Out of the depths - crying with migrants

I just returned from the baptism of a six year old who will soon be leaving with his father for the US. 

This is the second baptism I have celebrated in the past two weeks of a child who would be going with his father on the long trek to the US.

But I can hardly call them celebrations in the normal sense. In some way, they can only be celebrations of the hope that God gives to people amidst the anguish, that drives people to flee their homes with a child.

In the last two weeks I’ve also been with family members who had someone who died in the US. One was at a Mass for a teenager who went with his father but who drowned. The other man was older but was killed in the US. There must be more, but these were in our parish and I spoke with family members. 

In the last week I’ve also come across two families whose family members have been kidnapped and held for ransom in Mexico. The kidnappers of one man and his child asked first for several thousand US dollars but lowered the amount significantly. But how can a poor family here afford even a thousand dollars? The family is distraught; I prayed with them – and cried with them. 

 

The numbers of migrants from our parish is staggering. The other day I was giving a ride with someone who was talking on the phone with family members or friends who had left and were waiting to cross the US border. 

I was in conversation with someone else who was talking about a number of persons planning to leave, as well as with a teenager who hopes to leave but wants to be baptized beforehand. 

I recently heard that a large group of young people from a village have left for the US. I don’t know who they are but I do know a good number of young people from that village.

I don’t know what is happening that is driving so many to leave. We don’t experience the violence and the presence of gangs, as do many in the cities and the coast. But there is a lot of poverty and a lack of opportunities for young people, even those few who have finished high school. 

In the midst of this, I feel powerless – as must many of the people around me, especially those who flee. 

And so, in the midst of this, I pray the first words of Psalm 130, as I did with a family today: 

Out of the depths I cry to you, 

O Lord, Lord, hear my voice.

Stations of the Cross, El Rosario Church, San Salvador