This is a continuation of a previous post. Please see that post for my function definition of pacifism.
An important part of how I have landed on being a pacifist involves my struggle with my identity and my country. Let me explain.
In the summer of 2007, I had an experience that continues to challenge me. As a summer missionary, I spent close to four months crossing the Southern border of the United States while living principally in a small community on the outskirts of Juarez, Mexico. As one can imagine, an extended amount of time in this infamous city would be nothing short of an education for a kid who was born and raised in the 11th safest city in these United States.
That summer, a line on a map and a fence guarded by guns served as reminders of the two worlds which I inhabited seemingly simultaneously. 6 days a week I slept on the dusty concrete floor of a church in the desert. 1 night a week I slept in an air conditioned room in the El Paso Econolodge. 6 days a week water was scarce, contaminated, and delivered by trucks. 1 day a week, water was taken for granted, showers were abundant, and wouldn’t make me sick. 6 days a week I prayed with my new friends for “daily bread”. 1 day a week the churches thanked God for His blessings. One side of the fence afforded grass and football stadiums while the other had a concrete soccer slab with no nets.
The border, for the first time, became not solely a symbol of protection but much less. It was reduced to a hassle. Going one way, I had to be sure to be carrying less than a certain amount of new merchandise per person in order to avoid taxes. Going the other, I needed a passport, no plants, a consistent story, and sometimes a good deal of patience (they once X-rayed the entire bus!). As I met more and more friends, my conception of what it meant to live on the border changed. No one wanted to give up a life with their family, abandon their spouses, get a free pass, or even to cross the border if they could avoid it. The majority of the people I met simply wanted to be able to earn a living wage, to be able to share life meaningfully with the people they cared about, and to leave your family better off than how you found it. They knew the same thing I knew — the likelihood of accomplishing that goal was very diminished greatly because of the side of the fence they were born on. From this I learned sympathy, but that barely begins to describe what I learned.
In our first week at our ministry site, we were invited to the home of a family in the community for a cookout. It was here that I got my first taste of authentic Mexican cooking and hospitality alike. We enjoyed getting to know them. I was fed a steak. So were my three other team members. The family did not eat steak. They simply wanted to give us the best they had and didn’t want to be noticed for it. It would be weeks before I realized the sacrifice that family made to feed me well. They had been out of work for a while and medical problems jeopardized their future. They had given without expectation. These people are the salt of the Earth, so why do they not get running water like I have?
I then met more and more of the community and church members. We shared in the things of the Lord. Pastor spoke of the calling the Lord has placed on his life and how the Lord had provided for close to 20 years every single need that his family and the church and Christian school had needed. Several time during that summer we would pray for a specific need to be met, and it would be just in time. One time, Pastor needed to drive into the city for a meeting and had no gas. That morning a team member handed him a letter from her family in Puerto Rico with the exact amount for the trip. This was common. It was as if I was watching the bush burn in front of my eyes and not be consumed. I began to grasp the power of faith the size of mustard seed, even in the arid arrangements in which we lived.
This began the unraveling of my identity as an American Christian. Granted, I am today still an American and also still a Christian. But I must say that I find much more of my identity of in Christ than in being an American. I’m not against America, but I consider myself a citizen of this nation by happenstance rather than choice. It was then when I first began to be able to separate national progress, prosperity, and defense from the true call of God on my life. I have one true, eternal, political allegiance and it is to the King who now rules and will one day rule entirely and before our own eyes. Our kingdoms, constitutions, and policies will one day come to an end either in the course of human events or in that twinkling of an eye, so I do not consider it foolish to be a man who attempts at giving my allegiance to Christ the King and to make my primary interest in life to teach other about his Kingdom of grace and truth.
Christ holds my allegiance. Dismantling my identity and security as a citizen of the United Stated was simply another step in my path towards pacifism. It is not so much the disgust at some of the specific injustices of US domestic and foreign policy and history that lead me to this point (although admittedly they DO exist). It is the greater truth and beauty that Christ is already Lord of all and that his first and greatest command to love must take precedence. My spiritual reorientation to Christ will have to be another post.
Grace and peace,
Cwillz
Tags: America, Faith, Juarez, missions, pacifism, prayer
