On the third Sunday of each months, we share a “Mission Story on Shirley’s Quilt.” The quilt is a gift from the women of the Sycamore Presbyterian Church in Cincinnati, Ohio, in memory of my friend Shirley, who served as their Associate Pastor for a number of years. On our world globe, Jackson Springs is marked with a red ribbon, and we move the ribbon from place to place as we share mission stories.
Today the ribbon was moved to Honduras, Nicaragua, and Guatemala, to trace the journey of the caravan of migrants making its way into Mexico and perhaps on to the United States. We shared pictures of the migrants crowding on the bridge leading into Mexico, pictures of others climbing over barriers, swimming across rivers, making their way to a better life. We shared pictures of a young girl riding on their father’s shoulders and young mothers carrying their toddlers, and the elderly walking linked arm-in-arm, supporting each other. Our children were given pictures of young children making the journey, and encouraged to pray for them.
The latest news bulletin states, “The caravan of migrants from Central America grew to roughly 5,000 Sunday evening, a massive group that stretched along the main highway in Tapachula, Mexico, for more than a half-mile. They spoke in different accents, fleeing different disasters: joblessness in parts of Honduras, a mounting political crisis in Nicaragua, cities in Guatemala where they were sure their children would languish as they had.”
In this week’s Presbyterian Outlook, Jill Duffield shares a beautiful and moving prayer, “Prayer for All.” A brief portion of her prayer follows:
“May your relentless will to be in relationship with us no matter the cost and your desire for us to be reconciled to you and one another beckon us outward – toward you, toward our neighbors… We desperately need the Savior’s presence in the midst of us to show us the way, to reveal the truth, to be the life abundant for all and forever.”
May this be the prayer of our hearts for all God’s children.
Elizabeth
Thumbing through last week’s edition of The Presbyterian Outlook , I saw the picture of a handsome, bright-eyed black boy, and was stunned by the words underneath: “It assumed black boys as young as third grade would be imprisoned by young adulthood, and rather than supporting circumstances to avoid this, adequate prison facilities to house them were built instead.” Whoever/whatever is “it” ? I questioned, and I settled in to read the entire article.
“It” was the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act, passed in 1954. This bill’s tough-on-crime rhetoric highlighted an all-out obsession with America’s correctional control. “In 1923, the U.S. had just 61 federal and state prisons. By 1974, there were 592. Today more than 2.4 million people are locked away in 1,719 state prisons, 102 federal prisons, 2,259 juvenile correctional facilities, 3,283 local jails, and 70 Native American country jails. If military prisons, immigration detention facilities and civil commitment centers are added to the equation, these numbers expand geometrically.”
As it turns out, the article, “Patiently Waiting,” by Carlton Johnson, is a work of fiction telling the story of Frank Jackson, who was soon be released after serving 24 years, 18 days and 6 hours in a maximum-security prison for possession of an illegal substance. While imprisoned, Frank completed the number one best-seller, “Connecting Grace.”
“Connecting Grace,” that fictional best-seller, is in truth a real-life initiative of Johnson C. Smith Theological Seminary, that “equips faith communities to be agents of healing for families affected by crime, incarceration, criminalization and stigmatization.”
He envisions churches as being the hub of needed connections – connecting people to the grace they need. Johnson writes, “This is how you connect- from out there to in here. By starting conversations and extending the grace you know you would want if the shoe was on the other foot, for you, for your family.”
In my soon to be seventy years of living, and over 25 years in ministry, the only incarcerated person I’ve ever visited was a 16 year high school student in my congregation who had a rifle in his car at school in the little village in Virginia where I served my first congregation. I remember I had to bring proof of my ordination to ministry in order to get in to see him! He was frightened, separated from family, friends and the church, and was required to stay there for several months. To this day, I believe that experience brought more harm that help to his young life.
“The model for prison ministry in the Christian church is too simple and, unfortunately, ineffective,” writes Johnson. At least some churches have a model for prison ministry! All the ones I’ve served, large or small, have never given much thought to it.
I give thanks for articles that make me stop and think and open my heart and mind to a new awareness of needs and opportunities for ministry – and for streams of mercy, never ceasing.
Elizabeth
The day before World Communion Sunday, I had a chance encounter with a little Muslim girl in the Biscoe Walmart, and was reminded once again of the blessing of each moment of life.
In the push and shove of that little store on a busy Saturday afternoon, I saw a sweet little girl smiling from her seat in the buggy while her parents shopped. She had beautiful braids and I told her I had braids like hers when I was a little girl. She replied, “I bet you were pretty!” She continued, “Did you have one of these?” pointing to her mother’s hijab. “No, I didn’t, but hers is beautiful,” I said, smiling warmly at her parents, who returned with smiles of their own. We went our separate ways, blessed by that shared moment.
As I was checking out in the Garden Center a few moments later a man spoke from behind, “Preacher, you missed a chance to ‘witness’ back there.” I turned around and smiled, not recognizing the man, though apparently he knew who I was, and replied, “But I didn’t miss a chance to love.” He just shook his head and walked away. Looking back, I wish my reply had been more profound - not to prove a point, but simply to engage in conversation. Maybe that’s what I really missed!
I always re-read a special little book each World Communion Day - God’s Dream. The book was written by Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in l984 for his lifelong struggle to bring equality, justice, and peace to his native country of South Africa.
At the center of the book is a heart-shaped “circle” of children from many different cultures and the words: “Each of us carries a piece of God’s heart within us. And when we love one another the pieces of God’s heart are made whole.”
My favorite part shows children kneeling, singing, and praying from the perspective of different faiths, and the words: “God dreams that every one of us will see that we are all brothers and sisters – yes, even you and me- even if we have different mommies and daddies or live in different faraway lands… even if we speak different languages or have different ways of talking to God. Even if we have different eyes or different skin.”
Giving thanks for the blessing of World Communion Day, for the little girl I met in Walmart, for all children everywhere, who carry a piece of God’s heart within them – and for those streams of mercy, carrying us through this life to the life to come.
Elizabeth