But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

May the Lord silence all flattering lips
    and every boastful tongue—
those who say,
    “By our tongues we will prevail;
    our own lips will defend us—who is lord over us?”

 “Because the poor are plundered and the needy groan,
    I will now arise,” says the Lord.
    “I will protect them from those who malign them.” Psalm 12:3-5

My advent word for the day is journey.

Yesterday I took a journey.

Tom shook his head firmly. “Nope, those sandals aren’t good enough for what we are going to be doing today.”

I slid off my favorite Keens who had tromped all over the Zagros Mountains of Kurdish Iraq, the Apennines of Italy and Blackett’s Ridge of the Coronado National Forest, and wiggled into the hefty boots gifted to me by a fellow swimmer.

We stacked the back of the red SUV with gallon jugs of water and squeezed in the first aid kit and a few blankets, just in case. I was the only newbie and I settled into the backseat to listen to stories. The back seat of Joe the truck.

The very night that New Times published an article detailing Joe Arpaio’s “breathtaking abuse of the constitution” he sent his deputies to handcuff and arrest the two reporters for violating “Grand Jury secrecy.” They filed a lawsuit about wrongful arrest, Maricopa County Board of Supervisors unanimously approved a $3.75 million-dollar settlement against Arpaio; the reporters are using the money to “help those who fight the good fight against government actors who attack the most vulnerable among us,” including the Samaritans, who received funds for a truck as well as maintenance and fuel for a year. Hence the name of the truck, Joe. 

We bounced along past the border crossing at Sasaabe, past lots and lots of green and white border patrol trucks, past army jeeps full of grey camouflaged soldiers and past equally camouflaged hunters, here for the last two weeks of deer hunting season. Samaritans always wave and smile and chat with everyone along the way. Pretty much everyone else waves back. Our truck is clearly labeled “Los Samaritanos” and the folks I am traveling with have made this journey many times.

We checked out the new barbed wire spirals festooning The Wall. We have heard that the national guard folks are not too happy about spending their holidays in the one-grocery store town of faded crumpled adobe and tattered trailer parks. But at least it is beautiful. The desert is vibrant with pools of rainwater reflecting the mostly white-just-edged-in-grey clouds blowing across a very bright blue sky. The morning mist which had been resting in hollows had lifted, and the brisk air felt ever so joyful.

The plan was to take water to the very-well-used drop at the base of Cerro del Fresnal, the mountain east of Sasabe whose peak is in Mexico and across whose shoulder the border runs.

Then we'd check on a second nearby and less-well-used drop. From there we'd walk along the border fence towards Sasabe, to identify any additional crossing points and trails in this area -- where Sam folk haven't done comprehensive exploration and trail mapping. The primary reason for the exploration was John Fife saying at last week's meeting that if people from the caravans work their way east from Tijuana, they could cross at any point where they find it easy to cross and that we should have a strong presence along the border. Things are not going well in Tijuana.

We also carried big garbage bags to haul out trash, mostly empty jugs left behind: the clear ones from previous Samaritans, and the black gallon jugs from Mexico, black so they don’t reflect night spotlights.  Everything is inspected pretty carefully, checking dates and condition of the plastic. Some of the jugs had obviously been left in the last day or two. There were odd bits of sausage wrappings and empty tuna cans, and a couple of blankets that we hauled out as well, to wash and replenish the shed at BorderLinks.

It was very good to be wearing the big boots once I got used clumping rather than scrambling up the pointy black rocks. I was pretty good at missing the myriad cow pies which decorated the light trail, but the gathered cholla buds made my feet and legs look like a baubled tree.

We ate lunch on a hill overlooking the rolling plains and I heard the history of the Samaritans and Humane Borders and No More Deaths from Michael, who was there from the very beginning. Brian was the map guy, and knew every cranny of these hills, while Lisette knew everything about everything happening in Tucson and lives just down the street from me. She went to UHS with Dre, of course.

But as we made our way along the arrow-straight barbed wire fence, it was clear that we were not going to find many new migrant paths under the eagle-eyed surveillance tower and the blasting rifle shots echoing in all directions. We decided to visit two more frequented drops, one of which had been attacked by some thirsty beasts; most likely ravens had shredded through the plastic without tipping them over.

And that was it. Home again, home again, through Arivipa, smiling our way through a couple more road blocks.

Is it worth it, these almost daily drives by Samaritans? I thought about it as I just about dozed off in the back seat of Joe. I got stuck on the commandment to “Love your neighbor as yourself.” The Tijuana thing isn’t doing it. We have a stinking lousy border policy. There is absolutely nothing biblical about it, Old or New Testament. And then there is that verse about a cup of water.

That pretty much does it for me.

Wrong turns are inevitable.

Yet every turn of such a journey opens up new horizons.

Yep.

3849. Thank You for dark streets.

Satisfy me in the morning with Your steadfast love,
    that I may rejoice and be glad all my days.
Make me glad for as many days as You have afflicted me,
    and for as many years as I have seen evil.
Let Your work be shown to Your servant,
    and Your glorious power to her children.
Let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon me,
    and establish the work of my hands upon me;
    yes, establish the work of my hands! Psalm 90:14-17

Cause me to know Thy lovingkindness in the morning,

For in Thee do I trust.

Cause me to know the way wherein I should walk,

For I lift up my soul unto Thee.

Deliver me, O LORD,

Teach me to do Thy will,

Quicken me, O LORD

For I lift up my soul unto Thee.

Last night the monthly Dunbar Spring Neighborhood Association gathered together yet one more time. And the conversations wended long, as we discussed the challenges of recycling and how China is no longer going to take most of our plastics and the real issue is contaminated materials and I am totally guilty of not understanding how thoroughly I need to wash out my yogurt containers and take off all of the little lids, and how expensive and ineffective it is to distribute door hangers telling homeowners when Brush and Bulky pick-up is, and what are Living Streets and the rising number of deaths of pedestrians and cyclists and motorcyclists which are obviously Dying Streets, and big new apartment complexes piling high all around us and bringing in national franchises like Starbucks that threaten local coffee shops like Exo, and yes, bunny signs to warn drivers not to squish little bunnies. And on and on about streetlights, and what is better, dark streets or bright streets or something in-between streets.

And I left early. Well, half an hour after the meeting was supposed to end, but long before the conversation of whether we should also have coyote and javelin signs as well. And I got to walk home down the very darkest street, Second Street, my street.

And I am not foolish enough to walk on the sidewalk in the dark because of the uneven surface beneath my feet and low overhanging mesquite branches tangling in my hair and spiking my face, so I always walk in the predawn and post-sunset dark down the middle of the street.

The thing is, unless it is dark, you can’t see any stars.

The stars that are ever present, big and beautiful and declaring the glory and power and majesty of God cannot be seen when it is bright outside, even though our idea of brightness is much, much smaller than the reality of spinning galaxies almost out to infinity.

So it makes sense, the being glad for the affliction of days and the evil about, because thus we can see His work and know His glorious power.

Fair is the sunshine,
  Fairer still the moonlight,
And all the twinkling starry host;
  Jesus shines brighter,
  Jesus shines purer,
Than all the angels heav’n can boast!

Seasons of drought.

Your righteousness, God, reaches to the heavens,
    You who have done great things. Who is like You? Psalm 71:19

Thus says God, the Lord, who created the heavens and stretched them out, who spread out the earth and what comes from it, who gives breath to the people upon it and spirit to those who walk in it. Isaiah 42:5

For in Him we live and move and have our being. Acts 17:28

Prayer is the light of the spirit, and the spirit, raised up to heaven by prayer, clings to God with the utmost tenderness. It is the longing for God, love too deep for words, a gift not given by humans, but by God’s grace. –John Chrysostom, 347-407

The spiritual life does not remove us from the world but leads us deeper into it. -Henri Nouwen

Creator God, You taught us to pray. Now help us pray for our daily bread while laboring with love for those who hunger. We confess that we often feel weary, incapable, and uncertain of how to live in this world. Help us to find rest in your presence and comfort in knowing that you are active in all living things. Show us how to hallow Your name while striving for justice in our relationships and in society. May our whole lives become a prayer, ever to Your glory. Amen.

More and more, my prayers have become silence, resting in His presence without words, opening up my soul to be filled with His Spirit.

I am also ever-more-aware of the unity of His Spirit, connecting so many beings, much like the deep creosote roots which stretch across the Sonoran desert, bringing refreshment to a dry, thirsty land. His word echoes again and again each new morning, across the years and across the seas, He is one, and He is in us and we in Him. 

The creosote breathes in the morning, opening up its stomata while the air is cool and relatively humid; this is when it undergoes photosynthesis, changing light energy into matter.

The creosote provides a place of shelter for a wide range of community of algae, fungi and bacteria. It is from a combination of this and dust that has settled on its branches between storms that allows creosote bush to pick up nine times as much phosphorus and sixteen times as much nitrogen than is in regular rainwater. Community makes it stronger.

May I, like my beloved creosote, be a sweet fragrance in this weary world today, hallowed be His name.