Every once in a while new folks come to town and remind me what I love about El Paso. Whether it’s someone volunteering for a year with the Annunciation House network or a college or church group wanting to experience a weeklong border orientation, people who visit El Paso for the first time always leave having been surprised by what they’ve discovered and changed by the experience.
This time her name was Theresa.
She came to El Paso, along with two other women, for several weeks of orientation with the Maryknoll lay missioner program before she was to leave on assignment in Kenya. Maryknoll is a Roman Catholic organization that accompanies people in foreign countries living on the margins. It promotes nonviolence, justice, compassion, and care for the earth. For years Maryknoll offered its orientation in New York. But this year they moved it to El Paso, which, for Theresa and her friends and family, was a concern.
Somehow going to Kenya didn’t seem to be as much of an issue.
When they discovered Theresa was headed for the southern border, her friends warned, “You won’t be safe there. El Paso is a mess.”
And she believed it, too.
After all, most Americans only know about El Paso through the news or social media, the sound bites that refer to “illegal invasions,” “criminal caravans,” and “drug cartels” flowing like wild, unmanageable streams through the Rio Grande into the U.S. TV images show poorly dressed, brown-skinned people cozying up on downtown streets under Red Cross blankets and makeshift homesteads. Or lining up outside Sacred Heart Church for the luncheon meal.
From what’s presented on your screen, it’s easy to think things are crazy and unsafe in El Paso.
Until you spend some time here.
Like I have. Here I am mashing potatoes as I join some of my many friends in preparing Sacred Heart’s annual Thanksgiving meal for the poor and the migrants.
It’s been nearly 10 years since I first came to El Paso to volunteer. More than 7 since I left my Virginia home and moved here. So I was anxious to hear what Theresa had to say about this community I easily came to love.
Tall and white, Theresa stands out in El Paso. She’s a minority here, as am I. She’s also older and has lived in various U.S. states, so she’s got some experience with different types of communities.
During their six weeks with us, Theresa and her little group participated in local events and ministries on both sides of the border. They visited some of the many humanitarian organizations, went to migrant shelters, listened to folks accompanying the marginalized, and participated in the everyday life of the culture.
As she was nearing the end of her stay, we gathered at a friend’s home, and I asked about her experience.
“El Paso is such a gentle place,” she offered.
The word “gentle” struck me. I’d not heard that adjective used to describe El Paso before.
She explained how she had thought her rural community back in Kentucky was the gentlest and warmest community she’d ever known.
Until she came to El Paso.
“People are even gentler and kinder here.”
She gave me one example that sounded very familiar.
Needing to buy some groceries last week, she’d gone to the local Albertsons with only $23 cash to spend. No credit card. When she got to the checkout, she realized she’d not estimated her costs well, because the total was $25 and change. She explained her situation to the cashier and asked to remove some items.
“Hold on,” the cashier said. “I’ve got my Albertson’s card. I can apply it to your bill and I bet that’ll take care of it.”
But even with the card, her new total was $23.57. Still more than she had on her.
Then the bagger stepped in. “I can take care of that,” he said. And he dished into his pocket for the needed change.
Theresa left the store with everything she’d intended to buy and genuine gratitude for the kindness of these two strangers.
“I couldn’t believe how both of them stepped in to help me,” she said. “I don’t know of anywhere else in the U.S. where this would happen.”
I heard the surprise and delight in her voice. And I was delighted with her.
Because, at a time when our country is sourly divided, when we teeter on the verge of denying “outsiders” the basic right to seek asylum, when our politicians can’t risk acting humanely for fear of losing their power and status, I find myself turning to El Paso with deep gratitude.
This is what I would like the world to look like. Generous, gentle, kind, and welcoming.
No, El Paso is not perfect, and, yes, it’s a bit messy. But it is not a mess.
Come to think of it, not unlike a stable in Bethlehem where a baby was born so many years ago.
A Journey of the Heart 