Where the sea, the sky, and the Wall meet: letting the sacrament mediate

If you see religion as a sacrament, the point is not to believe in the sacrament;

the point is to live within the tradition and let the sacrament do its work within you,

Let the sacrament mediate the reality of the sacred to you.  

Marcus J. Borg

I believe in thin places, where the veil between the world is ripped or open enough that you can glimpse to what is on the other side, feel God’s holy presence. The border wall that extends about 50 feet into the water between Mexico and the US border is such a place. It was built in the 1980s as a way to stem the tide of migrants trying to get to the other side. Now it is a place of gathering.

It is here at this place, the line drawn in the sand, that people gather every Sunday at 1:00 pm to share a binational communion service. This was my first service at the border wall. It was my second with the Church at the Border, La Igelsia Fronteriza; the first was in Tijuana in an old building being renovated to provide services for the influx of new migrants.

It was powerful beyond words to break bread with those deported or waiting/hoping to enter on the other side. It reminded me of the day the Catholic priest and I came to the table in Beit Jala to pray and stop Israel  from uprooting trees to complete its wall around the Bethlehem area. Then I was praying to stop a wall. Now I was praying at the wall.

I invited myself to go with Pastor Seth David Clark to the wall to share in the weekly communion service on the US side of the wall at Friendship Park where families used to be able to gather and picnic from across the borders. When we arrived at the Imperial Beach parking lot, I watched Seth change into his walking shoes and gather his knapsack filled with only the essentials—the elements, a few photos, his bible and a cell phone. The cell phone allowed us to amplify our voices during the prayers and later make a small video. The trek to the sea and across the white sands is spectacular and the day was sunny and warm. We talked quietly on our approach.

The eucharist takes place at the top of the hill where the gate can be opened between the two walls just under the watch tower. At 1:00 we are allowed to enter and approach the steel meshed wall. Seth set up our humble table on the ground. I peered through to the other side and saw familiar faces from the last communion service. Guillermo and one of the deported vets was leading. Seth translated. At the far end of the wall, a man spoke in hushed tones in Spanish to a woman on the other side. His wife? His mother? Lover? Most of those gathered this day did not participate in the communion service. They were using their time to talk with their loved ones. They had only one hour.

Seth told me that that during the prayer of confession we would put our hands on the wall and when we heard the words of assurance, we would raise them up. What he didn’t tell me, because how could he know,  is that I would well up with uncontrollable tears. Touching the hard metal of the barrier that is separating families while confessing our sins was like, well touching both the wounds of Christ and the sharp edge of empire at the same time. Plus, on the other side someone stood opposite me touching the same wall. We were mirror dancing a prayer. And just when I thought I would burst, we raised our hands to that heavenly blue sky and asked for forgiveness. Yet more tears.

Seth told me that we passed the peace by sticking our pinkies through the meshed wall. We could only touch just the tips of our smallest finger. Peace is that dangerous that it must be regulated. Yet it was enough. On the Mexican side, people lined up behind each other to touch my tiny pinky. It was its own communion.

Seth and I followed and translated the call to the table for all to come and receive because God knows no boundaries. He translated the blessing of the elements, and the words of institution. Somehow it was right that we were translating into English. I lifted the small ceramic cup. Seth broke the roll. We fed each other while a Mexican singer on the other side sang about God’s goodness and love. The families at the wall continued their hushed conversations.

Jesus prepared a meal for the multitudes to remind us that we feed people

not because we believe they deserve it, but because they’re hungry.      

John Pavovitz

Only 10 people were allowed at the wall so I pulled away to distract the border patrol agent so he wouldn’t notice. Not knowing what to say, I asked if they, the border patrol, ever wanted to participate in the communion service? He looked surprised and somewhat pleased by the invitation. I was surprised by what came out of my mouth, “This is Christ’s table. It is open for all.” He smiled and thanked me. The people at the wall had a few more minutes and I invited the Other to the table.

On the trek back across the sand by the edge of the ocean, I thanked God for this humble ministry of sacramental presence, for allowing us to know Him not only at the table but through the Wall in song and prayer and most especially through the touch of peace.

For more information about the Border Church including videos of the services go to facebook:
The Border Church, La Iglesia Fronteriza