Tag: immigrants

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Jesus The Refugee

A poem created from a ChatGPT prompt with an image from Stable Diffusion.

In shadows cast by desert suns,
A story of a journey begun.
Jesus walks the southern line,
A refugee seeking a hope divine.

Through arid plains, a dusty road,
He bears the weight of a heavy load.
Innocence draped in tattered shroud,
Seeking solace ‘neath the border’s shroud.

A humble child, a migrant’s tale,
His weary steps leave a dusty trail.
Seeking refuge, a haven to find,
In a world where compassion’s often confined.

No room at the inn, a familiar theme,
Yet echoes of love in the silent stream.
In the borderland where humanity meets,
Jesus walks, humility at his feet.

Strangers offer hands, hearts unfold,
A parable of compassion, untold.
Crossing borders, transcending fear,
In the embrace of love, redemption’s near.

Through the Rio Grande, a baptismal flow,
Jesus, the refugee, continues to grow.
In the desert’s heat and the border’s cold,
A timeless tale of love, forever told.

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A day to remember

There is not a February 8th that goes by that I don’t remember graduating from the US Navy Hospital Corps School in Great Lakes. With that on my mind earlier today I drove to St. Bonaventure University with a load of groceries in the rear of my car. I was joining a group of Franciscans and other members of the St. Bonaventure University community to assemble food packages to be sent to the Arizona-Mexico border.

On my way to the campus my car started making some scary noises and lights appeared on the console to let me know that something was seriously wrong. I slowed down and drove along the shoulder of the road and arrived at the campus of St. Bonaventure and unloaded my groceries. Br. Joe Kotula, OFM drove me to a local repair shop where mechanics quickly determined that my car needed a new wheel bearing. Joe drove us back to the campus and when we arrived we were joined by dozens of volunteers who took hundreds and perhaps thousands of dollars worth of energy bars, meat sticks, and other snacks and placed them in large plastic bags along with a greeting in Spanish and English.  Each note was signed by a volunteer who packed the bags. In all three-hundred-fifty-two plastic bags were filled with snacks and other goodies. They filled 15 shipping boxes and were shipped to Elfrida, AZ. There these care packages will be taken to the US – Mexican border and given to migrants who need some love and care.

This wonderful venture was inspired by Br. Joe who recently returned from three weeks that he spent with the Franciscan Intentional Community in Elfrida who make regular trips to the border to help migrants and recent immigrants on both sides of the border. Before we started packing and after we were through Br. Joe shared his personal journey to the border along with great photographs of the people he met, the conditions he observed and the thirty foot high border wall which is being constructed along our southern border to keep immigrants out. In some places the border wall is topped with concertina wire designed to seriously injure anyone who would attempt to scale and climb over the wall.  Joe’s voice was choked with emotion as he described the experiences he had on both sides of the border and of the horrific plight that these migrants face and the reasons that they are gathering at our border.

As I helped pack bags and worked in assembly line fashion with the dozens of volunteers my eyes filled with tears and I knew that we were truly doing God’s work. Immigration is a serious problem. That’s for sure but there must be a more humane way to deal with it. One of the stories that Br. Joe shared was of an migrant boy who threw stones over the wall and how one of the border guards killed the boy with his weapon. The guard shot through the wall into Mexico and after killing the boy refilled his weapon and shot the dead person some more. What motivates a person to do that? The boy was wrong. He should not have thrown stones over the wall, but does it justify murder in cold blood?

For if you truly amend your ways and your doings, if you truly act justly one with another, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other gods to your own hurt, then I will dwell with you in this place, in the land that I gave of old to your ancestors forever and ever. — Jeremiah 7:5-7

I hope that our efforts with BonaResponds today helped to atone for the way we are currently treating the aliens in our midst.

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Caroline Martha Owens

Caroline was born on this day 18th day of January in 1898. She was the daughter of Welsh immigrants who came to this country seeking a better life. Her mother was from Bangor and her father from the Island of Anglesey. She used to tell me about this when I was a little boy sitting on her lap. She was my grandmother and I can still hear her voice and today I sense her presence even more. She died thirty years ago but her memory lives on with me and and her other grandchildren.

Her father was a share cropper. Neither of her parents spoke English very well. Her dad’s nickname was ‘DickShe.’ He got that moniker because someone who came to the farm looking for him asked my great-grandmother of his whereabouts and she replied, “Dick she’s in the barn.” Her mother was the daughter of a Welsh banker I was told but I don’t know what if any other work she did after coming to America. Caroline was the youngest of seven children. Caroline went to school and made it to the sixth grade. Despite her lack of formal education she read very well up until the time that macular degeneration took away her sight. She married at seventeen and had five children, three of whom lived to adulthood. She used to say rather proudly, “I’ve had all the deadly diseases and five children.” We used to chuckle about how she lumped the children in with the deadly diseases.

She was an accomplished baker and my favorite treat was her fried cakes and filled cookies. I lived with her for four years in my twenties. We had a great time in those years. She lived six years after I married and moved into our own home. She was great grandma to our children. She taught our son how to count in Welsh and say some other Welsh phrases. She taught our daughter some limericks and enjoyed hearing her say, “oh shit.” Happy Birthday Grandma! I love you.