Sermon delivered at Vine Street Christian Church (July 13, 2008)
Scriptures: Genesis 42:1-17 and John 6:48-58
How far would you walk to feed your family? How much would you risk? What would you be willing to give up, to meet their hunger?
Our scriptures are full of stories about people on the road in search of food: Jacob’s sons set out for Egypt, where unknown to them, their own brother Joseph controls the grain that will sustain their family. Moses leads the Israelites through the wilderness, in order to claim a land flowing with milk and honey, and along the way God provides manna to eat each day. Crowds of people traveled far from their homes to hear Jesus of Nazareth preach, and when they stay longer than they had planned, they are fed from the broken pieces of a few fish and a few loaves of bread, which somehow becomes enough for all. After a long journey to Jerusalem, Jesus and his disciples find a room in a strangers’ house, where they celebrate the Passover meal. He tells the disciples that the bread and wine they are eating is his very flesh and blood, given to them so that they need not hunger anymore.
Hunger can drive people to do things that are dangerous, to make impossible journeys, to sacrifice all that is important to them. When the land of Canaan experiences a famine, Jacob sends ten of his eleven remaining sons to Egypt to buy grain, but he keeps his beloved youngest son Benjamin at home, because he fears that something might happen to him on the journey. But Joseph, disguised from his brothers, tells them that they must bring their youngest sibling to see him. Desperate for more food, Jacob reluctantly lets his baby make the trip to Egypt, where all twelve brothers are reunited. The whole family moves to Egypt, and Joseph provides for all their needs. Joseph was blessed by God, saved from slavery and given a position of power, and he was able to use his position to save his family and share his abundance with them.
How far would you walk to feed your family? How much would you risk? What would you be willing to give up, to meet their hunger?
A few months ago, I stood in the deserts of Arizona with classmates from Vanderbilt Divinity School, pondering the question, “How far would you walk to feed your family?” The words were written on a piece of paper nestled in an empty tuna can, which was attached to a worn and dirty blanket. We were talking with an artist whose medium is the litter she finds along a migrant trail winding its way through the scrub bushes and cactus near the Mexican border. We walked a small portion of the trail with the artist, witnessing with our own eyes the discarded tuna cans, shoes with their soles worn through, torn and faded clothing – an eerie sort of bread-crumb trail to the promised land, the land flowing with milk and honey, the land of job opportunities which will allow those who make it to provide for their loved ones back home.
My classmates and I spent a week along the border, talking to people who were considering making the risky trip through the desert to the U.S., to others who had already made the journey, and to activists, lawyers, government officials, and church leaders who work with immigrants. Over and over again, the migrants told us that they were in search of one thing – work. They could not find regular employment at home, so they set out on a dangerous trek across the border to find a way to support their family.
Many risk all of their savings, or borrow hundreds of dollars, in order to buy bus tickets north from Guatemala, Ecuador, or Mexico’s poorest southern states like Chiapas. A bright, friendly young man from Honduras named Angel told us about clinging to the side of a train for four days straight, watching people near him fall asleep and loose their grip, falling from the train and being crushed under its wheels. Some, like Angel, have finished high school in their hometowns, but can’t afford college or find work. A combination of their country’s own economic problems and government corruption and the negative economic impact of U.S. trade policies and farm subsidies (which often flood Latin American countries with cheap goods), make it hard for small farmers and factory workers to earn a living. Angel’s friend, Enrique, told us his dream is that there would be jobs that paid living wages in their own countries, so that they would not be compelled to leave their homes and their families behind.
Once they arrive in Mexican border towns like Nogales or Altar, would-be migrants must pay nearly $1,000 to guides, called ‘coyotes’, who know the area and promise to lead them through the desert to the United States. The migrants are vulnerable and far from home, and are easily taken advantage of by those who make their living from human trafficking. Kidnappings and robberies are common, and the coyotes who migrants trust to guide them sometimes abandon their charges in the wilderness or try to extort more money from them. For many on both sides of the border, a migrant is an object, not a human being.
Out in the desert, the natural barriers are no less daunting -- scorpions, snakes, and scorching temperatures which can reach 120 degrees. The journey can take anywhere from 3 to 5 days, if migrants do not get lost or sick – or caught by the U.S. Border patrol.
On our first day in Tucson, our group went to the federal courthouse to watch the new streamlined deportation hearings of immigrants who had been caught crossing the border. Out of the estimated 1,000 who are apprehended each day, the courts are only able to handle 75, so the rest are immediately driven back to Mexico and dropped off. The 75 defendants are brought before the judge in batches of six or seven, with their lawyers taking turns pointing out the unique details of each case, which make them seem more like an individual than just another case number: a sick child at home who depends on the wages this father can earn, elderly parents who have pinned all their hopes on this son. One migrant, headed to a job offer in Queens, NY, had paid his coyote $2,000. After walking through the desert for 5 days with his female cousin, she became weak and sick and was on the verge of death, so he made the difficult decision to forfeit the time and money he had invested in order to seek help from the border patrol. His cousin was taken away in an ambulance, and he did not know whether she had survived. One after another, in quick succession, the defendants in this mass hearing repeated the same guilty plea – I came because there is work here, I came because there are no jobs in our village, I came because I could not sit at home and watch my family starve. Most are sentenced to ‘time already served’ and quickly deported, although repeat offenders may be detained a few extra days. Most will try again. They are guilty – guilty of being born on the other side of the border, guilty of wanting to feed their families, guilty of risking everything to find another chance at life.
We are a community which has been blessed with abundant life, whose God offered his own body to free us from hunger and slavery to sin. Like Joseph, we are in a position to offer others access to life-sustaining bread. We are a church which refuses to draw borders around our communion table, inviting all to partake of the bread and wine without prerequisites or conditions. Because we have received the bread of life freely, we are called to ensure access to the bread of life for others. The bread of life is meant to be shared, not only around this table, but at all times, with all people, at all tables.
Jesus gave his very flesh so that we might find life, even in the midst of our brokenness. Christ’s body became for us the bread of life, so that all could be fed. The immigrants I met are also risking their bodies in order to sustain the lives of their families; yet Christ has already offered his body so that we do not have to. When we allow our brothers and sisters to sacrifice their bodies for bread, we are ignoring the gift of life that we have received from Jesus, the gift that was meant for us to give to others as well.
Some may say that this bread of life which John writes about in today’s scripture fulfills spiritual needs, not physical ones. But throughout our sacred stories God has demonstrated concern for our physical needs. God provided the manna in the wilderness. God ensured that Joseph was in a position to give grain to his brothers, so that they could live in the time of famine. After teaching a crowd of 5,000 followers spiritual lessons, Jesus did not neglect their bodily hunger – he broke a few pieces of fish and bread and passed them around until all had eaten their fill.
Jesus sat down and ate beside all types of people – creating the impression that access for all to the dinner table was as meaningful as access to the communion table. He ate with outsiders, recognizing their dignity, their worth, that they are beloved. No one is illegal in God’s eyes – God created us all. All are hungry in God’s eyes, and all are invited to be fed.
Our faith is deeply connected to hunger and food, to bread and bodies. In her book “Take This Bread,” author Sara Miles points out that following Jesus’ resurrection, most of the stories in which he reappears to his disciples involve walking or eating with them. He makes himself known to them in the breaking of bread. Miles says that Christ’s resurrection appearances,
“…pointed to…a radically inclusive love that accompanied people in the most ordinary of actions – eating, drinking, walking – and stayed with them, through fear, even past death. That love meant giving yourself away, embracing outsiders as family, emptying yourself to feed and live for others. The stories illuminated the holiness located in mortal human bodies, and the promise that people could see God by cherishing all those different bodies the way God did. They spoke of a communion so much vaster than any church could contain: one I had sensed all my life could be expressed in the sharing of food, particularly with strangers.”
I know that immigration is a complex and controversial issue. But I can only speak from my own experience of breaking bread with migrants, in which God has been made known to me more clearly. After looking someone in the eyes, hearing his story, and recognizing the hunger that unites us, I cannot call him illegal or alien. I cannot support approaches based on scarcity or fear of strangers, when my faith is a faith of abundance and love of neighbor.
To me, immigration is about access to the bread of life, for our brothers and sisters. As a church whose faith centers on the Lord's table, where food is given freely to all, without borders or boundaries, we declare that we refuse to limit anyone’s access to life-giving sustenance. We also claim that our table extends beyond this sanctuary, beyond these walls. The body we eat here is not ours alone, but the body of Christ, of which we are all but one part. We are one family, walking together to the table where there is enough for all.
Scriptures: Genesis 42:1-17 and John 6:48-58
How far would you walk to feed your family? How much would you risk? What would you be willing to give up, to meet their hunger?
Our scriptures are full of stories about people on the road in search of food: Jacob’s sons set out for Egypt, where unknown to them, their own brother Joseph controls the grain that will sustain their family. Moses leads the Israelites through the wilderness, in order to claim a land flowing with milk and honey, and along the way God provides manna to eat each day. Crowds of people traveled far from their homes to hear Jesus of Nazareth preach, and when they stay longer than they had planned, they are fed from the broken pieces of a few fish and a few loaves of bread, which somehow becomes enough for all. After a long journey to Jerusalem, Jesus and his disciples find a room in a strangers’ house, where they celebrate the Passover meal. He tells the disciples that the bread and wine they are eating is his very flesh and blood, given to them so that they need not hunger anymore.
Hunger can drive people to do things that are dangerous, to make impossible journeys, to sacrifice all that is important to them. When the land of Canaan experiences a famine, Jacob sends ten of his eleven remaining sons to Egypt to buy grain, but he keeps his beloved youngest son Benjamin at home, because he fears that something might happen to him on the journey. But Joseph, disguised from his brothers, tells them that they must bring their youngest sibling to see him. Desperate for more food, Jacob reluctantly lets his baby make the trip to Egypt, where all twelve brothers are reunited. The whole family moves to Egypt, and Joseph provides for all their needs. Joseph was blessed by God, saved from slavery and given a position of power, and he was able to use his position to save his family and share his abundance with them.
How far would you walk to feed your family? How much would you risk? What would you be willing to give up, to meet their hunger?
A few months ago, I stood in the deserts of Arizona with classmates from Vanderbilt Divinity School, pondering the question, “How far would you walk to feed your family?” The words were written on a piece of paper nestled in an empty tuna can, which was attached to a worn and dirty blanket. We were talking with an artist whose medium is the litter she finds along a migrant trail winding its way through the scrub bushes and cactus near the Mexican border. We walked a small portion of the trail with the artist, witnessing with our own eyes the discarded tuna cans, shoes with their soles worn through, torn and faded clothing – an eerie sort of bread-crumb trail to the promised land, the land flowing with milk and honey, the land of job opportunities which will allow those who make it to provide for their loved ones back home.
My classmates and I spent a week along the border, talking to people who were considering making the risky trip through the desert to the U.S., to others who had already made the journey, and to activists, lawyers, government officials, and church leaders who work with immigrants. Over and over again, the migrants told us that they were in search of one thing – work. They could not find regular employment at home, so they set out on a dangerous trek across the border to find a way to support their family.
Many risk all of their savings, or borrow hundreds of dollars, in order to buy bus tickets north from Guatemala, Ecuador, or Mexico’s poorest southern states like Chiapas. A bright, friendly young man from Honduras named Angel told us about clinging to the side of a train for four days straight, watching people near him fall asleep and loose their grip, falling from the train and being crushed under its wheels. Some, like Angel, have finished high school in their hometowns, but can’t afford college or find work. A combination of their country’s own economic problems and government corruption and the negative economic impact of U.S. trade policies and farm subsidies (which often flood Latin American countries with cheap goods), make it hard for small farmers and factory workers to earn a living. Angel’s friend, Enrique, told us his dream is that there would be jobs that paid living wages in their own countries, so that they would not be compelled to leave their homes and their families behind.
Once they arrive in Mexican border towns like Nogales or Altar, would-be migrants must pay nearly $1,000 to guides, called ‘coyotes’, who know the area and promise to lead them through the desert to the United States. The migrants are vulnerable and far from home, and are easily taken advantage of by those who make their living from human trafficking. Kidnappings and robberies are common, and the coyotes who migrants trust to guide them sometimes abandon their charges in the wilderness or try to extort more money from them. For many on both sides of the border, a migrant is an object, not a human being.
Out in the desert, the natural barriers are no less daunting -- scorpions, snakes, and scorching temperatures which can reach 120 degrees. The journey can take anywhere from 3 to 5 days, if migrants do not get lost or sick – or caught by the U.S. Border patrol.
On our first day in Tucson, our group went to the federal courthouse to watch the new streamlined deportation hearings of immigrants who had been caught crossing the border. Out of the estimated 1,000 who are apprehended each day, the courts are only able to handle 75, so the rest are immediately driven back to Mexico and dropped off. The 75 defendants are brought before the judge in batches of six or seven, with their lawyers taking turns pointing out the unique details of each case, which make them seem more like an individual than just another case number: a sick child at home who depends on the wages this father can earn, elderly parents who have pinned all their hopes on this son. One migrant, headed to a job offer in Queens, NY, had paid his coyote $2,000. After walking through the desert for 5 days with his female cousin, she became weak and sick and was on the verge of death, so he made the difficult decision to forfeit the time and money he had invested in order to seek help from the border patrol. His cousin was taken away in an ambulance, and he did not know whether she had survived. One after another, in quick succession, the defendants in this mass hearing repeated the same guilty plea – I came because there is work here, I came because there are no jobs in our village, I came because I could not sit at home and watch my family starve. Most are sentenced to ‘time already served’ and quickly deported, although repeat offenders may be detained a few extra days. Most will try again. They are guilty – guilty of being born on the other side of the border, guilty of wanting to feed their families, guilty of risking everything to find another chance at life.
We are a community which has been blessed with abundant life, whose God offered his own body to free us from hunger and slavery to sin. Like Joseph, we are in a position to offer others access to life-sustaining bread. We are a church which refuses to draw borders around our communion table, inviting all to partake of the bread and wine without prerequisites or conditions. Because we have received the bread of life freely, we are called to ensure access to the bread of life for others. The bread of life is meant to be shared, not only around this table, but at all times, with all people, at all tables.
Jesus gave his very flesh so that we might find life, even in the midst of our brokenness. Christ’s body became for us the bread of life, so that all could be fed. The immigrants I met are also risking their bodies in order to sustain the lives of their families; yet Christ has already offered his body so that we do not have to. When we allow our brothers and sisters to sacrifice their bodies for bread, we are ignoring the gift of life that we have received from Jesus, the gift that was meant for us to give to others as well.
Some may say that this bread of life which John writes about in today’s scripture fulfills spiritual needs, not physical ones. But throughout our sacred stories God has demonstrated concern for our physical needs. God provided the manna in the wilderness. God ensured that Joseph was in a position to give grain to his brothers, so that they could live in the time of famine. After teaching a crowd of 5,000 followers spiritual lessons, Jesus did not neglect their bodily hunger – he broke a few pieces of fish and bread and passed them around until all had eaten their fill.
Jesus sat down and ate beside all types of people – creating the impression that access for all to the dinner table was as meaningful as access to the communion table. He ate with outsiders, recognizing their dignity, their worth, that they are beloved. No one is illegal in God’s eyes – God created us all. All are hungry in God’s eyes, and all are invited to be fed.
Our faith is deeply connected to hunger and food, to bread and bodies. In her book “Take This Bread,” author Sara Miles points out that following Jesus’ resurrection, most of the stories in which he reappears to his disciples involve walking or eating with them. He makes himself known to them in the breaking of bread. Miles says that Christ’s resurrection appearances,
“…pointed to…a radically inclusive love that accompanied people in the most ordinary of actions – eating, drinking, walking – and stayed with them, through fear, even past death. That love meant giving yourself away, embracing outsiders as family, emptying yourself to feed and live for others. The stories illuminated the holiness located in mortal human bodies, and the promise that people could see God by cherishing all those different bodies the way God did. They spoke of a communion so much vaster than any church could contain: one I had sensed all my life could be expressed in the sharing of food, particularly with strangers.”
I know that immigration is a complex and controversial issue. But I can only speak from my own experience of breaking bread with migrants, in which God has been made known to me more clearly. After looking someone in the eyes, hearing his story, and recognizing the hunger that unites us, I cannot call him illegal or alien. I cannot support approaches based on scarcity or fear of strangers, when my faith is a faith of abundance and love of neighbor.
To me, immigration is about access to the bread of life, for our brothers and sisters. As a church whose faith centers on the Lord's table, where food is given freely to all, without borders or boundaries, we declare that we refuse to limit anyone’s access to life-giving sustenance. We also claim that our table extends beyond this sanctuary, beyond these walls. The body we eat here is not ours alone, but the body of Christ, of which we are all but one part. We are one family, walking together to the table where there is enough for all.
1 comment:
"But I can only speak from my own experience of breaking bread with migrants, in which God has been made known to me more clearly."
beautiful, Diane.
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