Looking at the birds of the air
Some perspectives from my time at the southern border
Did you know that McAllen, Texas—a city often on the national news because of its proximity to the southern U.S. border—is a haven for birders? Thousands of people from all over the world come to the Rio Grande Valley (RGV) each year to observe and marvel at the birds because of its prime location along their migration routes. There is also a National Butterfly Center in the area for similar reasons. It’s interesting how we celebrate and honor the migration of birds and butterflies, but not of people.
Last month I had the privilege of joining a Border Journey with Border Perspective, a nonprofit that leads peacemaking service-learning trips in the RGV highlighting the human perspectives that are often excluded from the national narrative about the border. Our group stayed in a B&B that prided itself on the many beautiful birds to be seen in the area. Birders come from all over to witness the migration of various birds, a chance to see beautiful species they wouldn’t usually have a chance to spot. As I reflected on the irony of this place being the hub of celebrating bird migration, while also the spotlight of so much political ire over human migration, I was reminded of a reflection from one of my colleagues during her recent trip to the border in El Paso.
We recognize the necessity of migration of birds and butterflies, but not of people. We notice that migration is a natural pattern for creatures great and small across the surface of the world, but when we see humans seeking that same freedom, we pivot from the curiosity and wonder with which we approach the movement of animals, and we begin to center our fears. Like Pharaoh, we say, “these people have become too numerous for us!”1
There’s an odd feeling of dissonance in standing at the border wall watching birds and butterflies swoop overhead, spreading their wings as they look for the best place to land. We build sanctuaries for them but walls for our neighbors. How do we balance the desire to promote the safety of all—recognizing the need for limits and security while holding the humanity of our neighbors in tension? How do we hold onto our humanity when humans are reduced to numbers, to influxes, to “swarms?”
On the trip, we visited a historic church at the border where followers of Jesus labored bravely to set people free from the evils of slavery. This church, marked with a history of radical liberation and bearing the often untold story of the Underground Railroad into Mexico, is framed in the back by a stark border wall. This year the land where I stood is in Texas, south of the wall but still in the U.S., but many years ago the river boundary between U.S. and Mexico curved through this spot. Nature shifts but we often struggle to catch up.
There are so many complexities to hold in tension from a trip like this, but one thing I keep returning to is the birds. I think about the way Jesus uses birds to teach his followers. In Matthew 6, he uses birds to remind us to relinquish the great worry and care that we often hold, and recognize the provision of God.2 I saw this principle exemplified so well in the churches I encountered in the Valley. I heard story after story of people who do not have a lot in the way of material possessions, but who trust everything they have to Jesus, believing in his ability to provide even when circumstances feel impossible. Their faith was humbling for me. I often forget my own frailty and think I can carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, but my time with believers at the border reminded me that the work is God’s. Yes, I am called to participate and be a part, but I need to look at the birds and remember that I am just a small part in a much bigger plan.
I also think about an illustration that Jesus used shortly before his death to describe himself. He demonstrated his heart for the people by crying out, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.”3
The phrasing here is reminiscent of a passage in Psalms:
“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.”
Surely he will save you
from the fowler’s snare
and from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”
Psalm 91:1-4 (NIV)
I love how Jesus evokes the imagery from this psalm: drawing a parallel between himself and the poetic description of God’s protection and deliverance. The nation of Israel knew God to be their deliverer, the one who covers them in times of peril, and Jesus was telling them, “It’s me! I am the one who has come to deliver you. I will save you.”
This gives me a sense of comfort as I wrestle with the things I saw and heard at the border. Under the wings of the birds in the Rio Grande Valley, I mourned the way we fail to see the humanity in each other. But Jesus calls us to refuge under a different set of wings, and I know that he is the shield and deliverer for those who feel that they have none. The problems at the borders–not just the United States border, but across a world full of displacement crises–are too big for me to cover with my own gifts or abilities to repair. So, I will take a page from the churches of the RGV and be faithful to what Jesus has placed in my hands at this moment, while also trusting that he has a plan greater than I could ever imagine. There is room for all under the wings of Jesus.
Exodus 1
Matthew 6:25-34
Matthew 23:37
Beautiful words.