Strangers no more… Beloved… Blessed

My name has always been important to me. During my lifetime, I have had several names. For the first twenty years of my life, I was called “Mary” by family, teachers, classmates, and friends. It was a “common” name and one that I shared with many Catholic girls my age. When I entered religious life, I was given the name “Bernadette Joseph” and for the next fifteen years was called a variety of names … Bern, Bernie, Bernadette. When my religious congregation gave sisters permission to return to their baptismal names, I reclaimed my first and my middle name and became “Mary Elaine.” I soon discovered that because it was an “uncommon” name, people often mistakenly called me “Mary Ellen” or “Mary Eileen” or just “Elaine.” 

Why is being called by name, that is, my correct name, so important to me? Maybe it is because when I am called by name, I feel seen, known and invited into relationship. I believe that is true, not only for me, but also for those whom I meet daily in my ministry at the US-Mexico border. Society tends to “look at” migrants collectively rather than “see” them as individuals who are human like us with similar feelings, needs and aspirations. When a person is faceless and nameless, it is easier for us to name call, demonize and see him or her as a stranger to be feared and deported. It is only when we have the courage to look into another’s eyes and call him or her by his or her given name that we see the person as brother or sister and as friend to be welcomed and embraced. 

Recently, I met a woman named “Merylin” (mā rē lēn) at the Humanitarian Respite Center (HRC) in McAllen, Texas. She had been interviewed by Immigration two days before we met and had been permitted to cross the border. Merylin was waiting anxiously to be reunited with her nineteen-year-old daughter Andrea whose interview with Immigration was that day. I had the privilege of being with her when Andrea arrived at HRC. Amid their tears of happiness were also tears of sadness. Merilyn’s husband and fourteen-year-old son had not yet successfully obtained their interviews with Immigration using the CBP One App. Knowing that I would be crossing into Reynosa, Mexico, the following day, Merylin asked me to look for her husband and son in Senda de Vida II. So, the next day I walked through the encampment of about 2,000 migrants asking for Roger and Mario Rivera. After I made several inquiries, a young man finally said to me: “You know … many of us here have the same name.” 

His words have haunted me. How can one be found, be seen, be called if one’s name is like that of so many? How do we not allow people, many of whom have the same name, to become faceless? How do we break through the faceless flesh of humanity and our own indifference? That day in Senda de Vida II, I knew that I might never find Roger and Mario Rivera. I stood in the midst of the collective vulnerability of 2,000 people waiting to be seen and called by name, and I heard God whispering “Beloved,” God’s name for all of humanity. At that moment, my eyes were opened, and I recognized all, those I knew by name and those whose names I did not know, as my flesh, my family, my brother and my sister. 

In that brief moment of recognizing God’s abundant love for all of humanity, I caught a glimpse of a world where there would be no more strangers, where we would embrace the most vulnerable and welcome all, where we would build bridges that unite rather than separate countries and families.

How do we initiate the needed paradigm shift to make this new world not only possible but also a reality? We will need to call into question and let go of all our current assumptions about money, power and relationships. We will need to become vulnerable and expose ourselves to the ridicule and criticism of those who represent the status quo and the powerful. Many of us will need to recognize when and how we are privileged. 

Some will say that “privilege” has nothing to do with the situation at the border. But my experience every Thursday crossing the Hidalgo International Bridge on foot tells me that privilege is a key component. In the morning, when I enter Mexico, no one asks to see my passport nor any form of identification. But a few hours later, when I leave Reynosa, Mexico, and cross back to the US side of the Rio Grande River, I need to show my US passport twice. Although it can be anxiety-provoking (Sometimes I worry what would happen if I forgot or lost my passport.), I also know that being a US citizen and showing my US passport are a sure guarantee for a quick entry into the US. Two of the sisters with whom I cross the bridge are Mexican. Although they have visas that also allow them to enter the US, at times they are questioned by Immigration and it takes them a little longer to gain their rightful entry into the US. 

For many, the Hidalgo International Bridge is a place of vulnerability. The asylum seekers who walk across it have no guarantee that their journey will have a happy ending. Every day there is a long line of migrants who, after successfully accessing the CBP One App, wait on the bridge for their interview with US Immigration. As we make our way across the bridge to return to the US, we pass migrants who have been turned back and families with small children who have been standing in the heat for hours waiting their turn to meet with Immigration and learn their fate. It is tempting to cast our eyes downward and pretend not to notice the pain, worry and desperation on their faces. But I have learned from one of the sisters with whom I live not to let my personal feelings of powerlessness overwhelm me. Rose has taught me to look into the eyes of our brothers and sisters, to smile and to say the heartfelt and hope-filled word, “Bendiciones” (Blessings). 

You may wonder whether a simple word of blessing can generate hope where there is so much vulnerability. Yes, it can! Asylum seekers who successfully crossed the Hidalgo International Bridge and who have met Rose at the Humanitarian Respite Center have told her, “You blessed us on the bridge, and no one was turned back!”