Abraham and Sarah, the founding couple of Judaism, Islam and Christianity need to be rediscovered and followed out of Babylon into a new way of thinking outside the impasses of USA, Israel/Palestine and Islamic nationalism. Today when “us-them” distinctions have never been more destructive, those who claim to follow Jesus must be clear about our identity as bearers of Good News to all people. Focus on the particularities of our heritage as heirs of the promise given to Abraham and Sarah must be balanced with the deeper meaning of our founding stories in sacred Scripture.

In this time of war, Christians and Jews must remember that Abraham and Sarah, the patriarch/matriarch of the Jewish people and of Muslims and Christians, were both from a place that is now Iraq. Indeed, Terah, Abram’s father left Ur (Gen 11:31) of the Chaldeans, a town in Iraq SE of Babylon, on his way with his family as immigrants to Canaan. While Terah did not make it out of Iraq, settling in Haran (Gen 11:31), Abram received his call from the heart of what is now Iraq. The Lord (YHWH) called Abram:
“Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing… in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Gen 12:1-4).

Abraham was called to leave his nationality, ethnicity and family for a new place that the Lord would show him. Abraham and Sarah were called to break allegiance with the particulars of their identity, following a God who promised to bless them so they would be a blessing to all the families of the earth. Yet the particularity of Abraham and Sarah as Iraqis and Jews is not lost.
When exiled to Egypt, Abraham and Sarah were believed to have acquired an Egyptian slave, Hagar, who bore Abraham, Ishmael (50% Egyptian and 50% Iraqi), YHWH blessed Hagar and Ishmael (Gen 16, 21), but insisted that the child of the promise would be from Abraham and Sarah– 100% Iraqi!? The Jews then clearly are linked to Babylon/Iraq by blood, and are inescapably brothers and sisters with their Arab/Muslim enemies.

On the other hand, God clearly called these Iraqi/Jews to a universal mission that goes far beyond narrow ethnocentric, nationalistic, ideological or religious agendas. Abraham and Sarah were called to leave their nation/ethnicity/family and land– heading off by faith to a land that YHWH would show them. God called them to leave and to follow, assuring them that they would be blessed and that through their descendants all the families of the world would be blessed. This is the true vocation then of the Jewish people, and of their Iraqi ancestors. This vocation to be a universal blessing is at the heart of all heirs of the promise to Abraham and Sarah, whether they be Jews, Muslims or Christians.

Babylon/Iraq has its dark side in the sacred story that must not be overlooked. Imperialist Babylon invaded Judah, slaughtering people, destroying the Jewish temple, and carrying off thousands into exile. The prophets warned the people of Judah that God’s judgment would come as a natural consequence of disregarding their true vocation as God’s people. Israel had been lured away from total allegiance to God by the seductive idols of that time.

The children of Abraham and Sarah abandoned their universal mission, which was evidenced by the growing gap between the rich and the poor, abuse of foreigners, exploitation of the poor and the unrestrained accumulation of wealth. Yet there in Babylon (Iraq), the Jewish people experienced God’s revelation and blessing. In exile they compiled and edited the Hebrew Scriptures, developed elaborate oral traditions which later served as the basis of Judaism (the Babylonian Talmud) and prepared for a new departure, an exodus to a new way of life and liberation inspired by Abraham and Sarah and the Exodus from Egypt. They returned to the land to try once again to be faithful to their original vocation on behalf of every family on earth.

All who follow the narrow path of faith are included as sisters and brothers of our Iraqi predecessors, Abraham and Sarah. The Apostle Paul argues in Galatians 3 that “those who believe are the descendants of Abraham” (Gal 3:7) as “those who believe are blessed with Abraham who believed” (Gal 3:9). Non-Jews are brought into the universal family of God not through adherence to the particulars of the Jewish law, but by grace through the life, death and resurrection of a very particular Jewish law-breaker—Jesus of Nazareth. This “descendant of Abraham” (Gal 3:16) realized Iraqi Abraham and Sarah’s vocation, saving the world from the “us-them” distinctions that come through clinging to particularity over the larger universal picture. “In Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith… there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to the promise” (Gal 3:28).

All children of Abraham and Sarah are beneficiaries of God’s promise of blessing which must be passed on freely to all the families of the earth. This is a universal, borderless blessing that far exceeds any nationalistic idolatries. The requirement: leave nationality, ethnicity and family allegiances and join God’s universal human family—the reign of God.
The heart of the Lord’s prayer is for God’s Reign to come and will to be done on earth as in heaven. In stark contrast to this prayer are current nationalistic agendas, visible in Israel, Iraq and in the U.S.A. The leaders of the United States of America claim to have a mandate supported by the majority of U.S. citizens and even from God to impose their “enlightened” will on the rest of the world. Many Christians and Jews support the Bush Administration, believing that war, violence, economic sanctions and a host of coercive measures are justifiable and even God’s will. While Iraq’s leaders have an oppressive record and are far from embodying the faith of their ancestors Abraham and Sarah, the USA must recognize that we are in grave error too.
The USA’s attacking of the departure point of Judaism, Christianity and Islam makes it clearer than ever before that the new Babylon is now out to completely replace the old—establishing itself as the self-declared global deity. This action represents the limited self-interest of a wealthy elite, with no thought to the universal mission and saving way of the suffering Messiah, Jesus– the most total, realized descendant of Abraham.

God’s descent from power and privilege into human flesh in Jesus Christ shows us a very different way of life-giving service on behalf of the least (Phil 2:1-11). Jesus’ giving of his life on the cross shows us the means and the person through whom universal salvation is accomplished. While Jesus’ way of the cross clearly looks like weakness and foolishness to those who are on their way down (perishing), the Apostle Paul is audacious in his insistence that Jesus reveals the power of God (1 Cor 1:18). “For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength” (1 Cor 1:25).
Christians cannot claim from Scripture that violence and war are justifiable. Nowhere in Jesus’ teachings is violence justified, nor are traditions from the First Testament (the “Old Testament”) that apparently support violence embraced by Jesus. Rather, Jesus and other New Testament writers consistently distinguish between flesh and blood enemies and spiritual enemies. Jesus clearly distinguishes spiritual enemies who he combats with violence (breaking down dividing walls, abolishing the law, and putting to death hostility (Eph 2:14-16), subjugating principalities and powers and destroying death (1 Cor 15:24-27)) from enemies of flesh and blood (human beings like Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden, members of al Queda or George Bush for that matter) who he calls us to love and pray for (Mat 5:38-48). “But I say to you that listen,” says Jesus, “love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you (Luke 6:27-28) (See also Romans 12:14-21). “For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh,” writes Paul, “but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Eph 6:12).
Make no mistake, the way of Jesus is a very different way. Prayer, Scripture study, worship and other forms of spiritual resistance together with the building of a new community in the midst of the old are all arms for the struggle. We are warned that this narrow way may well lead to persecution, resistance, and even to death. Yet we are also assured that this way is the only way to true victory, life, and resurrection.

Now as the new Babylon literally replaces the old, Christians must listen attentively to the imperatives of Revelation: “Come out of her, my people, so that you do not take part in her sins, and so that you do not share in her plagues, for her sins are heaped high as heaven, and God has remembered her iniquities (Rev 18:4-5).

I. The Reading Context

I live with my wife and three children one hour north of Seattle, Washington, in the heart of the Skagit Valley– an agricultural region threatened by rapid growth of retail stores and light industry.

For over fifty years immigrants from Mexico have been drawn to Skagit County by the abundance of seasonal labor harvesting strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, cucumbers, apples and other fruits and vegetables. Many Hispanic immigrants have settled permanently in our region, making up between 15 and 20,000 of the county’s 100,000 population.

The most recent wave of immigrants are peasants from rural villages in Southern Mexico, where few have been educated beyond the sixth grade and many are illiterate. Most are Roman Catholics from traditional parishes nearly abandoned by the church due in part to the shortage of priests.

They have been pushed to leave their fields and homes and migrate North by a weak Mexican economy, lack of land, exhausted soil, drought, lack of work and any hope of realizing their dreams in their country. Among them are many who crossed the border to distance themselves from family conflicts, avoid enemies or escape legal problems.

Many agricultural workers are migratory, following the harvests from California or Texas to Oregon and Washington State. Most farm workers in our region live in migrant labor camps or crowded apartment complexes, working the harvests from May to October.

Increasing numbers of immigrants have settled permanently in the region, finding more stable employment in low-wage jobs in fish processing plants, meet packing plants, construction, nurseries, dairies and restaurants.

Over half of the migrant farm workers in our region are in the U.S. illegally, either because they first came to the USA after the 1985 amnesty or lost their permanent residency status because of criminal behavior leading to deportation. People work using counterfeit immigration papers and social security numbers, which when detected often lead to immediate dismissal.
The difficulty of surviving in North America on minimum wage incomes, the constant insecurity of being harassed by police or immigration officials and the stigma of being brown-skinned, Spanish-speaking “campesinos” contribute to people’s low self-esteem. Alcoholism is rampant in the immigrant community, and the temptation to sell illegal drugs to make quick money is constant.

The migratory lifestyle makes it difficult for children of migrant farm workers to complete school in the United States. Since both parents work long hours in the fields and factories, children are often poorly supervised. Raised by their peers, many get involved in using and dealing drugs and are soon in and out of the legal system.

Large numbers of second-generation immigrant youth have fallen into a growing a underclass. Gangs, drug dealing and petty burglaries land many people in jail. Washington State’s Prison system is bursting at the seams with immigrants between 18-30, who, if undocumented, are immediately deported with a lifetime bar of reentry after serving their sentences.

II. Confronting negative images of God and self in street-level theology and anthropology

For the past seven years I have served as a pastor of an ecumenical ministry to migrant farm workers called Tierra Nueva del Norte. Before that I worked teaching sustainable agricultural development and leading Bible studies for many years in Honduras, Central America with the peasant association Tierra Nueva. As chaplain of the local jail I currently lead several Spanish Bible studies to 10-20 immigrant inmates.

All of the people I read Scripture with have experienced being marginalized by the dominant classes in both the USA and in their countries. As a white male and pastor I am automatically perceived as a representative of the dominant culture of oppression.
People’s experience of being judged, discriminated against and excluded by the dominant culture is often interpreted as synonymous with punishment and rejection by God. This attributing of hardship and calamities to God is often covert, perceptible only through careful listening when trust is established. Other times people articulate their negative images of God overtly.

The following story reflects typical attitudes towards me as representative of the dominant culture and towards God as author and sustainer of the status quo.
One evening a few years back in Burlington I pushed my shopping cart from the grocery store checkout stand out through the automatic doors into the parking lot, practically walking into two middle-aged Latino men, who were walking briskly toward the entrance doors.

One of them glanced back briefly at me and my two young sons. “Hey pastor, como esta?” (“Hey pastor, how are you doing?”).

I recognized Roberto from my weekly Spanish Bible studies in Skagit County Jail, and greeted him warmly: “I’m fine, how are things going for you”

“Not too good man. You know, we’re back doing things we shouldn’t be doing,” he said sheepishly. “I need you to come and visit me sometime,” he pleaded. “I need a beating,” he insisted, looking down at the pavement.

“You need a beating? I asked, surprised. “I’d love to visit you, but I for sure don’t want to come and give you a beating,” I said.

“No, not from you, I mean from him,” he said, pointing up.

“You think God wants to beat you up?” I asked.

“Yea, you know that’s maybe what we need so that we will finally change our ways.”

“No, I can’t believe that God would want to do that. I’d be glad to visit you though,” I said.
He penned me his address on a scrap of paper and took off. As I pushed my groceries across the parking lot to the car I mourned this poor man’s oppressive image of a punishing God.

The dominant theology reflected by Roberto reigns supreme not only among Hispanic immigrants, but among people from many different nationalities, social classes, races and cultures, inside and outside churches.

A high view of providence combined with a low anthropology typifies street-level images of God and humans. God is envisioned as a distant, judging force who is both nowhere helpful and everywhere troublesome. God, unlike the police, is always watching. Unlike Immigration and Naturalization (INS) officers, you cannot escape him. God is worse than a “rata,” that is, an undercover informant who often fails at his mission. God never fails, because God is envisioned as an all-powerful sovereign who controls everything that happens.

Among Central American and Mexican peasants, hurricanes, earthquakes, crop failures, dysentery and other calamities are often attributed to God’s will. It is only natural that once in el Norte, if an immigrant is picked up by the Drug Task Force on drug charges, by the INS for being undocumented or by the police for any crime, God is seen as the invisible, behind-the- scene force who is ultimately responsible for their predicament.

“God has me here,” “when my trial comes, we’ll see what God wants” and “I pray to God that he’ll let me out, we’ll see what he decides” are common reflections of popular theology.

Before these crushing images of an all-powerful God people often resign themselves as “damned” and respond with either apathy, revolt or religious compliance. Rather than revolt and risk possible worse treatment at “God’s hands,” most people often retreat to passive acceptance of the accuser’s charges against them. If God has the power and they are being punished, God must be punishing them and God must be right. They must in fact be bad and deserving of whatever the system is subjecting them to.

While some acknowledge that their wild lifestyles and past crimes give God and the system every right to attack and punish them, others harbor unconscious resentment or may even be overtly antagonistic to God and anything religious. If they are bad and the dominant system with its glaring injustices reflect God’s will, then either God is absent or an unjust tyrant.

In the face of this depressing theology, it is easy to understand how a person released from confinement might throw themselves in total abandon to the “crazy life” of the streets and constant running from God’s law-enforcement operation.

The Bible is viewed as containing the laws by which God and his law-enforcement agents judge the world. The Scriptures are often feared and avoided for the “bad news” they are expected to contain rather than welcomed as words of comfort. With God viewed as a cosmic law enforcer of the Bible, it is only logical that the church would be consequently seen as made up of law-abiding people.

Christians are often viewed as people who have made the decision to try to measure up to the rules or who already find compliance effortless since they are by nature good and deserving or at least successful at staying out of trouble.
The “damned” often feel that they have only one way of salvation open to them: impossible pious compliance with divine authority through obedience to the laws of the land and the requirements of the Bible. Since this has proven to be very difficult, people often resign themselves to feelings that they are incapable of staying committed to God.

Fundamentalist evangelical churches and traditional Roman Catholic parishes close to the underclass often reinforce these images by preaching legalism and judgment, virtually serving as immigration agents who allow only those with the right papers (baptism, personal piety, regular church attendance, partaking of the sacraments…) into the kingdom of God.

Theism reigns on the streets of North America, Latin America, Europe, Africa and Asia. Envisioning or worshipping God outside of the human one we meet in Jesus Christ and the loving Father he reveals can only lead to hyper-spirituality and legalism among the “successful,” and frustration, resignation, or revolt among the “failures.”

III. The role of the socially-engaged biblical scholar or pastor

The socially-engaged biblical scholar or “trained reader” (1) of the Scriptures must be as aware as possible of the many obstacles and prejudices that stand in the way of reading with people on the margins.

Distrust of and discomfort in the presence of the bible study facilitator or religious professional, compounded by differences in race, social class, language and religion, are the biggest obstacles to effective intercultural reading.

To help win this trust I first seek to invite people into a conversation about their lives and problems through asking thoughtful questions and listening respectfully. Respectful, non-judgmental listening disarms people, relaxing their prejudices towards the biblical scholar or clergy as authoritarian, “law-enforcer” or bearer of the irrelevant, pie-in-the-sky word.
People’s assumption that God is only happy with them if they are “clean and sober” and in every way morally upright cause people to hide or censure their true lives before the eyes of the religious professional or lay leader.

People at times betray their view of me as representative of the dominant theology and culture (2) when they quickly hide their beer or mask the crack cocaine or marijuana smoke with cologne before I enter their apartment or correct themselves after a profanity slips out of their mouth.

A person’s answer to a question during a Bible study may reflect more their skill at telling the bible teacher or pastor the moralistic or pious answers they think they want to hear than the honest reaction or heart-felt response of the “hidden transcript, as Gerald West has convincingly demonstrated in The Academy of the Poor.(3)

Often, however, there is not a liberating theology to hide due to people’s having never hear good enough news about God to inspire trust. Nevertheless, the reading communities’ trust must be painstakingly gained by the biblical scholar/pastor before people will dare to consider or venture for themselves more liberated readings.

In the midst of this process I often run into additional barriers consisting in people’s assumption that the Scriptures have little to do with their daily struggles combined with people’s public passivity and apparent dependency before the experts or anyone in a power position. Central American peasants and Mexican migrant farm workers who are conditioned to remaining voiceless and passive spectators in the church, dependent upon the priest or pastor need to be deliberately empowered by a participatory pedagogy.
In anticipation of people’s assumptions about the irrelevancy of the Bible and their reluctance to participate, I come to the study prepared on two levels.

First I choose a Biblical text that appears to be in some way relevant to the group and come with a clear sense of some of the deeper, underlying questions that are addressed by the text.

Second, based on my knowledge of a given community’s current struggles, I begin the study by asking questions about their lives that I believe the text in some way addresses. Reading strategies can best be illustrated in the following example of an intercultural Bible study with running commentary on the role of the socially-engaged biblical scholar.

IV. Contextual Bible study of Genesis 16:1-16: Oppression & liberation in the Hagar’s story and ours

In a recent contextual Bible study on Abram and Sarai’s conflict with Hagar in Genesis 16:1-16, I began a study with 15 Mexican inmates in a local jail with the following questions: “Do you ever feel like other people or forces are acting upon you and have power over you? When have you seen this happening? What does this feel like?”

The men are quick to respond to the first two questions. “All the time,” insisted an undocumented Mexican man accused of dealing drugs. “The guards tell us when to eat, when to sleep. They lock us in our cells. They handcuff us and take us down to court.”

“Once the harvest is over, the INS agents picks us up and deport us back to Mexico. We are treated like objects.” Heads nod in agreement and others give examples.

“So how does that make you feel?,” I ask. “Humiliated,” one man says, looking down.

“Powerless… very small,” says another. “I feel lots of anger,” says someone else. After listening to people’s feelings of powerlessness and anger in these situations, I invite them to read Genesis 16:1-6, suggesting that this story may or may not offer helpful parallels to their lives.

I begin by inviting a volunteer to read a short section of the text, in this case Genesis 16:1-6, which describes Hagar’s condition as slave of Sarai and Abram.

I ask the people to identify the characters in the text and to say whatever they can based on the information the text provides. Here in my role of biblical scholar I invite them to discover more about these characters from the larger narrative context.

Since the education gap between the biblical scholar or pastor and the untrained reader can so easily disempower the untrained, great caution must be used in offering “behind the text” knowledge inaccessible to the majority.

Narrative approaches to the text that focus on characters, place, plot, together with literary approaches that show literary genre, structure, delimitation of the pericope are all skills that people with a Bible can and should be taught. While scientific exegesis is important to highlight its foreignness and otherness before those who have domesticated it, these methods can further remove it from the masses. The best intercultural exegesis will be informed by the latest Biblical studies research, illuminated by detailed knowledge of the current reading context and a pastoral sensitivity to individual readers.

To minimize the knowledge gap I invite people to turn and read a few sections beginning in Genesis 11:27ff. “What do we know about Abram and Sarai from these verses?,” I ask. The men observe that according to Genesis 11:27ff Abram and Sarai were migrants who had faced difficulties. Abram’s father had died and Sarai was sterile (Gen 11:30).

I ask a volunteer to read Genesis 12:1-4 and people note that YHWH called Abram to a mission and promised to bless all the families of the earth through him (Gen 12:3). I point out that Abram and Sarai were wealthy (Gen 13:2ff) and that Abram was considered righteous because he believed God. In this story they represent “insiders”-those who have faith, blessing, God’s favor, wealth and in this case power over outsiders-like Hagar, their Egyptian slave.

I briefly point out that Hagar had not been called by God. She was a foreigner, an Egyptian, a woman and a slave of Sarai. As an Egyptian I note that she reminds the reader of Abram’s unbelief, when he deceived Pharoah by claiming Sarai was his sister. Pharaoh gives Abram slaves and animals. Possibly Hagar came into Sarai’s possession then.

From here I move quickly to other questions that the group can easily answer, providing them with more opportunity to talk about their views of God and their lives.

“What view of God (theology) do Sarai/Abram have?” I ask. Someone notes that Sarai thinks that God has kept her from having children (Gen 16:2).I ask whether they know people who believe God is to blame when they cannot have children or experience other difficulties. People nod and talk about how in Mexico this is common.

I ask the people what God is like if Sarai is right? “A God who gives and takes according to what he wants,” someone ventures. “A God who is in control of everything,” another says.

“So, how did Sarai and Abram treat Hagar?” I ask. The men note the obvious. “Like an object,” said one inmate, “with no respect.” “Sarai gave her to Abram to get a child for herself that she herself couldn’t have,” said another man.

The men note that Hagar was never asked permission or in any way consulted, never called by her name, never directly addressed. She is treated like their possession. Abram uses her, and immediately she is pregnant. After looking down upon her owner, momentarily empowered by her fertility, Sarai is humiliated and treats her violently. Abram does not protect his wife Hagar, but lets Sarai abuse her.

At this point I ask the group if they see any parallels between this story and their own lives. At first the men are silent, reluctant to identify with Hagar because she is a woman and abused slave. “No,” someone says, “not us.”

Another corrects him, “all the time here in the jail. Here we’re a number, or maybe a last name.” Soon everyone is talking, making connections between Sarai and Abram and the jail guards, the police, the courts, INS and exploitive employers.

In a study of the same text outside the jail farm workers are quick to equate Sarai and Abram with an abusive husband, employer, landlord and always the police and INS.
Here I move the discussion to a new level of theological reflection by reminding the people that God had called Abram and said that through him all the nations of the world (including Hagar) would be blessed. I ask the men a question that would make explicit the negative theology reflected by these bearers of the promise: “If Sarai and Abram are bearers of the blessing, and represent God to Hagar, what image of God would Hagar have after this experience?”

The men are quick to respond, noting that Hagar would see God as a distant, impersonal, uncaring dictator, who makes use of people for his purposes, treating them like objects. This would be a god on the side of the powerful and unsympathetic to the poor and weak. Nobody notices that Sarai and Abram’s treatment of Hagar is similar to the way Sarai thinks God is treating her, but I make a note to myself and move on.

“So how does Hagar respond to this situation, to this theology?” I ask. “She flees, running away into the desert,” someone says. “Maybe this is a healthy response to this kind of abuse,” I note. “If God is in fact the way God’s representatives here portray him through their behavior, running away is a good alternative. Let’s read the part of the story to see whether Abram and Sarai are representing God correctly.”

As bible study facilitator one of my most important roles is to help people identify parallels between their stories and the place, characters and happenings in the text. Since most texts express within themselves opposing theologies, my role is to help clarify the oppositions in such a way that people can more easily hear the liberating Word in the narrative.

The bad news in the text must be drawn out and looked at for the theology that it reflects so that any counter theology that may be present can appear in the clearest form possible. I seek to deliberately subvert the oppressive dominant theology with a fresh new Word that I encourage people to discover for themselves.

In contrast to “scientific exegesis,” which claims to be objective and unbiased theologically, the socially-engaged biblical scholar must both encourage people to directly question and challenge assumptions about God that most oppress them and invite them to consider a liberating alternative way of reading.

At this point in the Bible study I invite a volunteer to read Genesis 16:7-16 and ask the group to identify the characters and describe what happens in this story. “Where is Hagar and what is she doing when the messenger of the Lord meets her?” “Was she seeking God?”

These questions highlight a surprising absence in the narrative of the expected holy, religious place and pious behaviours. Drawing attention to the narrative gap subverts pietism and moralism, wherein the reader’s attempt to hear good news is subverted from the start by the three questions: “What do I have to do to be saved?” “Where do I have to go?”-the assumed answer being “to church or Mass;” and “What do I have to know?”

The people are surprised and even excited as they answer that Hagar is running away, is in the wilderness and has no prior knowledge of God when God finds her.

“What kind of God does the messenger of YHWH reveal by means of his words and actions?” “What does the messenger of YHWH do for Hagar?” I ask, and continue. “How is this God different than the god Hagar would know of through Sarai and Abram’s treatment of her?”

“The messenger calls her by her name,” someone says. “But he calls her Hagar slave of Sarai,” observes another. I note that maybe God comes as “the messenger of the Lord” to the “servant/slave of Sarai” as a way of meeting her as an equal-a hypothesis that pleases the inmates.

“He asks her where she is coming from and where she is going,” notes someone, and continues: “The Lord’s messenger treats Hagar with respect and not like an object.”

“Maybe that is like asking her: ‘tell me about your life, where have you come from, what have you done? What do you desire? What are you hopes and plans for the future?,’ I suggest. “This God cares about her, and even gives her a special blessing.”

This reading must not be imposed on people in any way, which would reinforce people’s past experience of the teacher or religious expert as dispenser of “the truth” to the “ignorant.” Rather I seek to carefully and repeatedly invite participants to venture other interpretations through asking questions that draw people to respectfully examine the detail of the text. And the discussion gets quite animated as people discuss how this new view of God is completely different from the image of God Hagar might have gotten from her owners.

The God who meets Hagar in the desert is human, close and personal. This God takes the initiative, looking for her and finding her. This God is gracious, blessing her without any conditions.

This God is personal and attentive, naming her unborn son Ishmael, “God hears,” even though God knows he will be a “wild ass of a man”- who will experience continual conflict.

“Do any of you know any wild-asses-of-men?,” I ask. Everyone laughs, especially two, muscular, tattooed white guys who tower over the rest of us.

“God hears even the wild asses of men who’ve got troubles, and God here promises that Ishmael will one day break free.” In response to this human God who calls her by her name, Hagar feels free to name God El Roi, the “God who sees.” She has met a God who is not oblivious to abuse and suffering but sees, and does something about it. I point out that this Egyptian slave woman is the first person in the Scriptures to name God.

The greatest difficulty for people is that the messenger addressed Hagar as “Hagar, slave of Sarai” and sends her back to submit to her abuser Sarai. And yet one inmate in his late 50s who has been in and out of jail repeatedly for alcohol-related offences and has a history of non-cooperation with the courts said matter-of-factly: “This tells me that God wants me to directly face my problems instead of always running.”

Perhaps what is most liberating about this narrative is the clear differentiation between Sarai/Abram and God. God is separate from the system and the dominant theology. Through the messenger of YHWH God looks for, finds, addresses, respects, cares, blesses and promises life and liberation.

This makes a big difference for Hagar and a big difference for the immigrant women and men with whom I work. Their only hope of employment is stoop labour for minimum wage for employers who are often exploitive. Law enforcement agents continue to practice racial targeting and the Border Patrol is strictly enforcing increasingly-rigid immigration laws.
The Good News for Hagar is that God is a respectful, personal and very human presence who promises blessing and liberation in spite of her current experience of marginalization. This gives hope to the immigrant, the outsider and anyone experiencing oppression.

Throughout the reading process I see my role as the one who welcomes the people’s distinct voices while at the same time modeling a respectful inclusion of the text’s presence and voice as an even more vulnerable “stranger.” By keeping people attentive to the detail of the text and their interpretations accountable to the textual and narrative detail, people are helped to correct their own and each other’s poor reading and misinterpretations.

The exegete must stand with the vulnerable and powerless text, inviting others to hear its perspective, be it powerfully good news or an unsettling challenge. Here the grass-roots exegete can draw from training in careful, “scientific” reading, modeling a respectful listening to the text that elevates the text as an “authority” above other authorities (government, laws, clergy, ideology, theologies…).

Careful questioning that invites a closer look at the text and contemporary context and nurtures people as they draw new and liberating theological conclusions empowers them to bolder interpretation. The trained reader can model through their questions a way of thinking critically both about people’s own lives, problems and the Bible.

The discovery in the Scriptures of a God who is with them and for them strips the dominant culture of any theological legitimation, freeing the people from passive submission or destructive revolt to a reflective process of conversion and liberation.

from Just Preaching, Edited by André Resner Jr., Chalice Press, 2002

Many a pastor, priest and rabbi strive to preach and teach in ways that will inspire their parishioners to live lives marked by compassion and service to the poor and excluded. This prophetic task is highly complex, made especially difficult in mainstream circles by a myriad of nearly insurmountable obstacles.

Before considering some of these obstacles and strategies for preaching that empowers, I will briefly present my context and understanding of the role and objectives of the preacher followed by a dialogical sermon on John 9.

For the past twenty years I have read Scripture with people on the margins of the dominant culture who at the same time find themselves outside the institutional church. This ministry began in rural Honduras in the early 80’s, where my wife and I worked for six years with a team of Central Americans to promote sustainable agriculture, preventative health and lead Bible studies in fields and homes with impoverished campesinos.

We currently serve as pastors of an ecumenical ministry to immigrant migrant farm laborers from Mexico — many of whom are undocumented. I also serve as part-time chaplain of a county jail. I regularly gather with Hispanic inmates and immigrants both inside and outside the jail to talk about our lives and the Scriptures. In addition I often preach and teach in mainline Protestant churches, and teach Bible courses to Seminary students who were preparing for ministry.

Of all the people I read Scripture with, I find mainstream, mainline, English-speaking parishioners least able to engage in open dialogue about their lives, the Scriptures and the larger world. I often witness a notable contrast between raw, honest dialogue in Spanish about faith and life with Mexican inmates and more guarded, reluctant discussion with educated, English-speaking, Caucasian Presbyterians, Methodists, Lutherans and Roman Catholics.

Those with the least experience inside the institutional church appear less inhibited when it comes to participating in theological discussion than regular churchgoers, who tend to be more passive. While there are certainly numerous factors that could explain this contrast, I regularly return in my mind to one.

I am seeing a direct link between mainstream Christians’ difficulties participating in discussion about their lives and the Scriptures and their lack of life-giving action on behalf of people on the margins.

How might the Scriptures both preached and studied finally empower mainstream Christians?

Envisioning the preacher’s role

Clarity about the preacher’s function and objectives go hand in hand with an understanding of the most appropriate means of communication.

Brazilian pedagogue Paulo Freire has deeply inspired my teaching and preaching both in Honduras and in North America.(1) Freire’s participatory, problem-solving model did much to empower the base community movement in Latin America.

Peasants and workers who were once passive receivers of monologue-style preaching, teaching and liturgies began to read and discuss the Scriptures for themselves- becoming subjects of their own liberation process with the help of priests, pastors and lay leaders who functioned more as facilitators than authorities.(2)

In my preaching and teaching I envision my role as that of a facilitator and midwife. As a facilitator I seek to do everything possible to set up an encounter between God and the people through assisting them to reflect on their own lives, the Scriptures and each other’s experiences and viewpoints.

As midwife I assist during the birthing process recognizing that the work is done by the Spirit in intimate communion with people in the depths of their beings. I seek to be present as appropriately as possible — getting out of the way or intervening when necessary. I set up the birthing room as it were, making sure that the interpreting process gets off to the best start with a given group and text.

Trust must be established between myself and the participants, the participants and each other and the group members and the Biblical text. The chosen Scripture must be introduced in a way that gives people a place of entry into the foreign world of the Bible. Barriers between reader and story must be addressed through introductory remarks and questions that invite the people to ponder and discuss the Biblical story.

Simultaneously I labor to help people identify contemporary equivalents to the Biblical narrative (location, characters, verbs and other details) in their own lives and world. I strive to bring people to understand the deeper meaning of the Biblical stories as these stories illuminate their own lives and surrounding world.

My objective is that people would find themselves inside the text as met or addressed by YHWH, Jesus, one of the apostles — or whoever mediates the message or saving action in the Biblical story. I see myself as one who pulls people together for a potential encounter: a life-giving meeting between individuals and God that may result in comfort, healing, a change of heart, call. I am an unknowing midwife at best — not knowing what the encounter will birth.

My hope is that this meeting will lead others to discern God’s call on their life, when they will discover their highest vocation. People receive their vocation as they begin to follow Jesus, who turns common people into disciples and followers into recruiters of yet more disciples, who are sent into every nook and cranny of the world.

The dialogical sermon

For many years I have been developing a way of reading the Bible with people that is clearly different from a typical Bible study or sermon yet similar to both. I will call it a dialogical sermon here, though it’s exact genre may be other.

I seek to engage individuals in groups of two to twenty-five in a theological conversation by helping them see themselves in the stories of struggle and liberation in the Scriptures.
I seek to formulate questions that draw people out about issues that directly affect them. Most often I begin with a question about people’s lives, and then introduce a Biblical story and ask questions that help uncover the deeper truths of the text. Other times I begin with the text-which is most often the case on Sunday, when I am using the selections from the Common Lectionary.

In preparation for my dialogical sermon I seek to first determine what questions or issues the Biblical text appears to be addressing. This is often the most difficult task, requiring both careful exegesis and spiritual discernment regarding the text and group participants.

The questions that guide my preparatory reading include:

What is the heart of the matter in the text?
What question does the Biblical text appear to be addressing or in some way answering? (3)

Since most texts can be read to address numerous issues, I attempt to identify the multiple levels of meaning, prioritizing the issues apparently addressed in the text. (4)

The following description of a Bible study on Jesus’ encounter with the man born blind and subsequent power struggle with the Pharisees in John 9 represents an attempt to begin with text. This particular story fits the purposes of this essay in that it places three ways of embodying God side-by-side.

The disciples, Jesus and the Pharisees each in turn communicate through their words and actions distinct understandings of God and ways of being present to one particular marginalized person — the man born blind. While the following dialogical sermon/Bible study happened in a county jail, this sort of “encounter” can happen nearly anywhere where people can turn and face each other.

After briefly presenting this jail encounter, I will present some reflections on preaching and ways of being present that empower.

Learning together of Jesus’ liberating pedagogy in John 9:1-41

Two guards usher me into the jail’s multipurpose room on this Sunday afternoon at 3:00PM.
The English church service has just ended, and the plastic blue chairs are in neat rows before a wooded pulpit standing like a commander before the troops. I quickly slide the pulpit against the wall beside the television and arrange the chairs in a big circle-making sure a larger, more comfortable, plastic easy chair is reserved for someone other than myself.

The thick doors noisily open as guards lead red-uniformed inmates from their cells and pods into the room. I welcome seven men at the door with a handshake. Tattered, coverless books lie strewn about on the table. I collect the ones I recognize as Bibles and pass them out as the men take their seats. I spot the oldest inmate and invite him to take the most comfortable chair.

Once everyone is seated I introduce myself and invite each person to introduce them self by their first name and where they are from — an empowering moment there in the heart of an institution that classifies inmates as “male” or “female” and addresses them by their last name or inmate number.

I invite people to feel free to share their views on the Biblical text we are about to read, insisting that their questions and comments are critical if we are to truly understand the text. After an opening prayer calling on God’s Spirit to show us the deeper meaning of the story I invite a volunteer to read John 9:1-2.

As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

In this story Jesus’ disciples are looking at a blind man — one who has been afflicted adversely by a calamity. I invite the inmates to consider how they themselves, functioning in this case as the contemporary equivalent of the disciples, might view people like themselves who end up in jail or prison — as possible equivalents of the blind man who is considered punished for someone’s sin.

“Many people outside the jail think that people who end up in jail may be there because of the way their parents raised them,” I say, looking around the circle of men in red jail fatigues and rubber sandals.

“In fact,” I continue, “over the seven years that I have served as chaplain here in this jail, many men and women have told me stories about their upbringing. They tell me about being neglected by their parents, severely punished and even sexually abused. Do any of you think that you are here now in jail in part because of the way you were raised?” I ask.
The men look up, surprised. Some appear alarmed.

“No way man,” says Dominic, a white man in his late twenties looking at 25 years for charges of several counts of assault with a deadly weapon. “I’ve got no one to blame but myself.”

Others nod their heads in agreement.

“So there is nothing about your upbringing that might have led to some bad decisions on your part that may have eventually gotten you into trouble with the law?” I ask, probing.
“That could be homes (5),” says Arnold, a Mexican American man in his mid twenties who’s been active in Latino gangs. “I’m not saying it’s all them, but I’m sure it didn’t help for me to see my old man always laying around drunk and shit, man. I didn’t have no male role model. I was pretty much on my own, roaming the streets all night since I was 12 years old,” he continues.

“So this may have led to you eventually getting into trouble?” I ask.

“Yeah man, I think so. If I had had a positive male role model, someone I could look up to, things may have been different,” he says.

“What about the rest of you guys,” I ask, looking around.

Nearly everyone is nodding in agreement. Some talk about being raised by single moms, who were absent due to their need to put in long hours so they could support their family. Others tell how their mothers neglected them due to their addictions to drugs and alcohol, and of their difficulties finding stable partners. Nearly all tell of being punished severely, but often qualify these accounts with “but I’m sure I deserved it.”

“Seeing my jefito (dad) beating up my jefita (mom) all the time didn’t help,” recounts Juan, a heavily-tattooed Mexican American man in his mid twenties who has been in an out of juvenile detention and jail since he was 15.

“I never learned from him how to treat a woman (6) with respect,” continues Juan. “He never disciplined me. It was my mom who hit us. She would wail on me with a garden hose. I think that I’ve got a lot of anger, and maybe take it out on other women because of this. I’m sure that has something to do with why I’m here right now.”

We talk on about other external factors leading to their lives of crime: getting expelled from school, experiencing discrimination from the general public and law enforcement officers, poor treatment by landlords, low wages for stoop labor as farm workers. The men are all looking down, lamenting their upbringings, until Dominic calls everyone to attention:
“Wait a minute man, maybe we weren’t raised all that well and shit, but one thing I know, I can’t blame my old man for my predicament. I ain’t no victim, man. In fact I’ve victimized plenty of people. I fucked up man, and I’m to blame for getting my ass into trouble.”

Others nod in agreement, and the conversation moves in the direction of personal responsibility. The men talk about the allure of the easy life: drugs, alcohol, women, easy money selling dope. They talk about choosing the easier path that they knew rather than the narrow path yet unknown.

“I fell into a drug addiction — heroin,” says Miguel, a Mexican American man in his late thirties. “No one ever gave me help. Now I’m waiting for a bed date [in a drug treatment facility]. I have a little girl that CPS (Child Protective Services) took away. Hurts me a lot. I have a drug addiction. It’s me that has a problem.”

“Okay,” I say, “so at first you all agreed that you might be in jail in part because of your parents mistakes. Now you are focusing more on your own responsibility. You’ve been trying to answer the question the disciples asked Jesus: “who sinned that this man was born blind-this man or his parents?”

The Blame Game

Let’s look closer at this question. What image of God does this question assume? What is God like according to the disciples?” I ask.

“A punisher,” answers Juan. “They think of God as the one who is making the man blind and shit, either because of his own sin or his parents sin,” he continues.

We discuss the disciples’ image of God as retributive, celestial law-enforcement chief, which continues to reign often unchallenged on the streets of the U.S.A., Latin America and many other places.

God is envisioned by most inmates and Hispanic immigrants with whom I work from a perspective of negative hyper-sovereignty. Since God is understood as in control, calamities, punishments and other negative events are seen as being allowed to happen, and thus are understood as God’s will.

The disciples’ question is not whether the man’s blindness was a punishment or not, but concerns the attribution of blame: is this blindness due to this man’s sin or to his parents sin.

We talk at length about the disciples “us-them” attitude. They appear to look out from a place of comfort beside Jesus and seek Jesus’ judgment on the blind “outsider.” Many of the men have experienced this judgment from religious family members and from their churches. Most have internalized this judgment, and assume it to be true.

I ask the men how many of them see their time in jail as a punishment from God. Nearly everyone naturally assumes and even believes they must accept this. After all, critiquing fate is equal to judging God himself.

At this point I invite the men to look at how Jesus responds to the disciples’ question, and how he might in turn respond to our question. The men are ready for this turn in the conversation. I invite one of the men to read John 9:3.

Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.” (9:3)

“So what do you make of Jesus’ answer?” I ask the group.

“It doesn’t say that God made him blind,” observes Juan.

“Wow man, so it’s like Jesus isn’t into the blame game,” says Dominic.

The discussion moves to Jesus’ positive approach. Rather than worrying about guilt or innocence, questions upon which the courts of law and judges that will try the men are concerned, Jesus sees the man’s situation as providing the occasion for his liberating work: “he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him (9:3).

Arnold wants to keep reading to see what will happen in the rest of the story — now that interest is at an all time high.

We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see.

We talk about how Jesus is not in any way associated with blindness, with night. Jesus is light — the light of the world. He refuses to passively label or judge the blind man, but shows a proactive attitude. Jesus leads his disciples, including them in his “we must work the works of him who sent me.”

“So what might this story mean for you guys here in the jail?” I ask.

Since the men hesitate here to hope for anything too good for their undeserving, incarcerated selves, I actualize the text by suggesting that we read Jesus’ response to his disciples as: “Neither you guys nor your parents are to blame for you being here: you are in jail so that God’s works might be revealed in you.” (7)

We talk about watching and waiting for God’s positive work in their lives, and move into a discussion on the blind man’s role in the healing process.

“So what did this man have to do to get Jesus’ attention?” I ask, trying to alert the men to a narrative gap giving them another, more hidden sign that further subverts the dominant retributive system.

“He wasn’t doing nothing,” says Dominic. “He was just sitting there begging.”
I invite the men to read verse one again: “As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth.” It is Jesus who took the initiative, he saw the man, then did the rest.

“But he told the man to go wash the mud off his eyes in the pool,” someone notes.

“It’s like us,” reflects Arnold. “We’re blind. God opens up our eyes. It’s like him putting us in here. He spits on the ground and opens our eyes; so we can open our own eyes, go to treatment, or whatever we need to do. God opens up our eyes so we can see what we can do. Otherwise we’re blind; don’t know what we can do. Here we think clearly, cuz we’re sober.”

At this point in our dialogue hope is being restored. The men are seeing a way out of debilitating fatalism. While in some ways the meeting is over, interest is still high.

We read on and look briefly at the Pharisees’ reaction to the newly-seeing blind man and Jesus. After all, newly seeing inmates will still have to face the judge, probation officers and their family responsibilities, employers and other “authorities” on the outside. The rest of the story alerts them to what may still await them once they “see.”

We observe the in contrast to Jesus’ taking the initiative in his encounter with the blind man, the neighbors have to bring the healed man to the Pharisees — who aren’t about the business of looking for “lost sheep.” In contrast to Jesus’ liberating image of God, the Pharisees are more concerned that Jesus has broken the law by healing on the Sabbath. They reflect an image of God as an omnipotent law-enforcer and judge more concerned with laws than people (9:13-16).

The blind man shows increasing boldness before the judging Pharisees, eclipsing even Jesus as the preacher in this story (9:24-33). Finally the Pharisees, unable to tolerate this newly-empowered layperson’s insubordination, throw him out of the synagogue (9:34), where he was in the first place.

“So where was this man the different times that Jesus met him?” I ask the men.
We notice together that Jesus first met the blind man outside the synagogue (8). We read together John 9:35-38, noting that it is also outside the institutional church that Jesus once again finds him, revealing his identity to him in a respectful, dialogical way:

Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him, he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” He answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” He said, “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him (9:35-38).

“Even though the religious leaders have kicked this guy out of the church, this does not keep Jesus from meeting him there outside,” I observe.

“He’s better off outside the church,” notes Dominic. “Who would ever want to be inside dealing with those judgmental religious dudes.”

We observe together how John ends this scene with Jesus’ strongest words yet in support of a relationship of equality between insiders and outsiders, preachers and parishioners:

Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.” (9:39-41).

Jesus reverses the power relations in this story through his surprising judgment. He freely opens the eyes of the man viewed as punished by blindness and empowers him to preach truth to insiders — those with the power. The blind man is given sight, becoming the teacher of the Pharisees.

At the same time, Jesus shows that the institutional religious leaders are still in the dark because they claim to see. John’s Gospel presents the religious peoples’ refusal to acknowledge their equality with blind “sinners” as the primary obstacle to true vision.

Finally, the location of preacher and parishioner, Jesus and the blind man, are both outside the institutional church — hardly a hopeful image for pastors, priests and rabbis today. Yet while Jesus’ focus is on the blind man, the bulk of the text recounts the interface between the newly-seeing man, the disciples and the religious authorities embodied by the Pharisees.

John’s Gospel shows both a brutally honest assessment of the religious barriers to Jesus’ ministry of proclamation and liberating presence, and a modeling of what it might take for disciples and Pharisees to join Jesus’ redemptive ministry without restraints — outside of the bounds of the institutional church.

Obstacles to the empowering word

My work with inmates and with others on the margins has given me a unique perspective on the barriers that get in the way of the efficacy of the spoken word to empower. People’s perception that they are inferior and unworthy (or that they are viewed that way) may be more clearly visible in a jail setting than in a middle class congregation.

However, mainstream people can also perceive themselves as insignificant and even radically lacking — feelings that may be especially present when they find themselves “before God” during Sunday worship. Too often the very physical location, setting, protocol of Christian worship together with the manner of dress of the preacher and delivery of most liturgies and sermons subvert the highest espoused objectives.

The preacher’s persona

As spokesperson for God the minister inevitably reinforces or subverts the helpful or unhelpful images of God through her/his dress and demeanor.

If parishioners are to learn to respectfully anticipate Jesus’ presence and voice in the hungry, thirsty, foreigner, naked, sick and prisoner (Matt 25:31-46) or among those who are not wise, powerful, of noble birth but are foolish, weak, low and despised (1 Cor 1:26-29) then should not these characteristics be incarnated in our very presence and demeanor?

When week after week parishioners hear the Scriptures read and proclaimed from white-gowned clergy with colorful stoles or pastors in the black robes of judges or academics (9), the opposite message may be inadvertently given: that those called as God’s spokespersons are the pure, holy, wise, powerful and nobly-born (10).

A sports coat and tie may reinforce prejudices that associate clergy with professional classes or the elite, supporting the fallacious view that business dress makes one appear more successful, worthy of trust and respect.

Titles such as reverend, doctor, professor or father further distance clergy from the common people, disempowering those of lower social standing through reminding them of their perceived inferior, dependent status.

Rather than wearing the trappings of the institutional church (robes, albs, fancy crosses, clerical collars) that reinforce hierarchical power structures, today’s preachers should perhaps experiment with preaching in jail uniform and handcuffs, hospital gowns, an apron or in rags.

Jesus’ scathing critique of some of the professional religious leaders of his time must be heard freshly and heeded if the people are to take to the streets with liberating words and actions:

They do their deeds to be seen by others, for they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long. They love to have the place of honor at banquets and the best seats in the synagogues, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have people call them rabbi.

But you are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students. And call no one your father on earth, for you have one Father–the one in heaven. Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Messiah.

The greatest among you will be your servant. All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted (Matt 23:5b-12 NRSV).

Preachers desirous of engaging congregants in lives committed to social justice and works of mercy do better to imitate Christ’s humble posture as suffering servant. Yet the fanciness of our places of worship and apparent holiness of their religious décor exert their pressure on parishioners and clergy alike to dress appropriately for the out of the ordinary setting.
The location and pedagogy of preaching

Jesus’ call to go out into the whole world to preach the good news is most convincing when given on the streets — or anywhere but the comfortable confines of most churches (11).
Most churches and synagogues have a formal (sometimes sterile) and otherworldly aura that hardly illustrates the scenes of most of Jesus’ deeds and teaching. The single file pews place congregants seated and facing the front– the perfect posture for passive reception of a monologue (12).

Paulo Freire critiques what he calls the “banking method” of communication — which corresponds in many ways with the religious system embodied by the Pharisees in John’s Gospel. According to the banking method, knowledge or information is disseminated to passive recipients in ways that reinforce comfortable and oppressive patters of dependency.

Instead of communicating, the teacher issues communiqués and makes deposits which the students patiently receive, memorize, and repeat. This is the “banking” concept of education, in which the scope of action allowed to the students extends only as far as receiving, filing, and storing the deposits.

They do, it is true, have the opportunity to become collectors or cataloguers of the things they store. But in the last analysis, it is people themselves who are filed away through the lack of creativity, transformation, and knowledge in this (at best) misguided system.
For apart from inquiry, apart from the praxis, people cannot be truly human. Knowledge emerges only through invention and re-invention, through the restless, impatient, continuing, hopeful inquiry people pursue in the world, with the world, and with each other (13).

Freire argues that people on the margins have internalized the oppressor mentality, which is conveyed through nearly every means of communication.

In contrast to the banking method, a truly liberating pedagogy happens best using a dialogical approach. The pedagogue must deliberately subvert the system of dependency. This is done by creating an environment of trust whereby the voices of the “voiceless” are sought after and elevated — a first step in education for a critical consciousness and empowerment.

While parishioners in mainstream churches are hardly the voiceless poor, banking-style education certainly has led to a noticeable passivity that must be deliberately combated if middle-class Christians are to be empowered for life-giving, active service.

According to Freire the vertical, teacher-student [read professional clergy-parishioner] contradiction must be reconciled (14), replaced with a dialogical, problem-solving pedagogy.

Whereas banking education anesthetizes and inhibits creative power, problem-posing education involves a constant unveiling of reality. The former attempts to maintain the submersion of consciousness; the later strives for the emergence of consciousness and critical intervention in reality (15).

According to a dialogical, problem-solving model a circle of chairs or benches and a smaller group of participants as in the jail Bible study above are clearly superior to rows of pews and large numbers of people. Many clergy understandably feel trapped by the buildings, pews and traditions they have inherited, lacking the resources needed for the ideal overhaul (16).

However, church leaders must be courageous in their championing of new places and forms of worship as important ingredients to help achieve the desperately-needed empowerment of people for mission (17).

Does the church have the courage to be the Church outside of the church — the body of Christ with and for “the damned?”

Deliberate moves away from hierarchical models of leadership will help move congregations from passive receptors to active subjects in mission. Dialogical sermons, small group Bible studies, new forms of participatory liturgies and attempts to bridge the gap between comfortable places of worship and harsher realities of the streets and people’s lives all will contribute to empowering people for social justice.

However, more importantly than any technique is the genuine humility born out of struggle and encounters with the humble God of the Scriptures. This God comes to us stripped of all means of power — a vulnerable one whose authenticity is disarming. This God is a respecter of persons in ways that inspire trust and invite authenticity.

This God-with-us is finally the only Teacher, Rabbi and Father who can lead us down the narrow path, causing us to become “fishers of people” as we humbly follow. Without this continual divine mentoring, even the most revolutionary pedagogy is futile.

People who are truly on the margins do not expect to receive benefits legitimately. Accustomed to being rejected by the powerful, they learn to survive by hook or by crook. If Scripture is to be relevant to today’s “damned” it must be freed from dominant theological paradigm that assumes that blessing in this world is a reward for good behavior and exclusion a punishment for bad. I encounter people at many levels of marginalization as chaplain of Skagit County Jail and director of Tierra Nueva and The People’s Seminary- an ecumenical ministry to migrant farm workers and study center for Scripture study with people on the margins.

I first met Andres in the jail when he was 22. He participated in my weekly Spanish Bible studies there over periods of 3-4 months while he did time on at least three occasions, and was deported by the Border Patrol to Mexico and returned illegally each time. Andres is short and muscular, with dark skin and hair that have earned him the nickname “el Negro” (the black one).

Andres was an orphan at an early age, learning to fend for himself on the streets of Mexico City. He has scars on his face and elsewhere on his body to show a life marked by struggle. He crossed the border illegally in his late teens to work in the fields in California. Eventually he made his way to Washington State and found work on a construction crew. His eyes reveal both a life of suffering and a readiness for unlimited levels of illegal adventure. He looks expectant and prepared to face any kind of fun or trouble and can invent brilliant lies, which he tells unflinchingly to police detectives, judges and also to public defenders that are ready to represent him-whom he does not trust. At the same time he weeps the moment he talks about the ones he loves. He adores his partner Maria and their four young children, though he is constantly separated from them due to his perpetual troubles with the law.

Maria was also in her early twenties when I first met her. She has a dark, beautiful face and long black hair. In spite of her difficult life she is unusually quick to smile, revealing slightly crooked, protruding teeth that do not detract from her beauty, but give her a slightly mischievous look. She had two young children when she met Andres. Together they had a one year old when and Maria was pregnant with their second when I first visited her. She lived on the second floor of a rickety cockroach infested house beside the railroad tracks with her children, struggling to make it with no income since Andres was in jail.

Maria herself is one of nine children, born to a once street worker in Tijuana, who carried her across the border when she was several months old. Maria has lived her entire life moving from farm labor camps to flop houses and the lowest level apartments, eventually earning money in questionable ways that have led some to gossip. Andres’ adoration makes him ready to pick a fight with anyone who questions her past or shows the slightest disrespect. Since she has spent all but three months of her life in the United States, she speaks English better than Spanish, and considers herself more American than Mexican. Yet since her mother never applied for her permanent residence, she is in the U.S. illegally, and has already been deported once.

Her problems are compounded by the fact that she has no Mexican papers. Her mother has no memory of having a birth certificate for her, cannot remember in which poor barrio in Tijuana Maria was born and is unsure whether she ever officially registered her. Consequently Maria has no identification of any kind. When she and Andres came to me asking me to perform their wedding, I could not legally marry them because she lacked the necessary ID to obtain a marriage license.

I worked long and hard with Maria to pull together documents that might work to prove her identity so she could measure up to the demands of the law. The only proof we could dig up was her mug shot and personal information on file in the jail from an arrest the year before. Maria was unwilling to request a copy of this herself for fear that the Sheriff’s office would notify the Border Patrol that she was back. Her false immigration papers and social security card would have to do until someone figures out a way to help her become an official person.

Andres and Maria are somewhat typical of people on the margins with whom I read Scripture. They, like so many others from places all over the world are accustomed to rejection by the powerful. Their spiritual outlook is subsequently impacted, as they do not naturally expect God to call them or give them any special attention. They have accurately observed that their race, social class, nationality and other factors destine them for what they consider irremediable, eternal exclusion.

In my Bible studies and one-on-one conversations I engage people like Andres and Maria in theological reflection by helping them see themselves in the stories of struggle and liberation in the Scriptures. I seek to formulate questions that draw people out about issues that directly affect them. Most often I begin with a question about people’s lives, and then introduce a Biblical story and ask questions that help uncover the deeper truths of the text. Other times I begin with the text as in the following description of a Bible study on the birth of Jacob and Esau and their subsequent power struggle.

Jail guards usher me through two thick steel doors along tan cinder block corridors in the jail’s multipurpose room. Tattered, coverless books lie strewn about on the table. I collect the ones I recognize as Bibles and arrange plastic blue chairs in a circle as guards usher red-uniformed inmates from their cells and pods into the room. After an opening prayer calling on God’s Holy Spirit to show us the deeper meaning of the story I invite a volunteer to read Genesis 25:19-23, which introduces the larger narrative.

These are the descendants of Isaac, Abraham’s son: Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac was forty years old when he married Rebekah, daughter of Bethuel the Aramean of Paddan-aram, sister of Laban the Aramean. Isaac prayed to the LORD for his wife, because she was barren; and the LORD granted his prayer, and his wife Rebekah conceived. The children struggled together within her; and she said, “If it is to be this way, why do I live?” So she went to inquire of the LORD (NRSV).

“Who are the characters in this story so far?” I ask, to get people looking into their Bibles.

“Abraham,” someone says.

“No man, it’s Isaac, Abraham’s son,” another guy corrects. “Then there are the twins, the Lord and finally Rebecca.”

“Who has power in this story and who doesn’t?” I continue.

“The Lord has the power,” someone responds, assuming this to be the right answer. “The
Lord answers prayers and Rebecca gets pregnant.” A few heads nod. Everyone looks to me for my reaction.

I agree with them that Isaac and later Rebecca both pray to the Lord, and the Lord grants their prayers. Since God is in the story, we assume that God has all the power. I suggest though that we look closely at the story again to see what it is about. “Who has power among the other characters?” I ask.

“These are the descendants of Isaac,” someone reads. “Isaac has power.”

“Okay, that’s true. He alone is certainly getting the credit for descendants. Why doesn’t the story begin “these are the descendants of Isaac and Rebekah?” I ask, trying hard to free up the men to question the power relations in the narrative rather than assuming they are God- ordained.

Since four of the eight men are migrant farm workers I suggest that this may be like someone presenting some beautiful strawberries or blueberries as harvested by Sakuma Brothers (the biggest grower and employer of Mexican farm workers in our area). “How would this make you feel?” I ask.

“Bad, man, like shit. We’re the ones who sweat out there in the fields doing all the work, not the bosses.”

We observe together that between Isaac and Rebecca, Isaac clearly has the power. Isaac takes Rebekah, praying to the Lord for his wife because she was barren. We observe together that Isaac’s name is mentioned five times, while Rebekah is only mentioned twice in Genesis 25:19-26. Rebekah is a weak even powerless figure, defined in terms of her relationship with men (Isaac takes her, she is referred to as “his wife,” Bethuel’s daughter and Laban’s sister) and in terms of her inability to conceive. The Lord’s answering Isaac’s prayer shows that God stands behind him.(1) When Rebekah finally conceives as a result of Isaac’s prayer she is once again acted upon, experiencing her future “descendents of Isaac” struggling in her womb to such an extent that she does not want to continue living.

“Who are the Rebekahs in our society?” I ask.

“Nosotros (we are),” says Jose, an undocumented manwho claims he is innocent of the kidnapping and assault charges against him.

“The Mexicans people here in the U.S.A.-immigrants,” says another.

“Who are the people who have power over you in your life?” I ask the men.

“The judge,” someone immediately replies. “And the prosecutor,” says another.

The guards, the migra (the INS) and drugs are all subsequently mentioned.

We look together at Rebekah’s problem. An internal struggle between two children in her womb is making her life difficult. She asks God about the nature of this struggle, which is unbearable. Jose Luis reads Genesis 25:24 to see how the Lord responds.

And the LORD said to her, “Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples born of you shall be divided; the one shall be stronger than the other, the elder shall serve the younger.”

We talk about how the Lord tells only Rebekah, the one who is powerless in the story, a special word that only she and we the readers know. The stronger, older son who normally would have the power will serve the weaker, younger son who normally would be powerless.

“So God told Rebekah some information about Isaac’s descendants that only she knows,” I say. “Let’s read on to see how that surprising word actually gets realized in real life?” I say.
The man who has been reading continues by reading Genesis 25:25-28.
When her time to give birth was at hand, there were twins in her womb. The first came out red, all his body like a hairy mantle; so they named him Esau. Afterward his brother came out, with his hand gripping Esau’s heel; so he was named Jacob. Isaac was sixty years old when she bore them. When the boys grew up, Esau was a skillful hunter, a man of the field, while Jacob was a quiet man, living in tents. Isaac loved Esau, because he was fond of game; but Rebekah loved Jacob.

“So, What do we know about these brothers? What does the story tell us first about Esau?” I ask the men, once the reading is done.

“He was the firstborn,” someone said.

I talk briefly about how in the Mesopotamian cultures of that period, the firstborn son had all the rights. Esau being the firstborn had the birthright.

Someone mentions that Esau was red, and covered with hair, a man of the country, a very macho man who hunted animals for his father.

“Esau was his father’s favorite,” says another. “His father liked to eat meat.”

We observe in contrast that Jacob is the second born. He grasps Isaac’s heel. He is a smooth man who lives in tents. Most importantly, he is the preferred of his mother, the one who has no power. Compared with his brother Esau, Jacob has no rights. He is not favored by his father, who has all the power.

“Since Isaac does have the power that Jacob needs, he is like God to Jacob,” I suggest. “If Isaac reflected who God really is, what would God be like?” I ask.

“Unfair– a God who loves the stronger and ignores the weaker,” says Jose Luis.

“Powerful, old and wealthy,” says another. A God who shows favorites, who blesses only some.”

“Isaac likes only the strong, the skilled. He discriminates, preferring Esau because of his race, his skin color,” says another.

We talk at length how if Isaac reveals God, this is a God who is distant and hard, even impossible to please. Isaac reveals a God who has his favorites and loves because of what is brought him (i.e. meat). This image of God as sustainer of the status quo is all too familiar to the underclass in North America and in Mexico and Central America.

“What does Jacob lack that Esau has that would bring him his father Isaac’s favor?” I ask.

The men repeat the list of Esau’s distinguishing attributes: red color, hair, being a skillful hunter, a man of the field who gets game. Jacob also lacks being the first-born and most importantly his father’s love.

“What do you lack to have the power to do what you most want?” I ask the men, hoping people now will talk about their own lives.

“In Mexico it would help to be the son of a politician or rich person,” says Armando, a Mexican man in his mid twenties.

“Lots of money so I would not have to work,” says another man.

I ask the men what nationality would be ideal? What race or skin color?

“It would be better to be an American, a U.S. citizen,” says Jose Luis.

“If we were white, we would definitely have more opportunities,” says Armando.

“Not necessarily,” insists Dominic. “I’m white and I don’t have any power. To be white and to have money is to have power.”

“No, there are still more benefits to being white,” counters Armando. “White people get paid more than we Mexicans. Mexican children are made to work when they are very young. We are used to hard labor and are hired to do jobs that white people would never do. And we are paid less.”

Dominic sees his point and nods in agreement.

Clearly the closest example there in our jail Bible study of a modern equivalent of an Esau (one who has favor, power, etc) would be me: a white, male, American.(2)
“So, who are you in this story?” I ask, inviting people to look back at the text. While people were slightly embarrassed to be associated with the tent dwelling, cooking, momma’s boy Jacob, they readily state that they most closely resemble Jacob in the story.

“So, was there any way for Jacob to win favor?
Would there be any way for you to be white, Americans?” I ask.

“No, Jacob is trapped. The only thing he can do is take advantage of his brother. He stole his birthright by taking advantage of Esau’s hunger,” one of the men notes.

“There is nothing we can do either. We are brown skinned. We are Mexican. Unless the laws change we will always be illegal. We are screwed,” he mentions.

“But you have to do something,” I say. “What do you do to get what you want?” I ask.

“Rob, break into homes, sell drugs,” says Dominic matter of factly.

“Not me, man,” responds Jose, insulted. “I have always worked hard. It is the only way.”

“Yeah, but you steal jobs from Americans,” says Dominic, getting a rise from the Mexicans. He smiles and says he’s just kidding.

“What other kinds of things do you do?” I ask.

“We cross over the border without papers,” says Felipe. “We walk over the hills, paying coyotes, risking our lives so we can come here to work.”

“We use false papers that say we are legal,” says Jose Luis.

“I do that too, man,” says Dominic.

“Really?” I ask, wondering if there is some rivalry going on about being the baddest dude.
“Yeah, I have to work under a false name. Otherwise my wages would all be garnished to pay child support, fines and shit,” continues Dominic.

“Some of us sell drugs, steal car stereos and do other illegal things to make more money,” says another man.

Everyone laughs at this blunt assessment of each of their lives. They, like Andres, Maria and countless other undocumented and other underclass people find themselves in legally-impossible situations. I think back to Andres and Maria.

Andres has been arrested, jailed, deported and returned at least three times in the seven years that I have known him. Each time in the jail he progressed further in both his self-understanding and his faith and love for God. He participated actively in the Bible studies, talked honestly about his temptations and failings. He welcomed any good news he could get in ways that were contagious for the others. Each time he returned illegally to Maria, their relationship became more committed. Each time he returned to warrants for failures to appear in one court or another, which we helped him quash with the required $50.00 cash.
This beautiful, young couple and their children were “damned” to an underground life, driving without driver’s licenses, working with false papers-always on the lookout for law enforcement agents of every variety who could temporarily end their happiness at any time. Many of the twelve men around me there in the heart of the jail had similar stories which emerge in response to questions and discussion in the jail Bible study.

“Do you ever feel guilty before God when you have to do these things?” I ask the men at this moment of honesty and vulnerability.

“Tell me honestly, do you sometimes think that God might punish you, that God might someday make you pay for all this?” I ask.

We talk about the Mexican mothers oft-repeated threats: “Behave yourself my son, otherwise the good God will punish you.”

“Do any of you see God as punishing you now through this experience in jail?” I ask.
At least half the men are nodding and saying “si.”
“Yes, whatever our mother (jefita) says, has to be fulfilled,” says Jose.

Most of the men and women with whom I work view God as siding with the righteous, moral types and punishing the “bad guys.” When they open their Bibles they assume that any characters that God in any way favors must be chosen because of their goodness. Jacob, though he is the youngest they assume is good and deserving-even a moral hero. Esau in contrast must have been rejected because he is assumed to be evil.

Moralism and heroism are characteristics of the dominant theology in which contemporary underdogs are immersed. Yet this theology is ancient, as can be seen in the following quotes from early Jewish sources.

And… Rebekah bore to Isaac two sons, Jacob and Esau, and Jacob was a smooth and upright man, and Esau was fierce, a man of the field, and hairy; and Jacob dwelt in tents. And the youths grew, and Jacob learned to write; but Esau did not learn, for he was a man of the field, and a hunter, and he learned war, and all his deeds were fierce. And Abraham loved Jacob, but Isaac loved Esau (Jubilees 19:13-15).

And the two boys grew up, and Esau was a skilled hunter, a man who went out to the fields, and Jacob was a perfect man who frequented the schoolhouse (Targum Onqelos Gen 25:27).(5)

…the righteous Jacob, who observed the entire Torah, as it is said, “And Jacob was a perfect man, dwelling in tents” (Sifrei Deuteronomy 336).

When she passed by houses of idol-worship, Esau would squirm about, trying to get out, as it says, “The wicked turn astray [zoru] from the womb” (Ps 58:4); when she would pass synagogues or study-houses, Jacob would squirm to get out, as it says, “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you” (Jer 1:5)(Genesis Rabba 63:6).

Assumptions of Jacob’s worthiness (6) in these commentaries and within today’s dominant reading community rob this story of its relevant meaning for those most in need of its message. A careful read of the text with the dominant theology in mind can help take the text back from its usurpers and return it to its rightful contemporary beneficiaries.
There are clear connections between people on the margins and Jacob, who exhibits the ethics of survival. I invite the men to look at how Jacob and then Rebekah and Jacob deal with their powerlessness.

Once when Jacob was cooking a stew, Esau came in from the field, and he was famished. Esau said to Jacob, “Let me eat some of that red stuff, for I am famished!” (Therefore he was called Edom.) Jacob said, “First sell me your birthright.” Esau said, “I am about to die; of what use is a birthright to me?” Jacob said, “Swear to me first.” So he swore to him, and sold his birthright to Jacob. Then Jacob gave Esau bread and lentil stew, and he ate and drank, and rose and went his way. Thus Esau despised his birthright.

The men are quick to label Jacob an opportunist who takes advantage of Esau’s desperation for food to get the birthright. I remind them that Jacob’s name means heel grabber, deceiver or even trickster.(7) But he still lacked the most important thing that would guarantee success for him and his descendants: his father’s blessing.
“Where is God in this story?” I ask the men. We observe that God is absent or at least silent. God does not stop Jacob from his scheme.

I remind the men that the Lord had given Rebekah the secret, that the stronger, older one would serve the weaker, younger one. Yet in the story this looks like an impossibility.

“Let’s see how Rebekah and Jacob deal with these obstacles? I invite the men to turn to Genesis 27, and ask someone to read the entire chapter.

As Armando reads the story the other men follow closely. They appear surprised by Rebekah’s bold scheme to deceive her husband.

As we read we overhear with Rebekah Isaac’s special arrangement with his favored son, Esau, that he hunt for wild game, make him a meal and come for the blessing before Isaac dies (27:1-4). The men are intrigued that Rebekah is listening in, and acts with such bold cunning, ordering and coaching Jacob to change his identity, imitating Esau before their blind father to deceptively steal the blessing (27:5-9). The inmates are amazed that Rebekah helps Jacob so much (27:9), even to the extent of taking any curse upon herself should Jacob be discovered (27:13). The details of Jacob’s counterfeit identity: the skins of the kids on his hands and neck (27:16), the savory food that his father loved (27:17). Jacob’s bold-faced lies about his identity (27:19) and even about God helping him get the game quickly (27:20) shock the men. They are expecting failure, and grow increasingly sure that powerful Isaac, though blind, will discover the trickery.

The men I am reading with have all been caught for their crimes in varying degrees. Their very presence in jail, impending courts or sentencing are constant reminders. Yet many have succeeded numerous times. They can see that Jacob’s crime was no easy feat. Isaac’s command that he come near so he can feel whether or not he is really Esau reminds Armando of a time when the police pulled him over, running a background check on a false name he gave at the spur of the moment hoping to escape arrest due to a warrant he knew he had. The trick worked that time, as Jacob’s ruse succeeded.(8) I think to myself of Andres’ most recent adventures.

Andres’ most recent return involved crossing alone through the desert of Arizona, since he and Maria had no way to pull together the $1,400 needed to pay a coyote. He tells the story of praying without ceasing as he crossed the border, and of how the Border Patrol drove right past him without stopping as he entered a border town on foot.

It was like God made me invisible or something,” said Andres. “It was a miracle Roberto! God helped me.”

Would Andres’ next close encounter with the law be similarly successful? Would Jacob’s next moment with his blind but intelligent father lead to detection? Suspense grew among the men as Jacob’s success is achieved step by agonizing step. These are men who know firsthand Jacob’s stress, as Isaac notices the voice of his lying son is Jacob’s and not Esau’s (27:22) and he asks him one more time: “Are you really my son Esau?” (27:24) and his final request: come near and kiss me, my son” (27:26).
“Is this mika (permanent residency card) really good?” I ask, pretending to be an employer or a Border Patrol agent. Everyone laughs.

To sum up our findings so far I ask the men how the powerless, discriminated against people in the story, Jacob and Rebekah get the power and favor they lack? How do you get favor it you are damned by the one with power? What means did Jacob and Rebekah use that allowed them to succeed?

Together we make up a list with ease, as criminal minds are quick to see the survival wisdom of the Bible’s underclass. Trickery, lies, using false identities, counterfeiting, fraud are all mentioned as part of Jacob and Rebekah’s arsenal. I remind the men that Jacob’s name actually means trickster or deceiver. They smile uneasily, looking surprised to encounter a character they can so easily identify with and such a real life story in the Bible.

I remind the men that Rebekah was driven to help her son Jacob by a word from God in a dream that the stronger and older would serve the younger. We still do not know how God feels about Jacob and Rebekah’s criminal behavior, though they have clearly succeeded in the world of power-struggling humans.

“So, how do you think God looks at these kinds of actions?” I ask. “How do you think God will respond to Jacob and Rebekah?”

“Probably God was not in agreement,” says Armando.

“God will probably punish them later,” says Jose Luis.

After briefly telling the story of Esau’s angry discovery of Jacob’s crime, plot to kill his brother and Jacob’s escape to a foreign country, I invite someone to read the story of the Lord’s first encounter with fugitive Jacob after this incident. One of the men reads the story of Jacob’s dream at Bethel in Genesis 28:11-16.

He came to a certain place and stayed there for the night, because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones of the place, he put it under his head and lay down in that place. And he dreamed that there was a ladder set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. And the LORD stood beside him and said, “I am the LORD, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring; and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south; and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring. Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

After reading the story of the Lord’s encounter, I ask the men again how God responds to Jacob’s crime.

“God doesn’t say anything. It’s like it didn’t matter,” says one of the men.
“God blessed Jacob, promising that he would be with him,” says another man in amazement.

“God is different than we expect here,” I comment. “If we were to look at Jacob’s life, what does Jacob do that makes him worthy of God’s presence with him and promise of blessing?” I ask. “Was Jacob a religious person? Was he a person who prayed, went to church, read his Bible?”

The men look down at their Bibles. Hesitantly they begin to comment.

“He wasn’t a religious man. He didn’t do anything good,” says Armando. “He took advantage of his brother, stealing his birthright. He had just lied to his father and stolen his brother’s blessing.”

“He wasn’t seeking God when God came to him. He was escaping his brother,” says Jose Luis. “He committed a crime and fled.”

“He was sleeping when God visited him,” says another man, stirring everyone to laughter.
“So is this story telling us that it is okay with God if we commit crimes?” I ask.

“Maybe God is not worried about every crime. Some crimes are okay,” someone says. “Maybe this story is telling us that even when we commit crimes, God can still come to us and bless us.”
“I don’t know man. This don’t feel like a total blessing to me,” says Dominic. “Jacob has to flee. He has the birthright and the blessing, and God is with him and shit, but he’s on the run, he’s separated from his mom and dad, his brother and his country. This looks like a hard road.”

I think back to Andres and Maria. I did not doubt Andres’ perception that God had helped him. He was full of faith wrought from the furnace of his recent suffering, which always burned away all the distractions and left him glowing.

I had visited him and Maria in the months after this incident. I watched him struggle with the temptation to do unnecessary illegal actions, which he carefully sought to distinguish from the necessary illegalities. Being caught driving without a license for his fifth or sixth time would most certainly land him in jail and into the hands of the Border Patrol. Yet when his ride did not show up for work he would take the calculated risk rather than lose his hard-to-come-by construction job. Working with counterfeit immigration papers and social security number was no different than Jacob’s covering his arms and neck with goatskins and lying to his blind father.

One afternoon when I showed up unexpectedly to Andre’s marijuana-smoke filled apartment living room, I began to worry that he might be slipping into an old pattern that included justifying more and more unnecessary and risky behaviors. Andres was eventually arrested on suspicion of knowingly using and selling counterfeit twenty-dollar bills and possession of stolen property-crimes for which he may well have been guilty.

After the prosecutor was unsuccessful in convicting him, the jail turned him over to the INS for deportation. Since he was undocumented and had numerous prior deportations, the INS decided to prosecute Andres for illegal reentry, and sentenced him to two years in Federal prison. Andres called me collect from prison on numerous occasions. He was going through a dark period of worry and doubt. He asked me how Maria was doing, since she had long since had her phone service disconnected due to her inability to pay her phone bill.
Meanwhile, Maria surprised him by preparing to move back to Mexico to start a new life with hopefully fewer troubles. When Andres was recently deported, Maria left the country she considers home to join him in Mexico, where they now are reunited with their four children. God is with Andres and Maria, whether in the land of their dreams or in exile, as God is with my inmate brothers in Skagit County Jail.

I look around at other immigrant men like Andres in a big circle, Bible’s open upon their red, jail issue panted laps, plastic thongs planted on the brown cement floor of the jail’s multipurpose room. I encourage the men to take the story of God’s appearance to and blessing of fugitive Jacob as a clear announcement of God’s love for and willingness to bless the underdog – the ones who have no legal rights to benefits who often feel paralyzed by the restrictions and enforcement imposed on them by the principalities and powers.
I suggest that we look together at Jacob’s reaction to God’s appearance to him. We read together Jacob’s vow Genesis 28:17-18, 20-21(22):

Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, “Surely the LORD is in this place–and I did not know it!” And he was afraid, and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.” So Jacob rose early in the morning, and he took the stone that he had put under his head and set it up for a pillar and poured oil on the top of it (28:17-18)… Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat and clothing to wear, so that I come again to my father’s house in peace, then the LORD shall be my God, 28:22 and this stone, which I have set up for a pillar, shall be God’s house; and of all that you give me I will surely give one tenth to you.”

We end the study by talking about how Jacob recognizes after his dream that God was there with him even though he did not know it – a reminder to all of us that God’s presence is perhaps hard to discern and unexpected. The men notice the unbelief of Jacob too, and his vow full of conditions: “If God will be with me and protect me, and feed me and bring me back home in peace, then the Lord will be my God.”

The men are delighted. They feel like there is room for them and their unbelief. I encourage them to not believe too quickly, but to look for signs of God’s presence with them and to not be afraid to ask God to demonstrate God’s presence and care for them.

“So who is God according to this story? What is God like?” I ask, wrapping things up before our closing prayers.

“God is with us and cares for us even when we are doing bad things, like committing crimes,” someone says.

“God comes to people and blesses them, even when we are not looking for him. God came to Jacob when he was running way.”

We talk about how God works through other people like Rebekah. Rebekah had a special word from the Lord that the younger, undeserving son is the chosen one. Her response to this word represents her becoming a separate subject, an actress in her own and another’s liberation. God’s word to her freed her to break allegiance with the dominant theology / culture and help her son, taking risks by serving as an accomplice in Jacob’s crime.

The men appear to be encouraged as we gather in a circle and hold hands. We pray the Lord’s Prayer as brothers. I feel some peace and can see that the men are more hopeful. Armando approaches me with a smile and says he is really excited and needs to talk right away. I press the buzzer for the guards, and ask them to bring Armando up to the front of the jail where I wait for him in a small visiting cell. After the guard locks us into the privacy of our cell, Armando excitedly tells me his plan.

“This study was incredible. I feel free to do something now and want to know what you think,” he began. “The narco detectives (drug task force police) visited me this week and want to make a deal with me. You see, I was very active dealing drugs here, and I know lots of people who sell drugs— big dealers who they would like to catch.

They told me that if I work with them on the street to point out and help them arrest seven to nine people, they will drop charges and let me return to Mexico. Otherwise, they want to give me 36-48 months in prison. I can’t go to prison Roberto. I have a wife and three kids back in Mexico. They need me. I want to go back to be with them. After this study I feel like I am free to cooperate with the narcos. What do you think?”

I sit there stunned, feeling my friend’s predicament but at the same time resisting his interpretation. I have little sympathy for the destruction wrought by drug abuse, but I see no wisdom in the State’s strategies of incarcerating offenders in its unsuccessful war on drugs.
Drug task forces often make use of desperate people who are facing delivery of controlled substance charges and almost certain conviction. They release them on condition they cooperate in undercover sting operations, buying and selling drugs while the police videotape or listen in through their planted microphones. “Turn in three and go free” is a dangerous deal that some cannot refuse.

I ask Armando some careful questions about the risks involved in telling on other drug dealers. He responds in a way that surprises me all the more, pushing the ethical implications of our Bible study to new levels of complexity.

“No Roberto, don’t get me wrong, continues Armando. “I couldn’t tell on my brothers. I’m not a rata and never would actually do what they want. What I want to talk with you about is this. I need your help. You see, the name I am using here is not my real name. I am wondering whether you think it would work if my family sent you my real Mexican ID, with my real name. With this do you think I could buy a plane ticket and fly to Mexico?” he asks.

“Yes, I do not see any problem with this. If you have any kind of identification with your photo that says you are a Mexican citizen, you can get a plane ticket and fly,” I responded, still not clear about what Armando wanted from me.

“Okay, good. What I want is your help. I do not have an address in Skagit County. Could my family send you my papers? Would you then be willing to do me the favor of buying me a plane ticket to Mexico for the day that I get out? I need to know whether on the day that the drug task force lets me out to work for them you would be willing to pick me up and drive me to the airport so I can get away from here. Maybe you cannot, but I have to ask you anyway,” he said in a calm but urgent voice.

What should I do? The story of Rebekah and Jacob playing back in my brain. Armando had interpreted this story well, seeing implications that went far beyond my vision for this story’s relevancy. Armando saw himself as Jacob, and me as Rebekah. Indeed I had received the Word from God over and over that God sides with the weak, advocates for the least and gives his life for the sheep. Was I willing to serve as a Rebekah for Armando?

I thought about the cost of Rebekah’s advocacy for herself. She had told her son, “Let your curse be on me, my son” (27:13).(9) Rebekah’s success meant enmity between the two brothers and permanent separation from her beloved son. I pointed this out to Armando, and told him that I would need to think about the risk and potential cost of this sort of aiding and abetting an escape for myself and my family. I told him that if we were caught I would face time in prison and separation from my wife and children.

I told him that I opposed my government’s treatment of drug dealers with long prison sentences and wished I could help him rejoin his wife and children, but that I was not ready to take the risk helping him would involve. I warned him that if he were caught he could face as much as six additional years for escape. I offered to look more into the consequences and the probabilities of him being apprehended, so he would have a clear idea about the risks. I prayed with him and left, amazed and deeply unsettled by yet another night in the jail.

I think back to the man who visited me at our first farm in Honduras, where my wife and I worked with peasants for six years beginning in the early 80’s. He had asked me for money to take a bus to the capitol, followed by a shirt so he would look more presentable for a job. I had freely given him these things, only to be hit up for a pair of pants and finally my own shoes.

I am deeply aware of the limits of my love both in Honduras and here in El Norte. I am both inspired and unsettled by my encounters with people like Armando and the Scriptures, which together push my faith and understanding to places I would rather not go. I recently came upon one of the sayings of the Desert Fathers that speaks to one of my ongoing questions, which I now quote in full:

Going to town one day to sell some small articles, Abba Agathon met a cripple on the roadside, paralyzed in his legs, who asked him where he was going. Abba Agathon replied, ‘To town, to sell some things,’ The other said, ‘Do me the favor of carrying me there.’ So he carried him to the town.

The cripple said to him, ‘Put me down where you sell your wares,’ He did so. When he had sold an article, the cripple asked, ‘What did you sell it for?’ and he told him the price. The other said, ‘Buy me a cake,’ and he bought it.

When Abba Agathon had sold a second article, the sick man asked, ‘How much did you sell it for?’ And he told him the price of it. Then the other said, ‘Buy me this,’ and he bought it.
When Agathon, having sold all his wares, wanted to go, he said to him, ‘Are you going back?’ and he replied, ‘Yes.’ Then said he, ‘Do me the favor of carrying me back to the place where you found me.’ Once more picking him up, he carried him back to that place.
Then the cripple said, ‘Agathon, you are filled with divine blessings, in heaven and on earth.’ Raising his eyes, Agathon saw no man; it was an angel of the Lord, come to try him.(10)

I feel continually tested through my encounters with people on the margins. I, like Rebekah, have heard the word: the older will serve the younger, the last shall be first, by grace you have been saved. I am continually seeing that God has chosen what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God has chosen what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God has chosen what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are, so that no one might boast in the presence of God (1 Cor 15:27-29).

Am I willing to follow Rebekah’s bold path of resistance, breaking allegiance with the dominant religion and mainstream culture in my solidarity with the underdog? In Armando’s case the drug task force never ended up making a deal with him. He was convicted of dealing drugs and sentenced to 36 months in prison. Still I have no sense of having passed the many tests that come my way. Rather I am humbled by my limitations and pushed to pray and discern more clearly God’s voice and presence to me as I am met and challenged by people on the margins.

Isaac’s unwitting and unwilling part in Jacob’s blessing, in spite of his role as representative of the dominant theology and mainstream, comes strangely as a word of grace to me. Maybe his violent trembling when he discovers he’s been tricked represents a sort of conversion (27:33).

Finally, this story assures me that God’s will can be done on behalf of others both when I am a willing accomplice like Rebekah and when I am a blind and unwilling actor in people’s liberation like Isaac. My faith and my lack of faith can both serve God’s purposes. This is good news for the damned and good news for me.

Violent men make the headlines daily, and many people consider them deserving of banishment or death. God has called me and many here at Tierra Nueva to seek for, find, bind up, love, pray for and in various ways minister to violent men and women­both inside and outside jail.

God is calling the entire church to reach out in love to violent men and women, inviting them into a life filled with adventure, love and meaning as agents of transformation in the company of Jesus.

Every week I have the privilege of seeing hardened, violent men profoundly touched by God’s affectionate embrace. When people in our weekly jail Bible studies come to truly realize God adores them, they respond to God’s call and become disciples­often 12-15 at a time .

Sinners’ attraction to Jesus should come at no surprise. In Luke 15:1 “all the tax-gatherers and [all] the sinners were coming near him to listen to him.” Jesus was known as a “friend of sinners” (Matt 11:19). “The Son of Man has come to save that which was lost… It is not the will of your father who is in heaven that one of these little ones [lost sheep] perish” (Matt 18:11,14).

I often tell people in our jail Bible studies: “take it as a compliment that you are harassed and targeted by the Enemy. He’s trying to take you down as he knows what a threat you’d be if you were an agent of love for the Kingdom of God.” This is not empty flattery but a conviction repeatedly supported by Scripture.

Throughout Scripture we see God highly valuing violent men, calling them as his choice ministers. Moses was called after murdering an Egyptian to be Israel’s liberator. David was anointed after years of violence defending sheep and attacking Philistines. Jesus met the Apostle Paul in the midst of his violent campaign against the first Christians. Paul writes powerfully about God’s choice of himself:

I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has strengthened me, because he considered me faithful, putting me into service; even though I was formerly a blasphemer and a persecutor and a violent aggressor. And yet I was shown mercy, because I acted ignorantly in unbelief; and the grace of our Lord was more than abundant, with the faith and love which are found in Christ Jesus. It is a trustworthy statement, deserving full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, among whom I am foremost of all. And yet for this reason I found mercy, in order that in me as the foremost, Jesus Christ might demonstrate his perfect patience, as an example for those who would believe in him for eternal life (1 Tim 1:12-16).

Violent offender types like Paul and many others were targeted and attacked both by enemies of flesh and blood and spiritual enemies. I believe that those most involved in violence today are at the top of God’s list of people God is seeking and calling­and should be our highest priority in a different kind of Jesus-inspired war on terror. God calls the worst as an example for those who would believe. So who and where might these big, bad “little ones” be?

Our county jails are filled with people charged with violent crimes and others labeled “felons” with violent convictions. Rather than demanding harsher prison sentences and fines that increase shame and violence, our incarcerated neighbors need much more love, respect and the honor of being invited to follow Jesus to bring life and liberation to the world.

Al-Qaeda and Taliban combatants and people who strap explosives on their bodies need to be placed at the top of our prayer and outreach priorities, and certainly not destroyed. We must stop excluding enemy combatants from those for whom we grieve, as if their deaths are less important than those of innocent civilians or US troupes. This grieves the Holy Spirit, who comes to comfort and defend.

The world’s many orphans definitely need to be sponsored so their needs are provided. But let us not forget that most violent men are usually grown-up neglected and abused children or orphans in need of love, healing and spiritual adoption­which includes a calling. Rather than letting them be easy prey for the military recruiters, drug dealers and other forces that would rob, kill and destroy, join us in recruiting them as workers in God’s harvest fields.

We have learned that loving our enemies is not an easy or natural task­but it is at the heart of our calling. This kind of extreme love can only come directly from God. We at Tierra Nueva are constantly humbled by both our weakness before the powers of violence, addictions and death and by the bigness of God’s love. Saying “yes” to the call to seek after lost sheep until we find them requires more of God’s abundant love and the anointing of the Holy Spirit than we yet have. Thankfully, God is rich in mercy and full of love and goodness, and is eager to show up and to fill us up so we can “not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with Good (Rom 12). Let’s join Jesus, who says “I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners” (Mk 2:17). As more and more violent bad guys get recruited into God’s service as agents of love, the Kingdom of God will certainly be drawing closer.

For over 15 years now Gracie and I have ministered among Mexican migrant farm workers here at Tierra Nueva in Burlington, WA. We have seen many immigrants suffer terribly– and things are only getting worse. Immigration reform is critical at this time and must include far more than an opportunity for the millions of undocumented immigrants residing in the USA (12-20 million) to become citizens. Reforms are also desperately needed to overhaul the failed 1996 Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRAIRA) to give young men and women labeled “criminal aliens” opportunities for redemption.

Four Biblical texts need to be remembered and heeded these days by followers of Jesus who are about announcing the Kingdom of God. After all, we ourselves, regardless of our legal status, are invited to consider ourselves as “strangers and aliens” in this world (1 Pet 2:11).

“You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt (Ex 22:21).

“The Lord protects the strangers; he supports the fatherless and the widow” (Ps 146:9).

“I was a stranger, and you invited me in” (Matt 25:35).

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it” (Heb 13:2).

Last month while in Honduras Gracie called me about a close friend from Mexico named Ignacio whose 21-year-old son Jose was in jail charged with a DUI and possession of a controlled substance; as a result he was subject to a Border Patrol hold. If he is convicted, he will serve his time and then be deported back to a country where he has never lived, with a possible lifetime bar to re-entry. He will be separated from his US citizen wife, three year old daughter and family. “Is there anything we can do?” Ignacio asked in desperation.

I was talking with Gracie by cell phone, having just arrived in a Honduran town where we had lived for six years in the 80s promoting sustainable farming to stem the exodus from rural areas to cities to the USA. Two days before a 23-year-old man from a nearby village had been shot to death by someone he had threatened. The INS had deported him two months before, after he served time for a minor crime in a US jail.

“He had been working for three years in different states but then was arrested and deported. Like many young immigrants who have been in the USA, he came back with a serious drug problem, all disoriented and not wanting to work for $3.00 a day,” said Angel David, Tierra Nueva’s Honduran pastor whom I joined to comfort his grieving mother. The US-based MS-13 and Barrio 18 gangs were exported and rapidly spread throughout Central America when the INS deported vulnerable immigrant youth from violent American urban centers and prisons.

What could we do to keep Jose from being deported? Since he is married to a US citizen he might be able to apply for a waiver, depending on the seriousness of his conviction. However, people can be stripped of their residency status or barred from ever becoming a legal resident through committing a crime involving drugs or “moral turpitude”, which includes nearly every offense. This is because IIRAIRA created a terrible two-edged sword: the threshold for a having a crime be considered the most serious crime (an “aggravated felony”) has been dramatically lowered to include any theft or violent offense that receives a jail sentence of 365 days, even if the sentence is “suspended.” Shoplifting a pack of gum can thus be equated with the murder of a policeman or rape of a child). At the same time the ability of immigration officers and judges to offer forgiveness has been severely limited.

The law now puts tremendous discretion in the hands of our current prosecutors, and immigrants are too often left to the county and municipal public defender systems, which are chronically underfunded. Prosecutors now hold all the cards in can determine what charges to file and what plea agreements to accept, often well aware that what might be a great “deal” for a US citizen will impose a horrific “collateral” immigration consequence upon the immigrant: exile from work, home and family. This is coupled with the inability of our overworked public defenders to gather the resources needed to fashion resolutions of criminal charges, like drug treatment, community service and education, that allow the immigrant to make amends and reintegrate as a productive member of society. In contemporary America justice too often requires hard cash.

Ignacio and his wife Maria, like most immigrant workers, don’t have cash to pay for a private attorney for their son—who really needs drug and alcohol treatment and not jail time. They migrated to Washington State from Nayarit 15 years ago when Jose was 7, and other kids were 5, 3, 2 and 1. They had been unemployed and landless and were eager for work. Like many undocumented immigrants, they have struggled at the bottom of American society, taking on minimum-wage jobs in construction, slaughter houses, meat-packing plants, landscaping and field work.

I think back to a forum Tierra Nueva hosted more than a decade ago when a local berry farmer shared with the regional head of the INS his longing to see his many beloved workers be offered the chance to become legal permanent residents. “You know sir, that’s not what you really want,” said the INS chief. “If you give these people status and they will go after the America Dream. Then they won’t want to work for you anymore and there will have to be another wave of illegal immigrants to provide the workers to harvest America’s crops.”

Could the current political impasse that is keeping undocumented immigrants “illegal” be a deliberate mechanism to keep people in a state of perpetual slavery? Until ordinary Americans become aware of the desperate plight of immigrant workers, the sorry state of our justice system and shrinking pathways of forgiveness and begin to make their voices heard the plight of people on the margins will worsen. As people get to know immigrant workers as friends they will hear their stories and learn how oppression in America is sustained by laws and economic forces that encourage immigrants to come here but then force them to remain in the shadows. Personal relationships with immigrants will motivate ordinary Americans to put healthy pressure on prosecutors, judges and lawmakers to enforce laws in ways that favor all people and communities and change laws that don’t permit full consideration of each person’s humanity.

Last night I met with Jose during a bilingual Bible study in Skagit County Jail. His father Ignacio has spent the afternoon repairing my car after he and Maria had attended their son’s first court hearing. “We’re doing everything we can,” I assured him. “Esta bien, gracias,” he said smiling as they led him back to his cell.

A few weeks later a dear friend and prominent pastor of Mixteco-speaking immigrants from Oaxaca, Mexico who lives across the river from us was picked up the Internal Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents and put into deportation proceedings. Though he has lived in the US over 15 years, oversees a crew of field workers for a local berry grower and pastors his people tirelessly– there is no legal remedy available other than getting our congressional representative to submit a special bill to Congress for his family to be granted legal permanent residency status. We at Tierra Nueva are pursuing this option– and would appreciate your prayers for us, pastor Feliciano and his family.