A Look Inside Casa Peregrina
By Jane Webb Childress
We met and prayed, planned and prayed, worried and prayed. We hashed out a million questions. What would our first family be like? What would the legal ramifications be, for us and for them? Who would represent us if we got stopped, or them to navigate the legal maze of seeking asylum in this country? Did our small church have the capacity to support this mission? And then, with fewer people crossing the border, would there be a family at all?
Maggie (a member of Austin Heights who came to faith by reading Marilyn Robinson's Gilead) had a rent house that God was calling her to use as a Casa Peregrina, a Pilgrim House. For our book club, Maggie and I had read Solito by Javier Zamora, the true story of a nine-year-old boy making the journey from Central America to the U.S. by himself. I had read Jeanine Cummins's novel American Dirt , another story of the harrowing journey of a mother and her young son escaping a cartel in Mexico that has killed her entire family. The Spirit was at work telling us you've got to do something to help these people.
Our missions committee began its work. My husband Kyle, our pastor, challenged the congregation to remember all that the small village of Le Chambeau, France, did to hide and smuggle Jews across the border to safety in the face of the Nazis. Our small church, Austin Heights, has a history of rising to the challenge in the face of injustice.
Other churches and friends helped us to furnish the house and get it ready. It looked great, a cute little yellow house, so warm and welcoming. But who would live there?
Finally, after spreading the word among our Fellowship Southwest peeps, we heard from a Catholic Worker House in Houston that they had a family they thought would be a good match. We had a zoom meeting with Jose, Maria, and Jesus (names changed). They told us a little of their story, we told them a little of ours, and when Maria realized this could become a reality, she covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. Many of us also cried, and we knew we had our family.
Maggie and Alex picked them up at the bus station. Alex had been baptized in January, and her discipleship training challenged her to find a ministry to be involved in. Since she is a fluent Spanish speaker who had lived in Argentina, Casa Peregrina was a perfect fit. Alex wrote a beautiful account of that first evening: the family was "brimming with excitement despite the exhaustion of the day's travel. Jose is a soft-spoken man of 30 with thick glasses and a quiet determination...Maria shows all of her emotions through her eyes...thanking God and feeling overjoyed at their turn of luck....Jesus sang softly in the back seat." At the house, he explored the front and back yards, and Maria cried tears of joy to see that Jesus would have his own room. Over the dinner Alex and Maggie had prepared, they told more of their story, which different church members would hear over the next few weeks: they witnessed the murder of Jose's brother by cartel members who told them to leave or be killed. At one point on the journey, Jose was kidnapped, and his parents had to pay a $2000 ransom for him to be released; twice they were robbed of all their belongings; Maria and Jesus both suffered abuse at the hands of bad actors, some of whom were here in the States.
In contrast, when Maggie took Jesus to a pediatric dentist for major dental work and told the receptionist that our church was sponsoring this family, she spoke to the dentist and came back with the news that they would charge half the usual fee. Someone in the waiting room overheard the conversation and asked if the family needed a stroller. Jose desperately needed new glasses, and thanks to FSW grant money and funds from generous benefactors, we have been able to provide for these needs. We learned that church members we wouldn't have expected to participate were visiting the family once a week to help them practice English.
The first court date in Houston loomed. We learned that immigration lawyers win by losing slowly. At this appearance they would explain that they had not had time to find a lawyer and get their case delayed. Michelle, a committee member, and Teri, a church member who speaks some Spanish, accompanied them; Teri said she would never forget the hostility directed at all these people who had been through so much to get here. Even so, Maria and Jesus were given a new court date. We learned that the chances of being granted asylum at this court with this judge are about 2%, and that the chances in the 4th Circuit are much higher. We would seek to delay again by asking for a change of address. Generous friends in North Carolina offered their home if the move became possible. Instead, the next court date was set for December 2026! Indeed, we win by losing slowly. We were thrilled to know they can be with us longer, but their work permits were taken away, which also means they can't get drivers licenses. Why must this country make everything so difficult for people who simply want to start a new life in a safe place? Both are eager to work, and we have given them opportunities where we could. They have been able to re-pay Jose's parents who could not afford medications because of the ransom payment.
In the midst of all this worry, we have had wonderful moments of delight. Maria cooked a meal for the committee that we all ate together at their house. Maggie had a birthday party for Jesus in a community garden with church members, neighbors, and friends--totally idyllic except for the 3-year-olds wrangling over Michelle's gift of a Paw Patrol truck. As I was driving Maria to the health clinic one day, she seemed so happy. She said that the day before they had been swimming at Bob and Teri's pool after doing some work there, and then that evening she and Maggie played soccer in the park with other Spanish-speaking people. She said it felt like being home again. One evening the committee met with the family at the local brewery. When Jesus spotted Kyle, he broke into a huge smile and shouted "Pastor!" and ran into his arms. Beside them stood the Brewery's huge carved bear. They held up their hands in bear claws and growled fiercely at it. Take that, you powers of darkness. We will not be afraid. We shall overcome.
On Easter Sunday the whole church comes to our house for potluck after the service--lots of good food, laughter, and chatter, this year in both English and Spanish. Later, both grown-ups and kids kicked a soccer ball around the back yard, and everyone laughed at how tiny Jesus seemed to be directing the show. Earlier, in the worship service, Christina had baptized Maria. Christina is our youth minister who did an internship with FSW, a seminary student, and fluent in Spanish; this was her first baptism. When Maria came up out of the water, she lifted her arms and said, "Hallelujah!", and then, of course, burst into tears. Pastor Kyle turned to Jose, standing nearby with Jesus in his arms, and said, "Jesus, say Amen!" and the tiny boy shouted "Amen!" And all the people said, "Amen!"
