I try and fool myself into believing that I am skipping news broadcasts because of my busy calendar. A schedule that included months of preparation for a move and then unpacking our life here on Solstice Place. And, once those tasks were complete, I shifted into everyday routines of knitting, baking, cleaning and, sometimes, even writing. Activities that admittedly require a degree of concentration and therefore provide a quasi-believable excuse not to turn to 24/7 reporting. But, if I am honest, my lack of attention is not attributable to mundane tasks, rather a weary knowledge that once I turn on the radio or the TV I will learn of yet another unthinkable injustice.
With lifelong experience living in the Midwest, I know the briskness of December. This is why I bundle up for my daily walk down the block to the neighborhood mailbox. I know that the winter temperatures in Minneapolis, St. Paul, or other quadrants of Rochester are certainly no warmer than at my doorstep. Yet, news coverage shows early morning raids by masked ICE agents as they remove Minnesota residents from their homes without coats, hats, or mittens. The recent scenes of a woman pinned down in the snow and dragged through the street prompted a public statement from Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O’Hara in which he said, “This egregious disregard for human dignity is appalling. It is deeply concerning that there appears to be a lack of accountability from our federal partners.”
Such masked behavior is not limited to Minnesota’s major cities; it also occurs in Rochester. Recently, an immigrant chef who, just months ago, prepared my dinner was taken into ICE custody. This is a man seeking asylum in order to escape Ecuadorian gang violence, violence that caused him to be shot in the head when, as an independent restaurateur, he refused to pay protection money. His location, well-being, and legal status are currently unknown to his family or to the church members who are sponsoring his legal efforts to navigate our complicated asylum process.
During this Christmas season when the gospels recount this ancient, yet well-known story, I can only wonder what might happen should there be another family seeking refuge on this oh holy night with stars brightly shining.
Joseph went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem, the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and placed him in a manager, because there was no room for them at the inn.
Luke 2:4-7
Photo credit: pexels-pixabay
Knit+ Librarian 