The personal tragedy of migration

This morning I baptized a four-year old girl in a rural village, a village that suffered a bit from last year’s hurricanes. Her parents, the godparents, a village catechist, and about ten other people were there. 

It’s not the first time I baptized; in my five years as a deacon, I must have baptized more than several hundred.

But this one was different. A parent and the child will be setting out tomorrow, in the hope of reaching the United States.

This is not the first parent-child group from our parish to set out for the US. My guess there have been scores in the last few years, not counting those who have left solo. Some villages have lost many people, especially the young.

A few have had the fortune to be able to go to Spain, where many work under the table. A very few have had the chance to go as legal, hired workers to Canada, enduring six or seven cold months working in agriculture in Quebec.

But most leave – on their own, in a group, or assisted by coyotes (for a hefty fee). 

But here I was, baptizing a child who would go on a long journey, with no assurances. 

What to say?

I didn’t say much in the liturgy, though I did include invoking Saint Raphael the Archangel, patron of travelers, and Saint Turibio Romo Gonzáles, the Mexican martyred priest who has become a patron of migrants.

As I often do, I reminded the parents that in baptism is welcomed into the church, a member of the Body of Christ. I also reminded the godparents and those present on our responsibility to welcome and care for the newly baptized. Afterwards, I reminded the parents that the child was a member of the church and specifically told the father that there were members of the Catholic Church whom he could trust and call upon. The witness of so many people of faith is encouraging.

I also noted privately that I didn’t think it was a good idea but that I’d be praying for them. I didn’t tell them that I’d be crying for them – but I am, as was a woman at the baptism.

After the baptism the catechist asked me to bless a cross that was in the form of an anchor. I shared with them that the anchor is a traditional Christian symbol of hope.

The chain of the cross was knotted, and the father was trying to unknot it. I tried and thought it might be impossible. But then I remember Pope Francis’s devotion to Our Lady, the Undoer of Knots, and prayed to her. The knot came undone, and the mother put the cross around the child’s neck. I recalled the devotion to Mary and we prayed a Hail Mary.

I left with a heavy heart. But pray for the safety of that father and child – as well as for the many others who feel so desperate that they leave home and family. 

Migration is not an “issue” for me – the fathers, mothers, children, who migrate are those who call out to me in their agony.

Lord, have mercy.