By Pastor Diana Garcia
There is a common saying in the Latin American Christian church that I have heard from my congregants, “No preguntas porque solo para que.” – which translates as “Don’t ask why, just for what.”
The idea is you shouldn’t spend time wondering why hard things are happening. Instead of asking why, you should only ask – for what reason? In other words, God always has a reason that things happen the way that they do and we should trust in and search for that plan. Sometimes, the “para que” (so that) isn’t too hard to find but sometimes both the “porque” (because) and the “para que” leave you feeling lost.
(Just to clarify from my pastoral perspective, we definitely can and should ask why.)
That’s how I feel right now. I can’t understand why this is happening, but I also struggle to find any meaning in what is happening. I try, because I want to find any light of hope to shine into this darkness for my congregation. But it’s so hard to see. What could all this be for? How is this helping anyone? How is this leading us on a path to more love, justice, and peace in this world?
When the “porque” and the “para que” fail you, I think there is somewhere you can turn – to the “ahora mismo” or “right now.” I can’t understand why. I can’t see how this is all part of a plan for the future kingdom in the now and not yet.
But I can be present and bear witness and not allow the forces that are telling me to not care to win. I can be in the here and now and I can be there with people in the darkest of places. That may be the only real, meaningful thing that I can do.
That is why IWC’s detention visitation ministry is so important.
The messages of detention are that: Your life doesn’t matter. We don’t care if you have family here or a job or a life here. No one cares about your suffering. You have no value. That’s what people understand when they are taken out of their lives for what often is no other reason than not being born here (and, to be clear, also specifically not being white or speaking English), and sent to overcrowded detention centers where the food is sometimes rotten, they don’t have enough water to drink, they are mixed in with actual violent individuals who are on the path to deportation coming from jails, they have little to no visitation hours, they are woken at 4 a.m. to eat breakfast, and they are moved from state to state at the whim of whomever is in charge.
But every time a volunteer takes his or her time to drive out there, navigate the paperwork and obtuse rules, and sit with someone who they have never met to hear about their lives, hopes, worries, and dreams, they send the opposite message. They say through their effort – in this moment (ahora mismo), you are seen, you are cared for, you are loved, your life is important. And that feels like something that we can all hold on to in the middle of this storm.
