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There are summer days in El Paso when it gets so hot that the sky crumbles into rain. It seems to come out of nowhere. That day, the sky was getting cloudy, then darker, as we drove the 15 minutes out to Sunland. On the Juárez side, they beat us to the spot. We arrived along with another car driven by the volunteers from the Encuentros project, and another by Brother Iggy, who was going to lead the liturgy on the US side. Shortly after we parked, it started pouring. Some of our friends had reservations about the lightning, but looking through the bollard-style border fence, I could see Rosy and her group already standing at the edge of the fence, crowding under a tarp. I ran over to them in the downpour, wondering if my life would end being struck by lightning while doing a communion service at the border fence.
It took a few minutes to convince all the El Paso folks to get out of the cars. The Juárez folks stood huddled under their tarp and passed me another tarp to use—it barely fit through the bollards. The rain was so loud we had to yell. I shouted, “Vamos a compartir un tiempo amistoso y centrado en nuestra unidad como personas de fe, o como personas que sirven a la población en movilidad!” (We are going to share a friendly time centered on our unity as people of faith, or as people who serve the population in mobility).
We bumbled through a book of common prayer, bilingual liturgy of the Lord’s Supper. We passed the French bread from Albertsons through our wet hands and through the bollards of the wet border fence. We poured grape juice into small paper cups, the kind they give you at the dentist. And we sang Amazing Grace. Sublime gracia del Señor, que a un pecador salvó! Fui ciego mas hoy veo yo, perdido y él me halló.
Amie is the daughter of a pastor couple from Juárez who’ve been hosting migrant families for years. She’s currently entering medical school in Ciudad Juárez, and someday wants to be a neurosurgeon. David, in the back, is studying in an online seminary while running a men’s shelter in a church located in the red light district in downtown Juárez. Mamá Rosy is the beloved mother of our beloved Rosy, the leader of Abara Juárez. Brother Iggy has spent years serving the migrant community in El Paso. Victoria was doing a summer service project through different border towns in the US. The man in the back with his son just walked up to see what we were up to.
After a few minutes of singing, the rain stopped and we saw a rainbow that seemed to start in the US and end in México. That day we felt that it would be best if the wall crumbled away like the sky did, with magnificent cracks of lightning. BOOM!! It would crack and fall away and be swallowed by the earth. And we would run to each other, because there would no longer be any separation. Reminds me a bit of the veil in the inner part of the temple in Jerusalem, one day thousands of years ago, when the sun also hid its face.
When I talk about the wall falling down, I don’t really mean it in a political or practical way. I know that it will probably stay up my whole lifetime and longer. I mean that in that moment, we wished it would fall down. And we longed for the day when there is no more separation, because God is coming to make all things new (Revelation 21:1-5). This is my belief, as Clara. I just cannot believe that in the New Earth, there will be a border wall outside my office window. In the New Earth, maybe I could walk 10 minutes to Juárez, to the Oxxo that I see out my window, or to buy mango con chamoy and come back to my desk 15 minutes later.
In our restored and heavenly border, the river will not be dammed. Instead, it will flow strongly through the city. There will be trees that grow near the river, providing precious shade from the mighty sun. The wall and the memory of the wall will be gone. Children will wade across the river in a gentle, shallow place. In this shade, people will eat and drink and work. No one will be obligated to work harder or longer than others, and no one will work in unjust circumstances. People will find value and feel valued in their work. There will be time to rest and fellowship every day. There will be time to make art, children will remain children, and they will be safe. The elderly will be respected and honored.
It will still be the desert. We will remain here in the geography of the beautiful borderlands. But then, there will be no border, just mountains and river, purple sage, and creosote in the rain. The desert will no longer mean lack because there will be enough water, shade, warmth, breeze, food, and connection. Lack will be over.
Each evening everyone in the city will come to feast with the Lord and with each other. Where the Paso del Norte International Bridge used to be, a table will stretch miles long, perpendicular to the river. All are invited, and no one stays away from the feast.
“Todos a la mesa, nadie queda fuera! Ya no hay tiempo que perder. Esta es la promesa: Gracia y Vida Eterna. Ya no hay nada que temer.” (Everyone to the table, no one stays outside. There is no time to lose. This is the promise: Grace and Eternal Life. There is nothing to fear.) – “Sueños” by Un Corazón
About Clara Duffy
Clara is a thankful child of the border, born and raised in the Rio Grande Valley and living in El Paso, Texas. She works for Abara and deeply enjoys binational and bilingual life in West Mexas.
