Encounter on the Jericho Road – Some Reflections

ENCOUNTER ON THE JERICHO ROAD – SOME REFLECTIONS

What I’d planned to be a 10-minute errand to Walgreen’s drugstore down the street last night around 10:00 p.m. turned into a Jericho Road encounter, and I was reminded that—as a follower of Jesus Christ—I’m indeed called to be my sisters’ and brothers' keeper. Whereas response to this call is often under our direct control and planning – such as mission trips -- Jericho Road encounters are unexpected, ill-timed, perplexing, and inconvenient – a theological reminder that, as Christians, God isn’t at our beck and call, rather, we’re to be at God's disposal and God's timing.

A young woman with an overstuffed backpack – named Francesca, I learned -- approached me outside the store and asked if I could give her a ride to a nearby location, and I agreed. In the short drive, I also learned she’s an undocumented migrant from Chile -- and further, that she suffers from mental illness, including an anxiety disorder and bi-polar disorder. She was likely in the middle of an episode of some sort, because she was occasionally incoherent and contradictory, and she seemed extremely anxious. At her request I drove her to a local café where earlier in the evening she’d asked for a few hours of work so she could get money for food and shelter for the night; employees told her to return later when the manager would be there and perhaps could help her. Given the uncertainly of the situation (and unlikelihood of concrete help), I couldn’t just drop her off and drive away. But also, given her disorganized mental state, I had to balance concerns for my own safety with concerns for her safety. So I decided that the most responsible thing to do would be to take her to a nearby motel and pay for accommodations, then check on her in the morning, and give her a ride to wherever she requested, or find further help for her (such as a homeless shelter). Clearly, she needed to be off the streets.

On the way to the motel, we got her some food; but then, when we arrived at the motel, she didn’t want to go in, and asked me to take her instead to the Greyhound bus station in downtown Dallas, where she’d sleep in the waiting room. She feared the motel would ask her for some form of identification, and get suspicious and call authorities when she couldn’t produce any. I reassured her that I’d use my ID, and she wouldn’t be asked for anything. When checking in, the desk clerk asked “And how many people will be in the room”? I said, “Just one – I’m getting a room for my out-of-town guest here.” The clerk turned to her and said, “Well, I need to see your identification as well.” We both froze with fear. “I don’t have it with me right now,” she finally said. The clerk pondered briefly, then replied, “Oh, okay—that’s alright; this will do” (holding up my driver’s license).

I helped Francesca to her room, whereupon she begged me to stay with her for the night, saying she felt alone and frightened. It was painful to say no, but I reassured her that she was safely tucked in for the night and that I’d call her in the morning and return and give her further help. As I was walking away from her room, she called out, “I love you!” To my surprise, when I called the hotel this morning, I was told she’d already checked out. I hadn’t given her my number, and she had no cellphone. Besides wondering if I should’ve even left Francesca alone at the motel, I’ll always wonder what’s happening to her, and whether she’s in a physical and emotional place of safety and wellbeing. I also wonder about – and will be investigating – the adequacy of public services in Dallas for homeless undocumented migrants who have no form of ID, especially persons with mental health issues.

I know that many U.S. citizens believe the only thing we owe individuals such as Francesca is a one-way ride back across the border -- and even time in jail. But in my theological book, the claims and obligations of the Gospel transcend and relativize and complicate -- and sometimes even contest -- the claims and obligations of national citizenship.

I respect the rule of law and the need for reasonable border control, but I also respect the need to investigate (and modify) U.S. foreign policies that contribute to violence and poverty and joblessness in other countries, driving migrants out of their homelands (when they’d actually rather stay there) to preserve their very lives, and that of their children.

Beyond the very real and painful ambiguities pertaining to undocumented immigration, of this I’m certain. Because I’m a follower of Jesus Christ – the Incarnate, Crucified, and Resurrected One – who himself was a brown-skinned, poor working class migrant with no place to lay his own head (Luke 9:58; Matt. 8:20), and whose own parents were refugees who fled across borders without proper papers to save their son’s life (Matt. 2:13-23), I’m called to take on the burdens of migrants and strangers I encounter on the Jericho road, such as Francesca, even when they have no papers and even though they inconvenience me, and keep me awake at night fretting about their situation, and about faithful ways to respond. The Bible tells me that even as we encounter the risen Christ in the Lord’s Supper, we fully and equally encounter Christ in the face of the stranger and migrant (Matt. 25:35) – the Francesca’s of this world. I’m grateful for individuals, congregations, and nonprofit groups who embrace and accompany persons who’ve been victimized by circumstances and left stranded along the Jericho Road. May such ministries multiply, and may I always be willing to concretely support and participate in them.

Dr. Susanne Johnson serves as professor of in practical theology, Christian education and social justice at United Methodist-related Perkins School of Theology at Southern Methodist University. This post is republished with permission from her Facebook page.