Claire St. Amant » Jesus

And who is my neighbor?

Claire St. Amant — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 16:35:00 +0000

Yesterday, a friend of mine with a pretty popular blog asked me to write a guest column. Naturally, I was thrilled. Jenny Simmons, lead singer of Addison Road and fellow Baylor grad, had written a post about the largest illegal immigration raid in history when a robust debate broke out. When she asked me to write a post addressing the question, “What should we as Christians do?” there were 9 comments. Just 24 hours later there were 18. Enter my column, reposted here.

It’s a good thing I didn’t write the Bible.

OK, that’s the understatement of the century. But in all seriousness, I just can’t imagine how Jesus came up with such a great answer to “Who is my neighbor?” I probably would have just said “everyone.”

But that wouldn’t get the point across like the parable of the Good Samaritan does. In Luke 10, Jesus’ answer tells us not only are the clean, nice-looking people our neighbors, but so is the naked bloody guy with no money on the side of the street.

We should treat him with pity, and, judging from the parable, extravagance. So who is our neighbor today? As surely as it is the nuclear family next door, it is the illegal immigrant.

The New York Times put it aptly in a June 3 editorial: “A nation of immigrants is holding another nation of immigrants in bondage, exploiting its labor while ignoring its suffering, condemning its lawlessness while sealing off a path to living lawfully.” Although how to handle illegal immigration is undoubtedly a Christian moral issue, it is also an issue that strikes the core of American life.

We were founded to be a refuge from tyranny, oppression, and injustice. Whatever happened to “give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free”? I fear we have replaced it with, “give me your paperwork, wait two to five years, learn a new language, or we will imprison you indefinitely.”

I realize the issue is complex and challenging. We cannot allow immigration to go unchecked. We must protect our citizens and our country first and foremost or we won’t be much of a sanctuary to anyone. However, protecting the immigrant is an important, and recently missing, piece of the American character.

So where should we, as Christians, start?

I won’t rehash the parable for a second time, but I think you know where I’m going with this.

We must love illegal immigrants, our neighbors, as ourselves.

This won’t be easy. I daily have trouble loving people who look, talk, and think like me with as much grace and understanding as I afford my fallen self.

To remind myself to do things, I like to use lists. Little things I can check off, keep up with, and hang on my mirror. But “love illegal immigrants” doesn’t really belong on a post-it note next to my grocery list.

In fact, it sounds downright ridiculous.

It has to be written on our hearts and seen in our actions or else it won’t matter. It won’t be the real, life-changing love that God gives us everyday. It will be hard. It will be awkward. It might even cause you to loose a few friends or social standing. Sound like anyone you’ve heard of before? Jesus didn’t ride into town on a white horse. He saddled up a donkey. Jesus didn’t hang out with the rich and powerful. He chilled with the poor and rejected.

While there are a number of passages in the Bible about following the law and respecting your government, there are more still about loving others unashamedly and unequivocally. Contrary to welfare legislation, there is no such thing as the “undeserving poor.” As human beings, we all deserve compassion. And as Christians, we are all commanded to dish it out with utter abandon. Not delineating between the “good” poor and the “bad” poor, but loving each and every one of God’s creatures as ourselves.

Looking for a practical application?

A good place to start might be volunteering to teach English as a second language. My church in college, Calvary Baptist, had a Wednesday night ESL class open to the community. From that class, a Spanish-speaking Sunday school class was born. Hey, sometimes you just need to use your mother tongue.

And from that class, a new ministry to immigrants in Waco evolved. It was amazing to see. And it made a difference. Another area immigrants typically lack understanding is personal finance. One member of our church helped organize a “Bank Fair/Carnival” so that parents could learn about checking accounts and other services while their children jumped on bouncy-castles and ate snow cones.

Some people might think providing these classes without knowing if those receiving the services are legal citizens is a crime in itself. I’m not one of them. I think a greater crime, one against God, is committed when we turn our back on the poor. As Jesus said, “Whatever you do unto the least of these, you do unto me.” I’m not telling you to start housing people of unknown descent in your guest room. But loving others is always a risk.

Another practical way Christians can respond to the plight of the illegal immigrant is with our votes. I’m pretty big on the separation of church and state and honestly even invoking political language next to passages of the Bible makes me nervous.
But I’m not telling you who to vote for, just to look at your local and federal elections with a keen eye. Find out where the candidates stand on illegal immigration. Call your congressman or woman. Let them know this issue is important to you.

I believe a key component to the illegal immigration problem is in the hands of lawmakers. As long as companies are hiring illegal workers, they will come illegally. There need to be harsher penalties for companies who employ illegal workers. In many cases, they are exploiting people to work for below-minimum wage, with no benefits, for far too many hours a week. I sincerely think those who hire and abuse immigrants are as guilty, if not more, than the workers are.

For most of us, however, our role is not to pass legislation. In the words of Micah, “What does God require of you? To do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”

Amen.

I spent my 23rd birthday in jail

Claire St. Amant — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 15:49:00 +0000

OK. So technically it was the day after my birthday, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it. I’ve been in Louisiana for the past week, visiting an assortment of aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents before leaving the country for a couple of years.

Being around family so much, I’ve noticed a number of similarities: brown hair, green eyes, height deficiency, a love of story telling, and a penchant for prisoners.

From an early age, I was fascinated by the criminal justice system. My favorite vacation growing up was our trip to Alcatraz in San Francisco. I bought a book in the gift shop written by Jim Quillen, a paroled prisoner, and read it multiple times. My fascination graduated into a desire to understand crime rates, and I’ve written a variety of pieces on the prison system, death penalty, and root causes of crime.

While most people are confused by my empathy for criminals, my 79-year-old grandmother is not one of them. She has been holding Bible studies in Louisiana jails for years. I’ve heard her stories of broken lives, abuses of all kinds, and, sometimes, restoration and healing.

But I wasn’t ever able to go myself, until today. Getting into jail is hard work. My grandmother has an ID badge stating she is an official clergy of Louisiana parish jails, but I carry no such authority. If I hoped to make it behind bars, I would have to be interviewed and approved by the warden. The entire process took 46 minutes. Forty-five minutes of waiting, and exactly one minute for the warden to glance up at me from his desk and approve the transaction.

From his office, we were whisked away by a uniformed guard and brought through several sets of heavy doors that locked loudly behind us. Then, we were passed off to a sergeant, who inspected our bags and Bibles and led us to the female cellblock. Much to my surprise, she did not accompany us inside. Instead, she opened the door and locked it behind us. I was starting to think my heart for prisoners was akin to a love of stars— best observed from a great distance.

A few of the inmates looked in our direction, most slept. A small group left cards on a table and headed into their cells, presumably to get away from the religious nuts that had voluntarily put themselves in here. While that was true for a couple of them, most were getting their Bibles and pens.

Feeling a little braver, I sat down on the cold metal bench and tried to look friendly. I felt like a voyeur, but I put my hands on the table and made myself feign being comfortable in this environment. A woman brought out a bag of peppermints and passed one to each of us. Prison candy, I thought, what a paradox.

After my grandmother passed out booklets and tracts, which were eagerly accepted, she started the lesson. They listened intently. One woman periodically nodded her head, and finished my grandmother’s quotes of Bible verses. A few looked at me and smiled. As the lesson on perseverance through trials continued, two more women joined our group. We had a full table, and, quite literally, a captive audience. My grandmother preached about how when we are weak, God is strong, and when we fill empty, God can fill us up.

One of things that struck me about the inmates was how exceedingly normal they were. One woman had three college degrees, many had children, and they all had families of one stripe or another on the outside. Their humanity was hidden by orange jumpsuits and unkempt hair, but their sheepish smiles revealed a common decency. As we exchanged pleasantries, I could tell they felt embarrassed. Our conversations could have occurred anywhere in the world but here and seemed normal.

Sitting in that drafty cellblock, I felt the love of God radiating around the room. When Jesus said “whatever you do unto the least of these, you do unto me,” I think he meant it. And when he talked about setting the captive free, he meant that, too. But we don’t usually live like the Gospel means what it says.

Instead of taking the message to the oppressed, we carve verses in wood and hang them on the mantle in our middle-class homes. But the Bible wasn’t written for decoration but for action. When Jesus talks about visiting prisoners in jail, he means it. While those trapped in metaphorical prisons of addiction and anxiety need Jesus, we can’t stop there. More than 2 million people are imprisoned in the United States, the most in the world, and they, perhaps more urgently than anyone else, need to hear words of hope, grace, and peace.

Hug a tree for Jesus

Claire St. Amant — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 06:09:00 +0000

With the election looming and voter turnout up across the board, the youth vote has attracted its fair share of attention. Harvard University’s Institute of Politics reports that for the first time since Richard Nixon was in office, young people are turning out to vote in high numbers. Perhaps more interesting than sheer volume is how we youngsters are voting and why.

The study, released in April, said 37 percent of young people listed religion as “a very important part of their lives” and 45 percent expected it to “become more important as they grew older.” But traditional “religious” issues such as gay marriage, abortion, and stem-cell research aren’t as popular with the younger demographic. The idea of voting for morals or family values doesn’t mean what it used to. Hallelujah.

As a religiously affiliated youth voter myself, I am overall more concerned with poverty, social justice, and the environment as moral causes than any others. This is also a reflection of the Democratic Party affiliation of the majority of the 18-29-year-old age group, reported by the Pew Research Center. It’s not that abortion and homosexuality aren’t worthy of attention or thoughtful discussion/legislation, but for too long these two issues have defined the religious movement. I’m proud to be part of a generation that is broadening our moral focus and redefining what it means to be a politically-active religious citizen.

We can talk all day about when life begins and what rights women have, but as long as people are poor and scared and uneducated, we won’t stop abortions. We can obsess over homosexuality and the theories of sexual orientation, but how can we love like Jesus when we don’t even treat people who are different than us like people?

My hope for my generation and the emerging religiousity in America is that our votes will speak about a great love for all people and a concerted effort to make life better in this country. I hope issues like the environment won’t fade into merely a trendy interest, but will manifest into a dedication for alternative, clean energy and a renewed zeal for conservation.

I think criminal justice is another neglected Christian issue that has seen an increase in popularity with the restorative justice movement. The religious right may not be famous for hugging trees or fighting for prisoner’s rights, but I believe the religious left could be. And maybe, we can even stop using terms like left and right to describe and divide ourselves. I’ll try to work on that.