Faith Challenges: It Ain't All Comfort

Born across the river, Raised on Apach’ee land, Given a birth certificate at age two, The name of one deceased, Global citizen, Tribal Registry, Of Yacqi birth, Deported. Awaiting new documents, A new name, A new birth. Hope in his eyes, Strength in his features, Art in his hands and mind, Plans for a future, Traveling lands native to ancestors, Crossing borders drawn by colonists, Living among peoples still subjected by arbitrary rules. Whose is the land? Whose ancestors matter most? How do we define human? Whom do we still consider savages without a soul? Is a piece of paper of greater value than one who uses paper, wields a brush, brings something new to life? The paper lived once. What of those seeking to live right now? 10/18/2025, Somewhere in Arizona airspace — ©Copyright 2025, Christopher B. Harbin  ...

I left behind a pair of jeans. They didn't really fit. I have others still. They won't be missed. Conversing with a dad deported, Wife and son untaken, A family stretched, Their ties pulled to their limit. He broadly smiles to share a picture. He's standing with his son, 7 years old, A border keeping them apart. A wall. A fence. Drones. Cameras. Motion detectors. Heat detectors. Armed guards. Helicopters. Threats. Scenes of dystopia relegating some as worthy, some more worthy, most as enemy—hordes of vermin. He speaks with gushing pride, Pride for his son, Pride in providing— Providing from afar, Providing through the help of others— A family moving near his wife and son, Bearing him a pair of jeans. The son will know his father cares. The son will know he still provides. The son will know ...

The eagle's talons drop down to seize its prey. The vulture closes in behind on patient wings of silent pursuit, Ready to erase all signs of life once passing here. Bollards form the canvas, Following the border line— A line drawn in sand— Only partially obscuring the ugliness behind. A rusty barbed wire fence twice draped in shiny coils of concertina wire, Another line of bollards, O’erlooked by towers arrayed with electronics, The Berlin wall upgraded and modernized, Technologically outfitted and state of the art, Surveilling all that moves across the sandy expanse, Terrain made uninhabitable, Made unwelcoming, Promising violence, Promising nothing like liberty, Nothing like a land of the free, A land for the free, A home of the brave, Interrupting and destroying this friendship park between two nations. Where once a First Lady ordered cut a barbed w...

He showed up at the gate one day. Somebody fed him. It's what you do. After all, it's a home for migrants, A home for people on the move, A place to give them a place, Belonging, Shelter, Food, Comfort, Medical attention, Clothing, A path forward, Childcare, Training, Employment in the community, Community itself. People on the move need a place where they can help others on their journey. Happy showed back up the next day, And the next, And the next. A volunteer brought him inside, Gave him a bed, Adopted him. The little furball set up his own routine, Climbing down the stairs each morning at 9, Wagging his greeting at every office door, Sharing his joy of belonging, Having a place. Happy had been on the move, Now he keeps to the upper floor, Adopted by successive volunteers, ...

“Hi, I’m your new pastor! Don’t worry, I’m going to let you down. I’m going to disappoint you. I’m going to make a mess of things. I will not live up to your expectations.” That’s about all I can really tell you as your newest pastor. We don’t know each other and don’t really know what to expect from one another. Regardless of our intentions, my arrival in your community by definition upsets the apple cart. It implies change. Just in case you did not know, I am not a woman, as was your previous pastor. Some of you will be disappointed that I am not Latino as was one of your pastors. Some will be disappointed that I am not Anglo enough, not Native American enough, not Brazilian enough, not good-looking enough, not Southern enough, not mountain enough, not attached enough to American sports, gardening, fishing, or hunting. Some will be disappointed with my political leanings. Some with differences in how I interpret following Jesus, Scripture, or popular Christian theolog...

I’ve been the target of violence, anger, hate, and people wanting to take me down a peg in response to personal insecurities. We’ve all been there. Justifications for such actions are myriad, yet the same. They are assertions of power, privilege, dominance, position, right, superiority, or personal worth. The violent deem their actions justified—they are self-defense. "I'm just defending" my land, people, family, position, authority, self-worth, superiority, ownership, understanding of reality, place in the world. "You are a threat" to my sense of worth and all the things on which I build my sense of security, value, or belonging. It's how we justify rape. It's how we justify war. It's how we justify business decisions, slavery, human-trafficking, subsistence wages, imprisonment, profits, borders, tariffs, the Second Amendment, armored police vehicles, nuclear weapons, murder, capital punishment, and condemning people who challen...