Little Boy with a Spiderman Backpack

Sometimes there are no words—or the words I have fail me.

I was feeling a little proud of myself this morning because I got up and wrote. I wrote about the five-year-old little boy with the Spiderman backpack and bunny ear hat who was taken by ICE, and how that photo broke my heart.

That was this morning.

A few hours passed, and now it is evening, and in the meantime, a man was executed by ICE in Minneapolis.

We thought the news last week was horrible. It was. But apparently, the horribleness continues with no sign of stopping. If anything, it seems to be exploding.

I was moved by footage I saw yesterday of about 100 clergy members, people of faith, being arrested during a demonstration at the Minneapolis airport.

I wonder if I would be brave enough to kneel with other people of faith to protest ICE.

I hope so.

Brave people in Minneapolis are putting their bodies and livelihoods on the line to protest ICE. The man who was killed today was doing that. The faith leaders who were arrested earlier this week were released and issued misdemeanor citations. What would it be like, to kneel in prayer and have an officer grab you and usher you away? What would it be like, to be thrown to the ground by ICE agents, beaten, and murdered?

My favorite priest Richard Rohr keeps reminding me that death is a necessary part of getting to resurrection. Once again, as I’ve stated before, I am not a fan of this—at all. I would like my life to be comfortable and safe without any pain, prison, or death on the agenda. Sunshine, unicorns, rainbows, lollipops? Sign me up.

It shouldn’t surprise me then that if I say I follow Jesus, it could mean following him to the cross. That’s not something I’ve ever had to worry about—but many people I admire have gone to prison (and even their deaths) for their beliefs, for loving Jesus and following him.

I think of the Berrigan brothers, Daniel and Philip, who spoke against U.S. militarism and who served time in federal prison for what they knew was true. And Martin Luther King Jr., who was arrested numerous times for his civil rights activism (and eventually murdered). Dietrich Bonhoeffer comes to mind with his cheery book “The Cost of Discipleship,” especially the line, “When Christ calls a man (or woman, I think it’s okay to add), he bids him come and die.” Bonhoeffer was a German Lutheran pastor who opposed the Nazi regime and was executed by the Nazis.

Those who have been persecuted for their faith and live to tell about it often say that a strange comfort and peace comes to them in the midst of their pain and trials. The Apostle Paul seemed to experience wild, crazy joy in prison. Apparently Jesus shows up for you in a different way, a way that is really real—realer—when you suffer for love, for him. I’ve had glimpses of the Divine over the years for sure. But maybe a strange gift of this time, of kneeling for truth, would be a deeper knowledge that all of this stuff I’ve been prattling on about for years—that it’s actually real? To know it in a deeper way?

I am thousands of miles away from Minnesota and ICE. I am in a warm, safe house and have chicken thighs in the refrigerator with sweet potatoes to bake later. My neighbor’s rooster sang a morning serenade for me outside my front window. My other neighbor who voted Republican came over and brought good firewood that he no longer needs. I went to town for a little work, then treated myself to an acupuncture appointment at the local community clinic. If I was in Minneapolis, it would feel wrong to go about all of this normal life stuff. I would want to be out on the streets with thousands of other people. But I am here, and I am concerned about all my regular things. I go to Costco and drive to work and make an appointment to get my car’s oil changed.

All this—and a little boy with his Spiderman backpack and bunny ear hat was taken away by ICE this week and is somewhere in a Texas detention center. And an ICU nurse was murdered in the street not far from his home by our government.

Lord have mercy.