Fleeing violence in their own country, my children gathered up their baby, diaper bag, sun hats, and sandals to trek across our backyard desert in search of a new home. Earlier we’d read the story of the (three) wise men from Desmond Tutu’s storybook Bible. In light of recent changes in our country’s immigration policy, I was especially struck by the story’s conclusion, “Years later, the angel again came to Joseph in a dream… the little family packed up and crossed the desert again to find a new home in Nazareth.”
It was one of those moments where I just pray that God will bring a distraction or close my kids’ ears if I’m headed in a direction that I shouldn’t go. And in that confidence, I began. “Adam, do you remember the other day when we turned on the TV and saw a classroom full of children with cappuccino colored skin?” I swirled the drink in my hand and showed it to him. He’d remembered. “Well, most of those kids were there because, like Mary and Joseph, their parents were afraid of them being hurt. Many of them come from countries where, like King Herod, men use violence to keep their power. So those children’s parents brought them on a long and dangerous journey across the desert of Mexico to our country, the United States, in hopes of being safe.” I then pulled down our globe and showed them some common routes. He had a lot of questions about why parents feel their children are in danger, so I explained that violent gangs sometimes hurt others in order to scare people into obeying them. When he wondered if anybody wanted to kill 4 year olds, I assured him that we are so thankful to live in a country with laws that seek to protect people from violence, which is precisely why parents are bringing their children here. I also reiterated parents’ great love for their children and our commitment to protect them. We then talked about how God sees people who are different and encourages those who feel afraid, expressing joy that we might welcome others with the hands, feet, and love of Jesus. It was a pretty long conversation.
I’m sure this seems like a political statement. And I suppose it is, in that I’ve chosen to first describe immigrant families as those fleeing violence as opposed to those engaging in it. But this post is really not about immigration policy. I have only a very, very small understanding of the complexities involved. Rather, it’s about shaping our hearts toward those we are specifically commanded to welcome and love. This morning I decided to take advantage of an opportunity to frame what we saw on TV, and in so doing be the one who first describes immigration to my children. I recently overheard a young child around my son’s age say that she didn’t like another’s skin. We humans are naturally uncomfortable with things and people that are unfamiliar to us. This is the course of least resistance. This is the way our kids will naturally develop. This is human nature. Then on top of that there are many perspectives in our public and popular discourse that I don’t want my kids adopting as truth. So I’ve embraced my privileged position as the one who gets to shape their first impressions.
Also, just yesterday I was describing to a friend why I don’t think everything in the Bible is appropriate for children (one of my first posts on this blog was actually about why I wasn’t teaching my three year old much about Jesus’ crucifixion). I want the Bible to interpret the evil that my kids will inevitably witness in the world around (and within!) them, instead of it being their first introduction to human depravity. It doesn’t make sense to me that we would shield them from violence on TV (recognizing it as developmentally harmful) but then inundate them with it in the story of redemption. This seems like the perfect example of that to me. I’ve actually never felt comfortable teaching them this particular aspect of the Christmas story (Herod’s rampage). But today it felt appropriate.
About an hour after this conversation Adam reminded me, “Mom! We forgot to pretend our story!” Lately we’ve been trying to further engage with the Bible in this way. So we decided that I’d be the angel, Adam’s baby would be Jesus, and my kids would play the parts of Mary and Joseph. So as Joseph and Mary slept on the couch, I shook my son awake to warn him that King Herod was going to try to kill Jesus. He immediately sprung into action waking “Mary” and packing the diaper bag. I was absolutely delighted when Lydia pulled out her baby carrier to keep Jesus safe on the journey, even demanding that he wear his pink sun hat to protect his head! At this point they were only conscious of pretending the biblical story, but the irony certainly wasn’t lost on me. So after deciding that our house was Bethlehem and the garden would be Egypt, they set off.
Again, I just shake my head in wonder and gratitude. What privilege is mine!
