Last week I stood in a place
Where the threat of violence
And the promise of nonviolence
Came face to face.

I stood in a place
Where hope and futility
Clashed horns.

I stood in a place
Where fierce love
Went toe-to-toe
Against the violent abuse of power.

I stood with families who stared
Into the face of Death
And called for Life
For 43 young Mexican students
Forcibly disappeared
by the police
whose crimes were
covered up by the State.

Disappeared –
it’s not a verb in our language
but in South America,
everyone knows what it means.
It happens so often
That it has its own verb.
It happens so often
That it has its own noun –
The disappeared,
Los desaparacidos.

It’s not that “They disappeared” –
Which makes it sound passive,
Full of questions and unknown causes.

No, it is that “They were disappeared” —
taken forcibly from their homes and lives
by law enforcement, by the state,
by abuse of military and police power.

The families of 43 disappeared children
Were betrayed all over again
When the state tried to pass off animal remains
As the remains of their missing children,
Trying to silence them with the false finality of Death.

The families mourn, they grieve
but they will not rest
Until their children are returned.
They choose Life.

Thus a caravan of family members
Is crossing the U.S. during the Easter season
Telling their stories,
Asking us to stand with them
And to call on our own government
To cease its collaboration
With the forces of Death.

I stood with some of the family members last Wednesday.
I spoke at a press conference
extending them welcome and compassion,
Making common cause with them
And with all those who are subjected
To violence and abuse of power
By police and by the state,
Be they in Birmingham
Or across the border.

I heard a father talk about his son,
I heard a sister talk about her brother.
I felt horror and shock and boundless sadness.
Tears flowed down the faces
Of everyone gathered
to receive them.

It was so silent
Except for their voices
Telling their stories,
Refusing to give up hope,
Refusing to rest
Until they find truth and justice
And Life.

Into that moment of shared suffering
I experienced the presence of Jesus.
I saw Jesus coming into a place
Of incomprehensible loss and betrayal
On the colt of a donkey, a donkey of peace,
Just as he did on the Sunday of Palms.

He came into a place
Where Death ridden in on a warhorse
And staked out its territory,
He entered in riding a donkey of peace.
A foal, no less,
Still nursing its mother.

So humble,
So honest,
And yet so full of power.

His radiance lit up the darkness,
His presence promised peace
Where there is no hope of peace.

He once turned his face toward Jerusalem
Knowing it was a place of Death
And so also a place ready to receive Life.

Pilate pranced in on a war horse
With menacing legions of Roman soldiers
In gleaming armor
Brandishing menacing weapons
To keep a unjust peace.

Jesus came in on the colt of a donkey
With crowds crying out for redemption
To bring a peace beyond understanding.

So he did in Jerusalem,
So he is doing for the grieving families of 43,
So he does for us.

Jesus enters
Into the chaos
And conflict of our world,
He enters into the chaos
and conflict of our lives.

With such humility,
With such peace,
That we may not hear him
Through the clamor of the crowds,
The clanging of real threats
And empty promises.
We may not see him
Through our vale of tears

But quietly he comes.
He enters in.
He meets the principalities and powers.
He transforms or transcends them.

In the wake of immense loss,
Simple farmworkers are transformed
Into beacons for justice.
Oppressors are set free of the bondage
Of lies and death.

The powers of death
Lose their grip.

Jesus enters in.
Spark of life,
Light that darkness
Cannot put out.

-Rev. Angie