Kindlandia: Separated Families and the Kindness of Comfort

No one believes me when I tell them I am an introvert. They laugh and say, “Sure,” as they walk away shaking their heads. People in the public arena see me using my “learned extrovert” skills. I call it putting on my “extrovert hat.” Large groups like mass gatherings and marches touch a vulnerable chord within me. Not only marches, but even fun events like the Oktoberfest in Munich or Mardi Gras/Fasching Parades send me into hiding. When I received the information for a “Families Belong Together” gathering only a couple miles from my home, my first inclination was to pass. I find other ways to make a difference like supporting the Southern Poverty Law Center and organizations offering disaster relief like The Red Cross or One Great Hour of Sharing.

Recent news reported heartbreaking policies towards foreigners legally seeking asylum and those entering the US illegally. Both groups have been separated from their children. Thousands of children have been relocated. It’s been stated that some childcare workers received the directive not to console the distressed children. The children separated from their families are frightened, overwhelmed, and distraught. If not comforted, they will be emotionally scarred for a lifetime. I had to attend the “Families Belong Together” gathering. From my years serving as a chaplain, I was aware of the power of presence. Show up. My goal was to be present and give voice to the voiceless and comfortless. I could not have foreseen the ripple effect from this local march.

The invitation said to “bring your sign.” I thought, “What better “sign” than a clergy robe and stole? A “sign” that the Church is present and the Church cares about the cries of its children, for we are all God’s children.”
The interactions with those gathered happened naturally. I met a chaplain from Tacoma, a newly retired Episcopal priest moving to Whidbey, and another clergy sister also dressed in robe and stole but she was too far away for us to connect for introductions. I waved at honking cars next to six-year-old Emma and her Dad Matt who recently moved to Edmonds. A local author comrade and parishioner friend from twenty years ago greeted me. I connected with photographer and journalist Larry Vogel gathering information for our local online newspaper, My Edmonds News. Not knowing he was present I’d already sent the editor, Teresa Wippel, several photos.

I was especially appreciative of Washington State Senator Maralyn Chase who approached me and gave me the opportunity on video to express my grave concern over children in distress not being comforted. My hope is that this misguided government directive will be revisited and reconsidered. One sign expressed the sentiment well: “Compassion should not be partisan.”

After 90 minutes, as I slowly began walking away from the event, person after person or group after group along the sidewalk stopped me. Many asked, “What church do you belong to? Was it close by?” I replied that I was a retired United Church of Christ (UCC) minister. I’d served as a chaplain at a hospital and retirement home. I mentioned Richmond Beach UCC church close by in Shoreline and that I attend Magnolia UCC. As one after another reached out to express their appreciation for my attendance, I heard their great anguish over the current issues. I heard their sorrows. One woman whose Jewish grandfather came to America as a tiny baby from Nazi Germany shared how she fears for those who are fleeing to safety knowing firsthand from her family’s history how imperative is the need for a haven. One tall burly young man said he was a Unitarian and glad I attended. As I turned to go he stopped me and asked if I’d offer him a blessing. As I placed my hand on his shoulder (his head was way too high!) and began the traditional blessing, “May God Bless You and Keep You …” I sensed his searching and sadness, I shifted to a personal blessing, “and may you feel God’s love and courage surround you this day and forever more.”

My intent had been to be present and give voice for the detained children in distress. As I returned to my car I realized I was present to provide a safe listening ear and comfort for the participants who were also grieving and distraught.
After I returned home and hung my robe and stole back in the closet and placed my “extrovert hat” back on the shelf, I took notice on how I was feeling. In offering the kindness of presence to those gathered, I realized this allowed others an opportunity to offer the kindness of comfort to me as well.