One-way Flights

(Note: this post was removed from my blog for several months as a precaution but has now been restored in a slightly edited form.)

Last Friday I flew out west for a dear friend, Skylar’s, baptism. The moment I entered the Hispanic church on Sabbath morning, I felt the warmth of Christian fellowship. It felt like I had walked into a different world, yet our dear brothers and sisters went out of their way to make sure I was included. Just for us, the entire service that day was translated into English. The speaker of the day presented a deep and moving message on the soon return of Christ, and translated his own message into English for us. As I stood in line for the potluck, the members quickly ushered me to the front of the line, along with the Skylar and his family. Because of my dietary sensitivities, I’ve learned to discretely pick through the potluck line, and I can usually find more than enough delicious food despite my allergies. But as I started through line, someone quickly handed me a full plate! The ladies had learned of my sensitivities ahead of time and had prepared a special plate for me!

Sunday morning dawned beautiful but crispy and cold. I joined Skylar and his fiancee, along with others from the church, for a walk at a nearby park, and we were able to enjoy a lovely sunrise over the frozen lake. After the walk, I had a few hours to relax in my hotel room, but my mind couldn’t rest. I was troubled by the incredible dissonance I felt between the beautiful and welcoming hospitality I had experienced in the Hispanic church, and the loud celebration online coming from my fellow conservative Christians over the deportations that have been ramping up since the inauguration.

I sat down to put my thoughts into words, and soon had posted a passionate exposé (here). I hardly expected to see the dozens of comments and shares my post received!

As expected, some have approached me this week, concerned that I would post such a passionate piece as an Adventist pastor. Wasn’t I being too political? Wasn’t I sharing only one side of the story and ignoring the real suffering that others had experienced–suffering that they saw as resulting from the immigrant population? Was I compromising my work and position as a pastor by wading into political activism?

My previous post was not intended to be a political endorsement or protest. I don’t believe there is a political solution to the problems of this world. We may affect small change in the short term, but this world is not our home, and prophecy tells us that the kingdoms of this world will end when Christ returns soon. That’s why I am a pastor, not a politician!

Here’s why I feel I need to speak out: I’m concerned that we are embracing a potentially dangerous narrative–a distorted view of the facts, that may be influenced by racial prejudice and has real and negative impacts on the way we see people within the immigrant community. I want to see our Seventh-day Adventist Christian family have an earnest love for truth, and to become well informed on the issues that our world is facing today. If we can’t do that, our message will mean nothing to the world.

I’m saddened to hear our people repeating the distorted messaging that comes from politicians and is foreign to our own faith community. There is no place in our church for a narrative that makes one group of people superior to another based on their skin color, their place of birth or the language they speak. Justifying such attitudes is exactly what led to the great atrocities in Germany leading up to and during World War II. It’s what led to so much hate-fueled crime against black people in our own country during the Jim Crow era. We must stand up against it.

With all these thoughts swirling in my mind, Skylar and I boarded an American Airlines flight to return from Kansas to North Carolina. The plane was filled with passengers, many returning from the Chiefs game in Kansas City over the weekend. As I dozed and listened on my headphones, I glanced out the window to see the sun setting in the thin atmosphere high above the earth. I looked again and noticed an outlined that seemed strangely familiar. I asked my seatmate for permission to snap a quick photo. As I looked, I knew my eyes hadn’t mistaken me–it was Lake Cumberland. Through the haze of the atmosphere I could make out the land that had been my home, the place where my mother still lives. So near, and yet from this height it seemed to be a world away. Not long after, we landed in Charlotte, and waited with people, it seemed, from every country of the world, hoping to find our checked bags on the carousel. We finally recovered our bags from the baggage office (they had been sent to the wrong carousel by mistake), and I was so happy to come home to a hug from Kristina and a wonderful home-cooked supper.

Perhaps that’s why it hit me especially hard last evening, when I heard the news and saw the video of the tragic accident over the Potomac. Just like Skylar and I on Monday, another group of expectant passengers boarded an American Airlines flight, eastbound from Kansas. A team of hopeful figure skaters were on that flight, along with many others. In my mind, I can see it all: moms and dads, children, the teenagers coming home from their competition. I can hear the dull roar of the engines, the ding of the seatbelt sign, the announcement that we’re about to land. And then in an instant, they are gone. A crash, a fireball, a plunge into the icy river below. There are no survivors.

In just a few weeks, Kristina is scheduled to fly a multi-leg trip to visit her family and attend a funeral. Later this year, we hope to fly to Europe for a reformation tour with other pastors. Will we still go? Probably. We cannot let fear hold us back. But we will hold each other a little tighter, a little longer, as we never know when this trip could be our last.

In my mind, I can still savor that potluck meal after Skylar’s baptism last Sabbath. I can still see the love and care in the eyes of those dear saints who welcomed us there–who welcomed Skylar into fellowship in their church family, though they speak a different language. No doubt some, perhaps many of them, are undocumented immigrants in this land. These are the “criminal aliens” that many are raging against, but I can assure you that they are wonderful people. I wonder when I’ll see them again. Each day, flights are leaving this country with men and women, boys and girls, who long to make this land their home. Leaving on a one-way trip, back to the land that many have spent their lives trying to escape from. Some are our fellow church members, but all are our family through Adam and through Christ. When their native countries refuse to take them in, where will they go to next? Will they go to detention centers? To labor camps? To their deaths? And when these immigrants are all gone, who will they come for next?

If anything, I’m reminded this week that life is fragile and fleeting. We aren’t promised tomorrow. We don’t have time to make enemies of our brothers and sisters–we must stand together, for Christ is coming soon to take us home!

Please pray especially tonight for the families of the passengers and crew both in the American Airlines flight and Helicopter that went down in the Potomac. Please pray for the millions of immigrant families in this country. Please pray for our leaders, both political leaders and church leaders in this difficult time. And pray that our church may stand united as we enter what I believe are the last days of this earth’s history.