The Least of These Among Us
10 As Pharaoh drew near, the Israelites looked back, and there were the Egyptians advancing on them. In great fear the Israelites cried out to the Lord. 11 They said to Moses, “Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us, bringing us out of Egypt? 12 Is this not the very thing we told you in Egypt, ‘Let us alone so that we can serve the Egyptians’? For it would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness.” 13 But Moses said to the people, “Do not be afraid, stand firm, and see the deliverance that the Lord will accomplish for you today, for the Egyptians whom you see today you shall never see again. 14 The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to keep still.”
—Exodus 14:10-14, NRSV
I don’t know how many times I have read this Exodus passage. I have put myself each time in the sandals of the Hebrew people, Pharoah and Moses, and have even pictured myself as the Bright Shining Light on the top of the mountain, as the relentless God with a stubborn and obstinate love for God’s people. And yet, this past week, this story has gained new meaning as I listened to an immigrant share their experience crossing the border. However, on this side of history, we cannot hear God’s voice calling to Pharoah, “Let my people go!” Instead, God’s voice is drowned out by loud and angry chants, “Go back to your country where you belong!”
Immigrants and migrants seeking political asylum, whether undocumented or refugees, share stories of escape from oppression, poverty, struggle, uncertainty, fear, doubt, isolation, pain, and suffering. Unbeknownst to many of us, there are times when immigrants contemplate turning back as the best option, even when it means dying in the hands of the oppressor. But once the journey has begun, there is no turning back. There is too much to lose, and hope is the only fuel that keeps one moving forward, no matter the cost.
What troubles me is how quickly we forget that in some way, though incomparable, we, too, have experienced exile one way or another. We seldom remember that our call is to welcome the stranger, heal the sick, care for the widow and widower, orphans, and children, and the vulnerable, feed the hungry, and clothe the naked. Most importantly, to love one another is a command made by Jesus, whose love for us is unconditional.
Joseph, Mary, and Jesus were immigrants who migrated to and from seeking refuge from the powers that be to protect the Child-God, Emmanuel- God with us- who would seek redemption for the least, the last, the lonely, and the left out; and for you and me. The innkeeper did not have room for Mary, about to birth Jesus, but made room, not knowing that the Child would be born in his heart and make room for him in eternity.
The ones called strangers, foreigners, refugees, and with derogatory terms such as “illegal” and “aliens” are among us now, and Jesus calls the least of these friends, neighbors, beloved. Leaving one’s country, family, and home is not for the faint of heart. It takes courage and risks. It takes the kind of faith and trust in God that many of us may never experience. And in ways we may never comprehend, tending to the least of these will help us develop a Christ-like compassion and mercy that will transform our lives forever.
The least of these are among us in our communities, our schools, working, many times behind the scenes, at our workplaces, our favorite restaurants and retail stores, and our congregations. Have we once stopped to ask how they are doing to get by? How can we help in the healing process from the trauma experienced during their wilderness journey? How are their children coping with adapting to a new language and environment and a new school? Who will care for the children if the parents and relatives need to find a job, or two or three jobs, to survive in this country? What is the role of the Church? How can the Church be agents of hope, love, peace, and joy for the least of these while resisting the temptation to think that “those” people should have stayed in their countries in the first place? What other programs can the Church adopt to help families transition and continue contributing to the community that has welcomed them with love and care?
The road ahead seemed uncertain and harsh. The Hebrew people would rather go back and die in the familiar than die alone and be buried in a foreign place where they are unwanted, judged, oppressed, and ostracized. That is the thought process that many in our communities wrestle with. But Moses said to the people, “Do not be afraid, stand firm, and see the deliverance that the LORD will accomplish for you today…The LORD will fight for you, and you have only to keep still.”
How can we advocate in the name of Jesus for the least among us, our neighbors, and our friends? Perhaps, together, we can research housing, medical assistance, tutors, multicultural programs, and affordable migratory legal assistance with honest lawyers willing to advocate for immigrants and refugees. What new things are we ready to learn about and from one another? I have learned that it takes a lot more than knowing the Spanish language to understand the Spanish-speaking community around me. I want to listen more, learn more, and holistically advocate more. Will you join me?
In Christ,
Pastor Iraida