Move the Mountain of Death

Last night I corrected homework from my class at the detention center, which had a manageable twenty-one in attendance yesterday. Aden was intrigued and  came over to help with corrections, but she was forestalled by the attendance list: two pages full of names. As I wrote capitals and periods over hesitant sentences she thought and thought, finally asking me if I had all of her papers. At first I thought she was referring to homework, and I was confused, but then I realized she was referring to the documentation of her U.S. citizenship. My heart hurt for a long minute as I looked into her sweet, concerned face, as we both held the knowledge that those papers - her birth certificate, her passport, her social security card - are things we take for granted until we realize that they can make all the difference in someone's life. In the lives of fifty-one men in my class, the lack of these documents means separation from their families, imprisonment, loneliness and loss.

I went back to the detention center today to drop off the corrected work and to attend an Easter service put on by volunteers of Confluence Ministries. I had just missed the service for the women, and evidence of their emotion was on display through the well-used toilet paper rolls of tissue. Easter is a significant holiday in the Hispanic culture and a difficult time to be away from loved ones. The men who attended my service were emotional enough, standing and clapping when urged on by the musicians, and reverently bowing their heads during the pastor's emotional homily. A gentleman seated near me in the back sobbed quietly, bent over his hands, clutching the white paper to shreds.

The prayer was beautiful in both Spanish and English, reminding us that Jesus knew what it was like to be alone, betrayed and scared. The disciples also were terrified on this day so long ago, isolated and in darkness, and I thank God for Jesus and for them. I thank God that Jesus fully understands the pain and darkness of death and that his closest followers knew terror and betrayal and hopelessness. Whatever depths we plumb, Jesus  has been there - and he returned in triumph. The men in detention were reminded today that Jesus has walked in their frightened, lonely footsteps and he understands. He has not abandoned them, or any of us, and despite this frightening day, and all the frightening days in our life, he delivers us into peace and joy and glory. He moved the mountain of death not only for himself, but for all.