A Stranger at the Table

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That would be me.

For six weeks in Bolivia. I was a stranger at someone else’s table. Living with a family I didn’t know. In a country where I could barely speak the language. In the midst of a different culture. Where everything looked, smelled, and tasted different.

It didn’t take long to realize, “I’m not in Kansas anymore.” Or Virginia.

Or anywhere that even resembled the home I knew. Everything felt different. And I felt so alone.

True, that was months ago. But the memory of those feelings has stayed with me.

I actually think the mother of the house where I was living in Bolivia had a preconceived image of me as an American. And maybe she had a little attitude too.

Now the tables are switched.

I’m the one with a little attitude toward foreigners.

Yes, me.

You might find that surprising. After all, why would I travel so far from home to return to the U.S.-Mexico border to serve migrants and refugees if I had an attitude?

Truthfully, I’m happy to be back serving at the Nazareth migrant hospitality center. It feels right to be here.

I knew it the first day I walked through the door and was among “the people” again. I found myself smiling for no particular reason throughout the day.

Even though I never stopped moving from the moment I stepped inside the place. And was exhausted by the time I left.

The thing is, so many people are coming. More than I’d ever seen when I was serving here last year.

It’s not so easy to spot those in desperate need this time. It’s not black and white. If it ever was.

Immigration is such a complex issue.

What got me was I was noticing some conflicting feelings arising. A judging, critical side.

I mean I’m aware that I have this side of me, but I didn’t like the fact that it was coming up here, in relation to the migrants whom I’ve felt such compassion for. In a place where I’m serving alongside some of the kindest and most generous people I’ve ever met. The people of El Paso. People who still, after more than two years, continue to fully operate this center through their donations and volunteer hours.

So, the other night I went to bed with these questions on my heart.

“How do I keep my heart open and let go of trying to be judge and jury? How does love respond to this situation? What do you ask of me?”

On the verge of sleep, an image of Jesus in his passion came to me. The pain and suffering he endured. The terrible loneliness.

Then I “heard” his question: “Did I do this only for those who deserve it?

Such a powerful and humbling response! The truth of it hit me hard.

Because I knew. I certainly don’t “deserve” this gift. In fact, I often take it for granted. And I doubt I fully appreciate it.

In that moment, I understood.

Love has nothing to do with fairness or with who deserves it.

Love invites everyone to the table. No one is excluded. And preconceived images are left at the door.

Granted, it’s challenging to love as Christ loved.

I don’t know if I can do it. But this is my practice.

This is why I am here.

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