I
therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner
worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility
and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love. Ephesians 4:1
So
yesterday I did a bunch of my favorite things in one fell swoop: wandering
around a winter desert lined with blue and purple ridges edged with shots of
sunlight, listening to thoughtful souls tell their own stories and backsides of
stories like how there used to be a toll road running behind the western range
of Tucson with its own highway robber, and of course, picking up trash, great
big sturdy blue bags of trash, twelve of them.
It
was a mishmash group of folk. The biannual
All the Way to the Border cleanup is sponsored by Rancho Sierra Vista de Sasabe
with help from the Alter Valley Conservation Alliance, Arizona Department of
Transportation, Trico Electric Cooperative and Pima County/Tucson Recycling and
Waste Services. We were joined by Border Patrol agents, police cadets, curious
tourists, and a group of middle school students.
I was with a truckload of
volunteers from Humane Borders. Truck Number Ten, to be precise.
Humane Borders is “totally
committed to saving desperate people from a horrible death by dehydration and
exposure and to creating a just and humane environment in the borderlands.” And they are also committed to humility and
gentleness and patience. A lot of speaking truth in love that we might be
heard.
And Rebecca had a great
story about being heard, as we bounced along the highway.
She and her partner were
doing the Europe thing, and because they didn’t quite understand all of the
details, they had landed in a first class car on the train even thought they
had second-class tickets. Eventually they were found out, and sent back to find
a proper seat.
Way back. And the train
jostled, and they had huge suitcases that banged and bumped into other
passengers’ knees and toes and the train was really full, and there was a lot
of banging and bumping. At last they wobbled their way to the very last car
where they found two empty seats, not next to each other. And maybe from
weariness or discouragement or whatever, Rebecca didn’t even try a little bit
to really be heard in anything comprehensible, but rather she blurted in loud
English, “Are these seats taken?”
And one of the Italian men
let her have it, addressing not only Rebecca and her friend, but the entire
crowded car, and he expressed disdain, as only can be done in Italian with lots
of hand emphasis, how arrogant Americans are, dragging their heavy suitcases
through his country, his world, without a single word of Italian, expecting
everyone to listen super hard and figure out what they were trying to say in
their words.
And this was a
transformative, piercing moment. One of those small conversations that shift an
entire lifetime.
Because Rebecca heard how
important humility and gentleness are, as we walk in our calling. And patience.
And rather than be offended and angry, she listened.
And that listening led to
her journeys to Guatemala, to language school, to learn how to speak and read
and to listen, in humility. Because there is nothing more humbling than
learning another language, setting aside all of one’s smarts and skills and fancy
words and becoming like a child.
And we have heard a lot from
Martin Luther Kind Jr. these last few weeks. Someone else totally committed
to a desperate people suffering from injustice. And we have heard again and
again, Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
And neither Paul nor Martin can
ever be accused of being fearful; both of them knew exactly the consequences of
their humble, gentle love: beatings, prison and death. Just like Jesus.
Something to think about with a
little more understanding and hope as I reflect on yesterday’s picking up trash
with a mishmash group of folks and how to go out today, to walk in light and truth, and
be heard.
