten down that they were acting out, acting against each other, looking out for themselves rather than each other. John’s words seemed harsh. But they were very descriptive of the evil and darkness that was all around.
I understand his words better after having a journey into the wilderness, to the dark side this week and it had a pretty big impression on me. Monday morning, I headed to Juarez, Mexico for a church meeting. It is a five hour drive so I started out early—as the wind was just beginning to pick up steam.
Just by chance I read the newspaper before I left. The head line said, something to the effect, “Juarez Mexico: the most dangerous city in the world.” With all the drug cartel violence and gang activity there have been nearly 2400 murders in that city in the last year. As you can imagine I got lots of phone calls from family and friends worried about me as the wind kept building and the skies got darker and darker, and I got closer and closer.
I was to meet Raul Blanco, the pastor of our United Church of Christ, Iglesia Sin Fronteras (Church with out Borders) at 5:30pm on the Mexican side of the Juarez Bridge. As I parked the car and started making my way to the bridge, the sun was covered with clouds, there was snow in the mountains over El Paso, and the wind and cold swirled all around. The Juarez Bridge is quite the sight; it is a huge arching bridge that goes over the Cesar Chavez Memorial Road, across the Rio Grande. The only border in the world where the first world crashes into the third world. You can feel the tension of that reality as you make your way over the bridge.
I zipped my coat up tight and slung my bag over my shoulder. I have to admit, I was shakin’ and it wasn’t just because I was cold. I was a little scared. I think everyone around me could sense it, even the Teenage Federale dressed in his camouflage green, holding an M 16. He greeted me at the end of the bridge and must have sensed my fear. As I crossed into Mexico he said, “Can I take a look in your bag?” I stood there as he searched through my papers, change of clothes and computer.
Thank goodness, he quickly went through my bag and politely said, “Esta bien.” And I was off, through the turnstile and into Mexico. I was pleased that Raul was waiting for me once I got on to the street. It wasn’t very hard for him to spot me. I was the only gringo, among the two or three others that were crossing at that time. Juarez was like a ghost town. Dead and dark, lifeless, you could feel the fear in the air.
Raul took me to his house and over the next few hours we talked. He told me a little bit about life in Juarez especially about the everyday dangers that he lives, that everyone in Juarez lives. Basically there is no place in that city that hasn’t been touched by the violence. Raul told me just that day when he was leading a funeral procession; they were re-routed off a main street. Three people had been killed in the street. He told me that a few months back a couple of people had been killed directly in front of the church, and a few months before that someone had been killed right in front of his house at 8:00 in the morning. His stories went on and on, a murder here, another around the corner, a few more down the street. He even said that his name ended up in a police report and he got a call from a gang trying to extort money, offering him protection. A brood of vipers. The whole city is filled with darkness.
Raul is like a modern day John the Baptist. Calling for people to care for each other, to reach out to the other. Like John his cry is for all people to have a renewed relationship with God, to come back into the community and see each other as brother and sister, to end the death spiral. As he spoke I was thinking to myself, there is a place on the Niagara River, where the rapids and whitewater start to build called Redemption Point. Once you pass Redemption Point there is no turning around. You are destined to go over the falls and face your demise. Is Juarez past Redemption Point? Is it so far into the destruction and cycle of death that there is no return? Swallowed up by the violence and death.
As you can imagine, it is hard to build a church in that sort of environment, past the point of no return. People are scared, they run from the darkness, back to the interior of Mexico where there is less violence. Or they take a risk and cross over into this country—wouldn’t you? Raul says you get a family coming, and 3 months later they are gone. You get a couple of good leaders and after a year they move away because there is no work, everything is shut down. A couple of older women used to come across the line from El Paso, but since the violence has escalated their families have prohibited them from crossing the line into Juarez to go to church.
But Raul is committed; he hasn’t seen redemption point, yet. Not in Juarez, Mexico. We asked him, “so is there anything that will stop you from building this young church, can the violence scare you away?” “No” he said, “I am called by God to Juarez to build a church!” “Can the gangs scare you away?” we asked. “No, it is in this darkness that the light of Christ’s love is most profound. It is in this wilderness that hope needs to be born. I am here to be a part of that process—that is my call.”
It made my one day of fear and trembling feel pretty small, as he lives it out day after day after day. My realities are so different, so small, so safe. What dangers do I face? What dangers do you face as you practice that love and hope, as we spread compassion throughout this valley? It seems insignificant. I tossed and turned that night as I slept in Juarez, Mexico. I thought, “We risk so little—we have so much light on our side of the line, it drowns out all the light. We are so isolated and insulated from the suffering and struggle of the rest of the world. We can’t or won’t understand it. We don’t see that in many ways our lifestyle is what sparks the violence. The question begs to be asked, “If the drugs weren’t used so prolifically in the United States would there be any need for violence in Juarez.” Juarez, Mexico is so close and yet so far away. As much as we would like to push it away we really need to pull it close and be part of the solution.
As Raul drove me to the Juarez bridge the next day and we said good bye, I looked back and saw so much darkness, but I also saw a ray of hope. As I continued on that bridge walking that big arch between heaven and hell, dancing across that tight rope between truth and oblivion—high above a river gone up in flames I couldn’t help but remembering that Johnny Cash crossed that bridge a number of years ago. In fact there is a famous mug shot of Johnny Cash being busted as he crossed the Juarez Bridge. It was in his wilderness years, when he was hooked on drugs, and was busted for smuggling a thousand uppers and downers into the United States. He had been an addict, and on that bridge it all came to surface, it was the worst day of his life… or was it the best day? For it was on that day that he pushed through the wilderness, cleaned up his life after that incident he moved through those dark, aching, dead days. And became honest with life; raw, truth filled, even religious. He probably never would have gotten so good if he hadn’t passed that way, through the Juarez bridge.
John the Baptist was right. We, too, need to make our way through the darkness and claim it and make some light there. It is in the darkness that we can begin to see where we need to go. It is in the darkness that we can become real about life and in touch with how fragile and vulnerable life can be. It is there that we can begin to make changes, to repent, and make up for all our wrongs. And begin to look to the future with joy. So don’t be afraid of these days, as we make our way to Christmas. There is a lot for us to do. In fact these might just be the most important days of preparation. Amen.
By the Rev. Randy J. Mayer.
Shared by Lisa Churchill
