I’m not adopted: my parents had nine home-grown children, and I’m the fifth. Normal birth. Two parents, married and monogamous, fertile. Still, I have wrestled with the idea of adoption for decades, with a restless that suggests a semi-conscious tension about my own identity. For some reason, I really desperately want to know that adoption works, that it is a real and enduring relationship, not just a temporary social construct, like getting into the gifted and talented program at school.
So I find it personally comforting to read the most boring section of the New Testament: the genealogy of Jesus. One part of the repeated and immensely significant identity of Jesus is that he was a “son of David.” And the genealogy asserts that Jesus was descended from David through Joseph, his foster-father, not through Mary, his mother. The statement that Jesus is a “son of David” includes, in the background, the assumption that adoptions, or even foster-parent arrangements, succeed, are real. To put it negatively (to assert the contrapositive), if foster parents aren’t “real” parents and adoptive parents aren’t “real” parents, then Jesus is not really a “son of David.” If I am confident that Jesus is the son of David (and I am), then adoption is real.
What comes out of this? Jesus, who was described in John’s Gospel as “the only begotten son of God,” has invited us to address God as our “Father.” What does that mean? We aren’t begotten by God. So is this a delightful metaphor, or is it something real? If this invitation is to become a reality, then we will have to be adopted. Adoption has to work, has to be a solid and lasting reality. Or, to put it another way, in order to pray the prayer that Jesus taught, in order to grasp that God is indeed my father, I need to believe that adoption works.
If adoption works, then migration is a no-brainer. Families share genes, and bringing someone into a family means crossing over a boundary that is objective, measurable, specific, concrete: an adopted child does not have the same genes as his siblings. But national boundaries are made up. If adoption works, then incorporating immigrants into society is a piece of cake.
I mean, if I am a child of God (adopted), and this stranger from El Salvador or Peru is also a child of God (adopted), then we are brothers and sisters (for real). And if we are brothers and sisters, then how can I reject these strangers, firmly and even angrily: “I am an American, and you are not! Go away, go home, go to hell!” How can this person be a member of my family, but not welcome in my nation? What kind of family are you from? What kind of family do you think God is trying to run?
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Book of Ruth
Ruth: what an odd book! Among Christians, the major use of the book (as far as I know) is at weddings. Ruth’s pledges of fidelity are beautiful, thorough, impressive: your home will be my home, your people will be my people, your God will be my God, your cemetery will be my cemetery. Sounds like a happy wedding! But there is a twist: Ruth was not talking to her husband or prospective husband. She was talking to Naomi, her mother-in-law, and in fact her dead husband’s mom. That’s not usually the person at the top of your loyalty list. Naomi is special, but (1) that’s a strange story, and (2) that’s not the plot of this story.
So what’s it about? The book is not just about King David’s ancestors. If the reason for the book was to explore royal genealogy, we should hear about a lot of other people before we get to David’s Moabite great-grandmother.
The beauty of this little gem lies, I think, in the relationship between Naomi and Ruth on one hand, and the Jewish community on the other. When three men in a single peripatetic family all drop dead, one widow returns to her roots in Bethlehem, one returns to her roots on Moab, and the third, Ruth, opts to tag along to Bethlehem. We lose track of one widow right away. But amongst the Jews, the two widows find hospitality, which grows from pity to respect to generosity to tender protection to committed love. The reader sympathizes with the two, wants them to make it, and is pleased when they do.
The story is about love, but it is more specific than that. It is about love for two widows -- including one Jewish widow and one adopted foreigner. The Jewish community -- Boaz in particular, of course, but the community -- feeds them, cares about them, gathers them in, enfolds them, embraces them. The story offers a picture of how God’s people care for widows, in accord with the Lord’s oft-repeated commands in the Law and the Prophets. Over and over, Scripture demands that we offer hospitality to several protected classes, including the fatherless and widows.* The Book of Ruth shows what this hospitality looks like.
*OOPS! Widows & orphans AND STRANGERS -- the list in Deuteronomy, Jeremiah, Ezequiel, Zachariah, and the Psalms always includes these three. Ruth was an immigrant as well as a widow.
So what’s it about? The book is not just about King David’s ancestors. If the reason for the book was to explore royal genealogy, we should hear about a lot of other people before we get to David’s Moabite great-grandmother.
The beauty of this little gem lies, I think, in the relationship between Naomi and Ruth on one hand, and the Jewish community on the other. When three men in a single peripatetic family all drop dead, one widow returns to her roots in Bethlehem, one returns to her roots on Moab, and the third, Ruth, opts to tag along to Bethlehem. We lose track of one widow right away. But amongst the Jews, the two widows find hospitality, which grows from pity to respect to generosity to tender protection to committed love. The reader sympathizes with the two, wants them to make it, and is pleased when they do.
The story is about love, but it is more specific than that. It is about love for two widows -- including one Jewish widow and one adopted foreigner. The Jewish community -- Boaz in particular, of course, but the community -- feeds them, cares about them, gathers them in, enfolds them, embraces them. The story offers a picture of how God’s people care for widows, in accord with the Lord’s oft-repeated commands in the Law and the Prophets. Over and over, Scripture demands that we offer hospitality to several protected classes, including the fatherless and widows.* The Book of Ruth shows what this hospitality looks like.
*OOPS! Widows & orphans AND STRANGERS -- the list in Deuteronomy, Jeremiah, Ezequiel, Zachariah, and the Psalms always includes these three. Ruth was an immigrant as well as a widow.
The Inalienable Right to Migrate
The Bible speaks about immigrants about 200 times, putting them in a protected class with widows and orphans. And the Catholic Church today continues to assert the rights of immigrants. The Church asserts migration in search of better economic conditions is a right.
The Catholic Church today has factions and internal squabbles; there is a left and right in the Church, as in American politics. Some Catholics brandish the rich “social Gospel” teachings of the Church about solidarity and peace, while other Catholics pound on the clear teaching of the Church about personal morality. The official teaching of the Church does not support such schizophrenia: the entire history of the Church is filled, generation after generation, with prophetic calls for justice and morality. (That’s AND, not OR.) Still, it is interesting where we find the Church’s recent teaching on immigration. It’s in the teaching on morality, the right-wing documents. It’s in the documents about family life.
In Familiaris Consortio, Pope John Paul II opposes abortion, opposes contraception, defends a right to religious education, denounces government intrusion into family decisions. He says that “the Church openly and strongly defends the rights of the family against the intolerable usurpations of society and the State.” That’s all good old familiar on-the-one-right-hand stuff. It’s in that letter that he lists specific rights, including a lefty: “the right to emigrate as a family in search of a better life.”
The right to migrate is not an absolute right which can never be abridged, like the right to life. It’s more like property rights, which have to be balanced with other rights. Still, it’s a right, not a privilege, says the Catholic Church. It’s a God-given right, not an arbitrary arrangement provided by the government.
We should help immigrants because we should be generous as God has been generous to us. But more: we are required to help immigrants, because it is a matter of justice. The Catholic Church, following the teaching of the Law and the Prophets and the Gospel, states firmly that when people uproot and move in search of a better life, they are exercising a God-given right.
The Catholic Church today has factions and internal squabbles; there is a left and right in the Church, as in American politics. Some Catholics brandish the rich “social Gospel” teachings of the Church about solidarity and peace, while other Catholics pound on the clear teaching of the Church about personal morality. The official teaching of the Church does not support such schizophrenia: the entire history of the Church is filled, generation after generation, with prophetic calls for justice and morality. (That’s AND, not OR.) Still, it is interesting where we find the Church’s recent teaching on immigration. It’s in the teaching on morality, the right-wing documents. It’s in the documents about family life.
In Familiaris Consortio, Pope John Paul II opposes abortion, opposes contraception, defends a right to religious education, denounces government intrusion into family decisions. He says that “the Church openly and strongly defends the rights of the family against the intolerable usurpations of society and the State.” That’s all good old familiar on-the-one-right-hand stuff. It’s in that letter that he lists specific rights, including a lefty: “the right to emigrate as a family in search of a better life.”
The right to migrate is not an absolute right which can never be abridged, like the right to life. It’s more like property rights, which have to be balanced with other rights. Still, it’s a right, not a privilege, says the Catholic Church. It’s a God-given right, not an arbitrary arrangement provided by the government.
We should help immigrants because we should be generous as God has been generous to us. But more: we are required to help immigrants, because it is a matter of justice. The Catholic Church, following the teaching of the Law and the Prophets and the Gospel, states firmly that when people uproot and move in search of a better life, they are exercising a God-given right.
Border Baby
BORDER BABY
Gabe, a Border Patrol officer, argues with his superior about a family.
Gabe: Captain, I think you should look at this bunch before we send them away.
Captain: Why?
Gabe: Hard to say. There’s something about them.
Captain: You woke me up for “something about them”? Okay, gimme a run-down.
Gabe: The facts don’t sound too good. I think you should meet them.
Captain: Facts, Gabe! Facts, first and fast.
Gabe: Okay. Young couple with a kid and a donkey. Crossing the border at night. Jose is a handyman. He speaks Hill-billy. He had work at home, but left it because he had a dream. The lady with him is Maria. The kid does not look like Jose, so I asked if it was Jose’s kid. She said no, right off, calm. The kid is young. Maria said his name was “Hey-you.” I ask Jose, “Are you kidding me? Hey-you?” “Hey-Zeus,” he corrects. I made routine inquiries about them, and got a hit right away for Hey-Zeus. He may look young -- he is young -- but he is wanted by the police. Still …
Captain: Gabe! Ignorant peasant day laborer, doesn’t speak the language. Girl has a baby, not his, with a smart-ass name The little bastard's got his own little rap sheet. I do not have to think about this one. Are they offering a bribe?
Gabe: No!
Captain: Services?
Gabe: Captain, it’s not like that! Just meet them!
Captain: This one is real simple, Gabe. Tell Jose to go home. If they try to sneak across the border out in the desert, it’s prison until we get around to deportation -- and extradition for the kid.
Gabe: Boss! I’m telling you, they got a kind of a glow.
Captain: I’m not gonna try to figure this out. Tell them they are not welcome here. They should get lost. I don’t know -- try Egypt, for Chrissake. That’s our law!
Gabe, a Border Patrol officer, argues with his superior about a family.
Gabe: Captain, I think you should look at this bunch before we send them away.
Captain: Why?
Gabe: Hard to say. There’s something about them.
Captain: You woke me up for “something about them”? Okay, gimme a run-down.
Gabe: The facts don’t sound too good. I think you should meet them.
Captain: Facts, Gabe! Facts, first and fast.
Gabe: Okay. Young couple with a kid and a donkey. Crossing the border at night. Jose is a handyman. He speaks Hill-billy. He had work at home, but left it because he had a dream. The lady with him is Maria. The kid does not look like Jose, so I asked if it was Jose’s kid. She said no, right off, calm. The kid is young. Maria said his name was “Hey-you.” I ask Jose, “Are you kidding me? Hey-you?” “Hey-Zeus,” he corrects. I made routine inquiries about them, and got a hit right away for Hey-Zeus. He may look young -- he is young -- but he is wanted by the police. Still …
Captain: Gabe! Ignorant peasant day laborer, doesn’t speak the language. Girl has a baby, not his, with a smart-ass name The little bastard's got his own little rap sheet. I do not have to think about this one. Are they offering a bribe?
Gabe: No!
Captain: Services?
Gabe: Captain, it’s not like that! Just meet them!
Captain: This one is real simple, Gabe. Tell Jose to go home. If they try to sneak across the border out in the desert, it’s prison until we get around to deportation -- and extradition for the kid.
Gabe: Boss! I’m telling you, they got a kind of a glow.
Captain: I’m not gonna try to figure this out. Tell them they are not welcome here. They should get lost. I don’t know -- try Egypt, for Chrissake. That’s our law!
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
9 of 10 people miss this
I have noticed, with great interest, that people who care deeply about Scripture make the same mistake about Matthew 25, 9 times out of 10. In the description of the Last Judgment, Jesus talks about feeding the hungry and giving drink to the thirsty ... and, and ... what's the third? Almost everyone says: clothe the naked. That's 4th. #3 matters, really matters. The passage is sobering: the Lord says, more or less: "Do these things, meet my Father; don't do these, go to hell." So skipping the itchy one is probably a bad idea. The third: "I was a stranger (alien, migrant, foreigner -- xenos in Greek), and you welcomed me."
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