Our plane was an hour late landing in Tucson. Jim Wallis, Yvonne Dilling, and I had left Washington, D.C.'s subzero weather seven hours earlier, and by our East Coast clocks, it was already 1 a.m. when we emerged into Arizona's balmy night. On the eve of arraignments in Tucson and Phoenix, we stepped into a focal point of the drama surrounding church workers who are offering sanctuary to Central American refugees.
The trial of Jack Elder, director of Casa Romero, a hospitality house for refugees in San Benito, Texas, was already under way in Corpus Christi. Having driven three undocumented Salvadorans to a bus station, Elder was charged with three counts of transporting "illegal aliens."
We asked the woman who had come to pick us up at the airport how things were going. She recounted a testimony given at Elder's trial.
Donovan Cook, a Baptist pastor from Seattle, Washington, came forward as a witness on behalf of Elder. According to people present in the courtroom, Cook gave a compelling testimony, with frequent references to Scripture. In response, the judge, also a Baptist, said something like this: "You are talking about feeding and sheltering and clothing needy people. Of course the Bible talks about those things. But the Bible says nothing about transporting them."
Cook looked squarely at the judge and responded, "My dear sir, let me point you to a very familiar story. The Good Samaritan found a wounded man in the road. He bound up his wounds, put him on his beast, and transported him to the nearest place of shelter."
The story was a good introduction to the kind of people who are involved in the sanctuary movement. In the face of indictment, surveillance, and harassment, they vow on the basis of their faith to continue sheltering, feeding, clothing, and transporting refugees. At the same time, they actively oppose those policies of our government that create conditions such that people are subject to being attacked and beaten on the road.
Nena MacDonald of Lubbock, Texas, one of the 16 indicted sanctuary workers, explained, "I'm a nurse. If I'm walking down the street in Lubbock and I come across someone who is hurt, I can't fail to respond. That would only contribute to hopelessness and violence.
"People are coming to drink from the well of kindness. Someday we might have to come too. If by our fear and indifference we have poisoned the well, we will find that out when we come."
WE WERE TOLD that the Immigration and Naturalization Service called its recent covert campaign against the sanctuary workers—which included informants carrying hidden tape recorders—"Operation Sojourner." We felt honored to be "indicted" with them in their conspiracy of compassion.
I felt faithful and courageous people whose names I have read for months in the newspapers become good friends in Tucson. But is was not their commitment and courage that touched me so much as their joy, a joy that is born of doing—and persisting in doing—what they know is right.
At a press conference following their arraignment, a question was posed to John Fife, pastor of Southside United Presbyterian Church, the first church to publicly declare itself a sanctuary for refugees: "Have there been any refugees who have been illegally brought into the country and given sanctuary since your indictment?"
A glint of joy was evident in his eyes and a wide smile spread over his face as Fife replied, "The answer is simple. The answer is yes."
Joyce Hollyday was an associate editor of Sojourners magazine when this article appeared

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