MISSIONER NEWSLETTER – Advent 2024

Rick Dixon, U.S.-Mexico Border

Rick Dixon shares a meal with Abraham, a Salvadoran man staying at the Casa Mana migrant center in Mexicali, who fled El Salvador five months ago, fearing wrongful imprisonment. Every morning, he applies for an asylum appointment on the U.S. Customs and Border Patrol’s “CBP One” app, which is a random lottery. His days are filled with waiting and serving lunch to street people who congregate in front of the center.

MEXICALI, MEXICO—On Oct. 24, I took the absentee ballot out of my P.O. Box and filled in the oblong circles—all but one that is: the president’s. The more I thought about it, the more discouraged I felt.

Neither candidate would improve the life of immigrants, and yet the infamous School of the Americas (now called Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation) continues as a stalwart in U.S. foreign policy, still provoking people to flee their homelands.

This is an issue far from either candidate’s attention, yet the worst massacre in modern Latin American history, El Mozote, was carried out by Salvadoran commandos trained at the School of the Americas.

Rick’s favorite spot for pondering—next to the Cargo Muchacho Mountains. Here, he sits and watches the dawn rise over the U.S.-Mexico border.

Pessimistic, I wondered if anything would really change, and then I remembered my high school history teacher, Mr. Andrea, who gave anyone in his class an “A” if they convinced him, in writing, they’d be lifelong civic participants. I have voted ever since. Would I now break my promise?

Mr. Andrea was a Vietnam veteran. He had a university degree and was drafted into the Marines, who put him in charge of a platoon and sent him off to fight. He refused to kill, or at least as little as possible. When confronting the Viet Cong in the jungles, he often ordered his men to shoot the sun, or the moon. This got him a court-martial. During the trial, he told the judge that firing over the enemy’s head was a tactic to test their firepower. It didn’t work. He got a dishonorable discharge and time in military detention. He was one of the best teachers I ever had.

“Can a vote be an act of violence, Mr. Andrea?” I asked him at the post office that day. I imagined him combing fingers through his long Armenian hair while his deep brown eyes focused into pinpoints. “Perhaps so,” he said. “In that case, vote for the less violent, the better listener.” I nodded my head and cast my vote. Even so, my disquiet continued.

At times like this, I have a favorite spot where one can breathe the air of the desert, and a few days after the election I unfolded my Ozark trail chair and sat down next to the Cargo Muchacho Mountains, dividing California from Arizona to the east; to the west, the Imperial Sand Dunes spread 35 miles north and for half as many miles south into Mexico. I sit and watch the womb of dawn rising over the U.S.-Mexico border and think of Abraham.

He’s a Salvadoran man staying at the Casa Mana migrant center in Mexicali where I often visit. He fled El Salvador five months ago. “A disgruntled neighbor denounced me to the police,” he said. “There are still no civil liberties in my country. We have no right to a lawyer.” Abraham feared he’d be taken away to prison. “The police and military have abused their power,” he said.

From Casa Mana, Abraham applies for an asylum appointment every morning at 9 a.m. on the U.S. Customs and Border Patrol’s “CBP One” app. It’s a random lottery and there’s no telling when anyone will get an appointment. He’s been trying since he’s been at the center. No luck, he keeps trying. His days are filled with waiting and serving lunch to street people who congregate in front of the center. One afternoon, after the homeless ate, we sat down to a meal together. His presence reminds me of what German Lutheran pastor and anti-Nazi dissident Dietrich Bonhoeffer said: God is the beyond in the midst of our lives. (Or one could just as easily say: God is the outcast in the midst of our lives).

From my Ozark trail chair, I take a deep breath and watch the womb of dawn rise into the sky. Red mountains, sand, and rock set the world on the foundations of Advent.

A gentle breeze gives birth to song: Blessed are those who log on to “CBP One” month after month in hopes of a safe place to live. Blessed are those who abandon themselves into the hands of God through refusing to take up arms. Blessed are those who know the Christ Child as the flesh of the poor.

Please consider supporting my mission work at the U.S.-Mexico border with a donation through the link below.

I invite you to walk with me as a “COMPANION IN MISSION.” Companions in Mission are friends and generous donors who give financial gifts on a regular (usually monthly) basis. For more information, visit Become a Companion in Mission. Thank you so much for your generosity!