It’s a beautiful but bruised part of the city. If you look out of our office windows, you might see a less-than-discreet drug exchange or police trainees out for a morning jog. You might see mothers walking their children to day care or homeless people walking to nowhere. Three weeks ago, there was a fatal shooting two blocks south from our building. It barely made the news.

The friars are not here by accident. They first came to OTR in the 19th century from Austria to serve German expats in the area. Over the decades, the neighborhood changed, but the friars remained. They are in this neighborhood to bear witness to its struggles and to be a presence to its residents. St. Francis laid that groundwork. His friars today continue the mission.

And with this issue, so do we. The five articles presented in our June/July issue are each inspired by a formative moment in the life of St. Francis—when he embraced the leper outside of Assisi. Here we profile individuals or organizations that lift “the others” in our uneven society. But I would encourage you to look closer. What each article says, implicitly, is what Francis preached all along: There is no “them.” There is only “us.” From those who are trafficked to those who seek asylum in our country; from LGBTQ youth to minority voters, we are one family. These five articles celebrate that.

We hope you enjoy this issue.

Along treacherous stretches of borderland between the United States and Mexico, Franciscans are working to respond to the humanitarian crisis there with faith and compassion.

1,954 miles. It’s roughly the distance from Chicago to Los Angeles. It’s also the length of the US-Mexico border, from where the Rio Grande empties into the Gulf of Mexico in the east, to the Pacific coast in the west. Much of the terrain along the border is rugged, arid, and in many places inhospitable, despite its natural beauty.

When you hear the word desert, scorching temperatures often come to mind, and that part is certainly true. In the Sonoran Desert, for example, summer temperatures typically soar well above 100 degrees, nearing 120 some days. However, desert nights can be surprisingly cold, dipping into the 30s or even upper 20s. Death from exposure can easily happen at temperatures below 50 degrees. Add to this the lack of access to water, and traversing this region by foot becomes even more daunting. Yet every year, massive numbers of migrants attempt the passage. And every year, sadly, many don’t survive the perilous journey.

Whether those who attempt to cross make it here and find a way to stay, get caught and deported back across the border, or perish along the way, they are largely a shadowy, nameless, and faceless group in American society. They are nearly invisible, but when they are seen, they’re often viewed with distrust, misunderstanding, and hatred.

In St. Francis’ time, the lepers in the valley below Assisi were seen in much the same way. Today, migrants and other marginalized groups are the lepers in our society. And just as St. Francis realized in one of the most important moments in his life, we are called not only to see them, but also to embrace them, to love them as Christ does. Following in the footsteps of their founder, Franciscans and associates are reaching out with compassion in the borderlands. Far from turning away, they have chosen to go where the pain is with the aim of relieving suffering and promoting justice. They are living out what Pope Francis called for in his 2021 message on the World Day of Migrants and Refugees: that we “advance together toward an ever wider ‘we.'”

Perception vs. Reality

In the summer of 2018, Sister Maria Louise Edwards—who belongs to the Felician Sisters of North America—happened upon a photo essay in the New York Times titled “They Have a Mission in the Desert: Finding the Bodies of Border Crossers,” by Simon Romero, with photos by Victor J. Blue. The story stopped her in her tracks. It described the efforts of an organization called the Águilas del Desierto (“Eagles of the Desert”) to recover the remains of migrants who died during border crossings.

“I was really moved by what I read, but, at the same time, it was like this complete disconnect because I couldn’t understand how all of this was happening, and this was the first I had heard of it,” Sister Maria Louise says. The photo essay showed a group of volunteers braving the heat to help a man locate the remains of his brother. As Sister Maria Louise learned more about the Águilas, she saw that the organization was helping to bring closure to families and dignity to those who died in the desert.

_{Sister Maria Louise Edwards found out about the Eagles of the Desert in a New York Times photo essay. A discarded purse and a child’s shoes are physical reminders that migrant families are making the dangerous crossing to the United States. Left: Courtesy of Sister Maria Louise Edwards; Right: Henri Migala}

At first, Sister Maria Louise offered to help the Águilas by crafting wooden crosses, which volunteers would place wherever human remains were discovered. Soon she felt the call to do more, but, by her own admission, she didn’t know much about the humanitarian crisis at the border.”I didn’t know what was the truth and what wasn’t,” she says. “You get all these stories about the people crossing: They’re criminals, drug dealers, people trying to do their worst in our country.” But that narrative didn’t gel with what she was finding out as her relationship with the Águilas developed.

With all the competing information and politics surrounding the issue of migrants crossing the US-Mexico border, Sister Maria Louise opted for firsthand experience to illuminate the truth. “I wanted to go and see for myself,” she says. So, two months after building her first crosses for the Águilas, she walked out into the desert with them on a search.

One Little Shoe

It’s not uncommon to find abandoned articles of clothing in daily life: a stray glove in a park during winter, a pair of forgotten sunglasses left poolside, or perhaps an oddly placed single sock on a sidewalk. And there’s usually nothing particularly impactful about these items, except maybe as indicators of absentmindedness or our throwaway culture. However, it was a little girl’s shoe that forever changed Sister Maria Louise one day in the arid borderland of southern California and Mexico.

In October 2018, Sister Maria Louise participated in her first search with the Águilas, which took place near the sparsely populated area of Ocotillo, California. “We started our search at the border with our backs to Mexico,” she recalls. “We were so close, we set off the underground sensors, and the Border Patrol called us to ask, ‘Are you guys really out there?'” And indeed they were. The group was looking for a 19-year-old man who had been missing for several weeks.

“Within two hours, we found a skull,” Sister Maria Louise says. “That was a very impactful moment for me because I had never seen a skull, let alone one just lying on the ground. I remember thinking, This is not our culture. This can’t be my country.”

The group went on to discover a rib cage and pelvis. It was determined that the remains belonged to a woman, not the 19-year-old man they were looking for, but it could mean closure for another family waiting in anguish for news about their lost loved one.

As the search continued, Sister Maria Louise found herself walking across a large boulder. “Right at the edge of the rock was a little girl’s shoe,” she says. “As I looked closer, there was still some of her foot in the shoe. I don’t think it was a coincidence that God brought me on my first search to find a woman and child. Not a gang member, not a criminal—a woman and a child.”

When faced with such a devastating discovery, the urge to recoil is powerful. “It’s a real battle within yourself,” Sister Maria Louise says. “You can shut down. You can push away the suffering. You can push away the unbelievable reality of what you’re standing there looking at: a body. That for me is the real challenge: to let it still impact me, to let it still hurt.” Ultimately, the Christian response kicked in for Sister Maria Louise. “You run toward the suffering; you don’t run away from it,” she says.

A Daughter’s Wish

In running toward the suffering happening at the US-Mexico border, Sister Maria Louise and others engaged in humanitarian efforts often come face-to-face with the sheer magnitude of attempted crossings, the result of powerful geopolitical and economic forces. According to US Customs and Border Protection, over 7,000 people have died trying to cross the border since 1998, though that number is likely higher, as an additional 3,000 people are listed as missing. It’s quite possible that recovery efforts will locate and identify the remains of some of these missing souls, but, sadly, many of those lost to the desert will never be found. However, the Águilas and organizations such as Border Angels and No More Deaths are working to change that.

The Águilas del Desierto were founded by a man named Ely Ortiz, whose brother and cousin had gone missing while attempting to cross into the United States in 2009. When no agency on either side of the border would help him in his search, Ortiz and one other human rights activist went walking into the desert to bring closure to his family and a dignified burial for his loved ones. After Ortiz found his family members’ remains, he realized that there must be many more people who have gone through the same ordeal.

“I know the agony of losing a loved one to the desert,” said Ortiz in the 2018 New York Times photo essay. “The desert is like a lion, stalking both the strong and the weak. The desert could devour any of us.”

_{A volunteer carries a cross with him while on a search. Whenever human remains are found, volunteers leave a cross at the site and say a prayer for the deceased person and his/her family. Authorities are then contacted and provided with the exact coordinates of the location. Photos: Henri Migala}

What started as essentially a one-man army, the Águilas now have a dedicated core group of volunteers, including Henri Migala, who has spent decades working in the areas of humanitarian aid, public health, and disaster response. “I first heard of the Águilas when an ad for them popped up in my Facebook feed,” Migala recalls. “It was a short blurb about recovering the remains of migrants in the desert. I sent them a message asking if I could volunteer, and I received a very kind and welcoming response inviting me to the next search. I’ve been going ever since.”

Now having spent four years with the Águilas, Migala’s experiences on searches continue to resonate with—and haunt—him. “I’ve been on three searches where adult children were looking for their fathers,” he says. One of those searches involved a young pregnant woman who was looking for her father. The woman, who lived on the US side of the border, was getting close to her due date and hoped her father could come to be present for the birth of her child. The father, realizing that the visa process would take at least five years, decided to try to cross but went missing near some irrigation canals.

“We were looking for his body with his daughter, who was eight months pregnant, and her anguish was just palpable,” Migala says. “It was so surreal and bizarre to share space with this young woman, who knew that her dad was missing because she asked him to be with her.” Although the group didn’t find him that day, Border Patrol scuba divers located his body not long after. The young woman was so traumatized and distressed that she went into premature labor.

Strength in Numbers

Fortunately, the Águilas have grown in visibility, with their mission shared in the New York Times, on CNN and PBS, and on their own website (AguilasdelDesierto.org) and social media presence on Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube. Their YouTube channel is particularly impactful, as footage of searches reveals the unforgiving landscape border crossers face. With increased awareness, more people from across the United States are volunteering with the Águilas.

Their work now includes rescue as well as recovery efforts. In the past year, the Águilas have rescued over 180 people from almost certain death. As Sister Maria Louise puts it, many of those rescued “are actively dying” when the Águilas find them. Typically, there are 20 to 25 volunteers on a search, though some searches have had 50 volunteers. The scope of their searches has also expanded to New Mexico and Texas.

Both Migala and Sister Maria Louise are quick to point out the delicacy of working along the border, where there is a network of complicated relationships to maintain, including communicating with distraught families, working with Border Patrol, and even getting information from various sources on the last whereabouts of a missing person.

In particular, a stable relationship with Border Patrol has proven invaluable. “If we did somehow damage our relationship with Border Patrol, then definitely fewer lives would be saved,” says Sister Maria Louise. “Our relationship with Border Patrol is very important. We’re very careful to keep that relationship positive.”

Moreover, the Águilas must remain explicit in their mission to avoid misunderstandings and any potential legal threat to their activities. “Of course, we are not involved in any way in helping people cross the border,” Migala says. “Our only mission is to help reduce death and suffering along the border—and we do that by trying to get people not to cross the border illegally, rescuing those who need rescuing, and recovering and repatriating the remains of those found in the desert.”

After receiving medical care, many of the migrants who are rescued by the Águilas are deported back across the border, only to attempt another crossing later. As Migala mentioned, the Águilas have made efforts to prevent illegal crossings. Members of the Águilas have visited numerous migrant centers in Mexico, giving presentations and distributing brochures and flyers detailing the dangers of attempting border crossings. They plan to expand these educational campaigns to a number of countries in Central America to raise even more awareness.

Despite all the darkness and desperation she has witnessed out in the desert, Sister Maria Louise takes heart and finds strength in her core spirituality. “I’m so grateful that I’m a Franciscan,” she says. “It’s just so much a part of who I am and how I want to see the world. Everything is relationship.”

This fundamental understanding of our interconnectedness, all parts of the body of Christ, helps Sister Maria Louise face each person she encounters in her work with the Águilas with care and compassion.

She also realizes that her work with the Águilas is grounded in the Gospel. “We’re all supposed to be ushering in the kingdom of God, but what is the ‘ushering in’ that I’m doing?” asks Sister Maria Louise. “I don’t want to usher in a kingdom where it’s OK that people are dying in the desert. That’s not the kingdom of God that I want to see come into this world. I want to say this is wrong. I want to say this life mattered. This little girl mattered.”

Ministering to Migrants Facing Deportation

When migrants get deported to Mexico at the Raul H. Castro Port of Entry in Douglas, Arizona, Brother David Buer, OFM, is often on the other side, waiting to receive them. “It’s not unusual for over 150 migrants to come through in one day,” says Brother David, a Franciscan friar who has worked at the US-Mexico border in Arizona for over 15 years.

Across from Douglas is the Mexican town of Agua Prieta, in the Mexican state of Sonora. Many of the migrants who are deported there are hungry, tired, and even unsure of where they are. “The US side has a policy called lateral deportation,” says Brother David.

“If migrants are caught four hours to the west, they might be brought all the way over to Agua Prieta and dropped off there. So, oftentimes, migrants are really disoriented.” Many of the deportees arrive at Agua Prieta at 3:00 in the morning, shivering from the cold desert night.

_{Brother David Buer, OFM, has worked at the US-Mexico border for over 15 years. Among other justice and peace initiatives, he assists at the Migrant Resource Center in Agua Prieta, Mexico. Photos: Octavio Duran, OFM}

At the Migrant Resource Center (MRC) in Agua Prieta, those who have just been sent back can find food, water, coffee from the fair trade cooperative Café Justo, basic medical attention, and other resources. The center, which has been open since 2006, is a joint effort among the town of Agua Prieta, the Presbyterian Church’s Frontera de Cristo organization, and the School Sisters of Notre Dame and has helped over 100,000 people gain their footing after being deported from the United States.

Although the number of migrants passing through the center fluctuates, even on a slow night, Brother David has seen just how important it is for the MRC to offer its services. “One night a few weeks ago, only seven migrants came through, but they were so grateful,” he recalls. “One guy had been out in the desert for three days without food. We had hot coffee and sandwiches for them and two outdoor heaters for them to warm up next to.” As the seven migrants went on their way, they each thanked Brother David for being there for them. The next night, 85 migrants showed up at the center.

For Brother David, as with Sister Maria Louise, Franciscan spirituality continually injects energy into his work at the border. Although St. Francis lived in a world radically different from ours, “I think he’d be proud to learn that his friars are doing this kind of work in the world today,” he says. “As Franciscans, our focus is presence and direct service.”

For more about the MRC, visit Frontera de Cristo’s website: FronteradeCristo.org/Ministries.

The Franciscan Peacemakers have been helping women struggling with prostitution and poverty for over 25 years. Now some of the women they’ve helped are giving back.

Cynthia Perkins never got the chance to meet Father Bob Wheelock. But on August 7, 2020, she attended his funeral. She wanted to say thank you.

Father Bob, OFM Cap, cofounded the Franciscan Peacemakers, a Milwaukee-based street ministry that changed Cynthia’s life. Now Cynthia is doing the work that Father Bob began: helping to provide healing for Milwaukee women caught in sexual exploitation, addiction, or homelessness.

“Cynthia is a recipient of Father Bob’s dream,” says Peacemakers executive director Deacon Steve Przedpelski, who calls Cynthia his “guardian angel.”

Twenty-five years before, in 1995, a captain from the Milwaukee Police Department had a conversation with Father Bob that would lay the foundation for Peacemakers and help save the lives of women like Cynthia. The captain, ahead of his time, could see the effects of sexual trauma in Milwaukee’s most crime-ridden areas. He suggested to Father Bob that one of the city’s most dire needs was providing women with a safe way out of abuse.

Father Bob and fellow Capuchin Father Mike Sullivan, who were living in a friary near downtown Milwaukee, began leading outreach efforts on the corner of 16th and North, in the middle of one of the city’s most poverty-stricken and drug-torn neighborhoods. Deacon Steve would join them that same year. They handed out bag lunches. They connected with people in the community. They advocated for families who wanted help getting their children into different schools. They learned about the complex layers of sexual exploitation, addiction, and homelessness. Franciscan Peacemakers was formed.

It was on this same corner 15 years later that Cynthia would meet Deacon Steve.

Lessons from the ‘Best Theology Teachers’

One might wonder how three men ended up leading an organization that serves women on the streets of Milwaukee. Like St. Francis of Assisi’s radical embrace of the “other,” they saw Christ in this forgotten group of people and stepped into the void. Part of Father Bob’s passion may have been connected to the sexual abuse he suffered as a young boy in the Boy Scouts. Deacon Steve grew up with an alcoholic and abusive father.

Deacon Steve says that Father Bob was a pioneer in this kind of work. “I’m not saying Bob was Francis,” Deacon Steve laughs, “but he worked and lived his life tirelessly to live up to the expectations of Francis.”

In the Peacemakers’ genesis, they would sometimes cover women’s rent at recovery houses. The first two women who took them up on this in the late 1990s got off the streets and, to this day, are living full and healthy lives. One of them earned a master’s degree.

“We were thinking to ourselves, Dang, that was easy,” Deacon Steve laughs.

_{Shinichi Hamilton, production manager with Franciscan Peacemakers, hand-pours candles. Photo courtesy of Franciscan Peacemakers}

It would be three years, however, before another woman would trust the Peacemakers with her rehabilitation. Deacon Steve recalls, “That was three years of intense education from women on the street—of really learning about the role of trauma without them even realizing that they were traumatized.”

For women facing sexual exploitation, the solution is hardly ever as simple as “leaving the lifestyle,” just as the cure for homelessness is hardly ever as simple as “getting a job.” Traffickers and pimps are often master manipulators, leveraging shame, threatening to kill a woman’s family, doing anything they can to trap a victim in the lifestyle for their own financial gain.

According to the National Runaway Safeline (1-800-RUNAWAY), one in three teens on the street will be lured toward prostitution within 48 hours of leaving home. In other words, this could happen to anyone. Traffickers often masquerade as loving parental figures, fooling women and children into thinking they’re safe. Before victims know it, they are trapped in a lifestyle that involves being raped several times a day.

The Peacemakers realized that they had a lot to learn to become more trauma-informed in their approach. Thus began a lifelong journey of learning from these women on the streets. “I’m a product of Catholic education from start to finish,” Deacon Steve reflects, “but these women have been my best theology teachers.”

The Gospel Model

In 2002, as Peacemakers’ founders Father Bob and Father Mike transitioned to outreach roles in different cities, Deacon Steve was named executive director. Carmen Fontanez was hired to do street outreach alongside him.

“When Deacon Steve started sharing with me what he did—just going out on the street and meeting people where they’re at—it reminded me so much of the Gospel,” Carmen reflects. “Jesus just went out to meet people where they were and for who they were. He accepted them and called them into something better. I felt this overwhelming emotion and knew that this is what I needed to be doing.”

The Peacemakers’ constant street presence during that first decade and a half led to a degree of trust in the community. Deacon Steve recalls once driving by a woman they had worked with who was being beaten up by a man on a street corner. Because of their relationships with drug dealers and gang leaders in the area, one of the dealers stepped up to protect the woman while Carmen pulled the woman into their van as they drove by. “We did good, huh?” smiled the drug dealer the next time he saw Deacon Steve.

The Peacemakers also work closely with law enforcement as an unofficial social services extension—an important offshoot, considering the distrust many people of color have for police. When Deacon Steve was first contacted for this story, he was on his way to a meeting with a detective. It isn’t uncommon for the Peacemakers to respond to a situation at a house of prostitution where several people might be brandishing firearms. When asked if he ever considered being armed, Deacon Steve laughs and says, “We’re peacemakers!”

One of the many challenges they faced over the years, however, was the success rate of the women they were trying to help. Two to three months in a recovery house usually wasn’t enough to break the cycle of years or even decades of trauma. Years of being demeaned and abused left gaping holes in their identity and sense of self-worth.

_{Cynthia Perkins was once ministered to by the Franciscan Peacemakers. Now she works for them as an outreach and recovery assistance specialist. Women in the Peacemakers’ Clare Community earn a living wage and work toward individual and collective healing by making and selling all-natural soaps, lotions, candles, bath bombs, and salt scrubs. Photo courtesy of Franciscan Peacemakers}

“It was hard at first for me to understand why women would go back to that lifestyle when it seemed so much better on the other side,” says Carmen. “But when you learn about trauma, it’s easier to understand why they might slip back into something that is familiar and predictable, even though that’s not where they want to be.”

But what was the solution? How could the Peacemakers improve their model?

“It felt like we kept putting Band-Aids on,” Carmen admits. “I felt like we could be doing something more. We wanted to provide another pathway to healing, a place where they felt safe, loved, and not judged.”

Restoring a Sense of Purpose

A spiritual director once told Deacon Steve to visit the touchstones that feed his spiritual growth as often as possible for the rest of his life. One of those touchstones is Assisi, where he has visited three times. The other is Thistle Farms in Nashville, Tennessee.

Carmen was intrigued by Thistle Farms, led by Episcopalian priest Becca Stevens, partially because of the high success rate with the women they served. Thistle Farms had a two-year safe house that helped women truly detach from their lifestyle, as well as a social enterprise—or, in the words of Rev. Becca, a “justice enterprise”—for making soaps, jewelry, and bags, which helped them to rebuild their sense of self as they created something beautiful and meaningful.

“What I’ve learned in the past 30 years of doing this work is that you think people are broken, when in truth, they’re just broken open,” Rev. Becca says. “The miracle is when we come together with that ‘broken-openness,’ we can turn it into a fierce compassion. We are all invited to be both the healed and the healers. If we’re sitting across the table offering each other grace and compassion, with the idea that we are both giving and receiving, that’s when love is transformative.”

Deacon Steve and Carmen finally decided to visit Thistle Farms in 2012 for a conference. “When I heard Becca speak, it took me 10 minutes to buy into it,” Deacon Steve reflects. “I remember saying out loud to Carmen, ‘We can do this.'” Carmen jokes that halfway through the first session Deacon Steve was texting “like a teenage girl” as he reached out to board members and volunteers.

Two years later, the Peacemakers opened Clare Community, named after St. Clare of Assisi, a two-year safe home that could house two women at a time. They also launched their social enterprise, where women made candles, soaps, bath bombs, and lotion.

“What I wish for people who are inspired by the stories of the Franciscan Peacemakers and Thistle Farms is that they would use their consumerism to support those efforts,” Rev. Becca says. “If that’s what you value and you think it’s good, then buy your soap from them, not from a chain store. I wish people would use their purchasing power to support work that they believe is the right thing for the world. People can take this on as part of their story. This isn’t a story that happens to somebody else. This is our story.”

In 2021, the Peacemakers’ social enterprise increased its total sales by over $110,000 from the previous year to $273,000. That same year, the Milwaukee Biz Times named the Peacemakers the social enterprise of the year. And in 2022, the Peacemakers will open Clare Community in the former Conrad House, which will be able to care for up to 12 women looking to get off the streets. The Conrad House is the former friary where Father Bob once lived.

Survivors Take the Reins

Deacon Steve says that he always dreamed of the day Peacemakers would be survivor-led. That day is practically here.

Sitting next to each other on a Zoom call are three survivors, all with active roles in the Peacemakers. There’s Cynthia, who oversees outreach and recovery. There’s her former roommate in Clare Community, Shinichi Hamilton, who is now the production manager for the social enterprise. And there’s Shenise Davis, who works as a sales associate for the social enterprise.

Cynthia, Shinichi, and Shenise ooze with passion for the work they do. They hope to be to others what Deacon Steve and Carmen were to them. They hope to fill the Conrad House this year with women who want something different for their lives.

“It’s important to show the women we work with that you’re just not talking to them but that you’ve been where they’re at,” Shenise reflects. “I think a lot of women are scared of the unknown. They don’t know what’s on the other side, and they’ve forgotten that there is another side. We share with them where we’ve been and that they can do it. It takes one day at a time.”

_{Source: Franciscan Peacemakers}

Cynthia adds, “Part of what Shenise is saying is that we’re not judging you.”

“And we’re going to love them until they learn to love themselves,” Shenise affirms.

“Everyone has something to give,” Cynthia continues. “There are so many beautiful people who are suffering. And if you take the time to get to know them, you’ll see that, in spite of what they present to the world, when you look into their heart and soul, you’ll see their humanity, beauty, gifts—gifts that you really want to see developed.”

For Cynthia, Shinichi, and Shenise, their gifts are not only developing but blossoming. Less than a month before, Cynthia was named the 2022 Woman of Valor by the Milwaukee Trafficking Coalition. She recently finished her associate degree and is now pursuing a degree in social work.

Four days before, Shinichi graduated from Clare Community and, one day before, was able to help her niece out with rent, something Shinichi says would have been unfathomable to her two years ago. In 11 days, Shenise will reach 20 years of sobriety through Narcotics Anonymous.

Today these three women are using their own stories of pain and abuse to meet others where they are, following the path of Father Bob and Deacon Steve in their own profound way. Next year, they hope there will be more doing the same.

“You just want to save everybody, but you can’t,” Shenise says. “So we keep coming to work every day, talking until we’re blue in the face, giving them what they need, and waiting for the next day.”

Cynthia adds, “And we hope that day for change is today.”

To learn more, visit FranciscanPeacemakers.org.

Someone you love has come out as LGBTQ. Jim Martin, SJ, offers ways to respond with love, respect, and compassion.

In 2013, I saw a documentary I have never forgotten. Facing Fear tells the story of a former teen skinhead, Tim Zaal, and a gay teen, Matthew Boger, whom Tim thought he had killed on a wild night of gay-bashing with 14 others in West Hollywood in the early 1980s.

Matthew’s mother had kicked him out of the house at the age of 13 when he told her he was gay. He lived on the streets of West Hollywood for four years. Tim grew up in an all-White neighborhood east of Los Angeles. When his brother was shot by a Black man, Tim blamed all people of color and became a White supremacist.

In a twist of providence, Matthew and Tim met years later at the Museum of Tolerance in Los Angeles, where Matthew worked and Tim, now a father and a changed man, volunteered. When they recognized each other, they walked away. But the museum leadership asked them to speak to students and groups about their story. Forgiveness and friendship grew out of getting to know one another.

After seeing the film, I couldn’t understand how a parent could kick out her young teen son because he was gay. Matthew’s mother said it was because no one living in sin could live in her home.

Violence against LGBTQ persons is increasing in the United States. The Human Rights Campaign reports that in 2020 the FBI found that hate crimes “based on sexual orientation represent 16.7 percent of hate crimes, the third largest category after race and religion.” But because cities are not mandated to report hate crimes, these numbers are probably much higher.

“Suicide rates among young people have been on the rise in recent years, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention,” reported Dan Avery in an article for NBC News in April 2021, “but gay and bisexual youths are almost five times as likely to have attempted suicide as their straight peers.” In addition, AmericanProgress.org notes that there are between 1.6 million and 2.8 million homeless youth in the United States, and a disproportionate number are LGBTQ youth.

I interviewed Jesuit Father James (Jim) Martin, an advocate for the LGBTQ community, about this reality. Father Martin is the author of the 2018 best seller Building a Bridge: How the Catholic Church and the LGBT Community Can Enter into a Relationship of Respect, Compassion, and Sensitivity and is the subject of the 2021 documentary Building a Bridge.

What Should Parents Do?

Father Jim, you are a compassionate advocate for members of the LGBTQ community. What are parents to do when their children “come out” to them? What if the children are teens or young adults?

The most important thing is to love your child. Every parent knows this, but often they feel unequipped to respond when their child comes out. I often say to parents, “You know more than you think you do.” In this case, you know how to love.

Listening is a big part. Listen to your child’s experiences. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, but always communicate your love and acceptance. Coming out can be a difficult thing for a child.

They’re talking about sexuality, something that’s difficult for any child to discuss with parents. But one of the most crucial things for the mental health of LGBTQ youth is parental acceptance. And one of the main reasons for teen homelessness is LGBTQ kids being kicked out of their houses—by the way, usually for “religious reasons.”

There are, of course, differences in how one deals with a teen versus an adult and times when psychotherapy helps—not because being LGBTQ means being mentally ill, but to help the person through the process. But, in the end, it’s about love.

Remember that God has given you this child, and so God will give you the grace to love them, even if they turned out different than you expected. Are you willing to allow yourself to be surprised and even challenged by the mystery of God’s ways?

What are the three most important things parents can do for their children who are LGBTQ?

Love. Listen. Accompany. Love first. One of the best ways to communicate this is to respond by saying things like, “Thank you for telling me.” “You know I will always love you.” “I’m so grateful you’ve shared this part of yourself with me.” Listening means hearing their sorrow and pain, as well as their joy and hope. Parents are often surprised that for many young people today, coming out is seen as something to celebrate—because they are coming to a deeper understanding of who they are. Finally, accompany. Your child may be going through some changes, perhaps in how they dress, perhaps regarding their friends, perhaps their taste in music. Think of it as a pilgrimage you’re going on with them.

Building a Bridge: The Book and the Movie

What was the best part about making the documentary Building a Bridge?

Seeing how the film brought together so many different voices. The filmmakers did an amazing job of including LGBTQ Catholics, parents of LGBTQ kids, theologians, parish ministries, and so on. It’s a reminder that this issue does not affect just LGBTQ people themselves, but the whole Church. I was also glad that they captured some of the pain and struggles of LGBTQ youth. Often people say, “What’s the big deal?” Well, in the film you see what the big deal is.

In the film, you talk about changes you made between the first and second editions of your book Building a Bridge. Can you tell us about them?

The first edition of the book was simple and short. The first part was based on a talk I gave, and the second was a series of Gospel meditations to invite readers to see how Jesus reached out to those on the margins. But even in the few months after the book came out (no pun intended), I saw that it needed to be revised and expanded a great deal.

To begin with, the LGBTQ Catholic community challenged me on the idea of a “two-way bridge.” Both “sides”—LGBTQ Catholics and the institutional Church—need to reach out to one another. But I had to make it clearer that the onus is on the institutional Church to take the initiative, since it is in a position of ecclesial power. As one LGBTQ Catholic said: “We’d love to talk with bishops. But some of them won’t meet with us.”

Also, there were many more stories and insights, as well as facts and figures, which I wanted to include, especially when I saw how the book was being used by parishes and schools. I didn’t set out to write a resource, but that’s what it has become, since there are so few books written on the topic from a Catholic perspective.

Threats to the LGBTQ Community

One of the most concerning things is the lack of a pastoral response as Church to anyone who identifies as LGBTQ who attempts suicide and/or self-harm. How do parents, teachers, pastors, and others respond to this reality?

You highlight one of the most important aspects of this ministry. Suicide is a life issue. So we need to defend the lives of LGBTQ people as much as the lives of the unborn child in the womb, the refugee at the border, or the elderly person dying of COVID-19. Violence, beatings, and harassment are also commonplace. Sadly, the Church has spoken up hardly at all on this issue.

It’s even worse overseas. Did you know that in 70 countries being gay is a criminal offense, and in 10 countries you can be executed for being gay? This is an area in which the Church can take a stand without changing any teaching. In fact, combating LGBTQ suicide and opposing violence against them supports Church teaching.

Why do people respond with violence to members of the LGBTQ community? Some cite fear of the unknown or fear that God will disapprove of them for being kind. What do you think?

I agree. It’s primarily a fear of the “other.” And religion, sadly, sometimes contributes to this. If you consistently condemn people, speak of them exclusively in the language of sin (when we’re all sinners), and single them out in homilies and bishops’ statements, then it becomes easier to think they are a threat. We see this over and over in history: the targeting, demonization and, eventually, dehumanization of a marginalized group. Recently, one bishop said that transgender people don’t even exist. I can’t imagine language that is more dehumanizing than that.

But it’s also about a person’s own interior life. In the past five years, I’ve spoken to many psychiatrists and psychologists about the rage that is often directed at LGBTQ people (and this ministry). To a person they say, “It’s about something going on inside of them.”

The most rageful people are usually those who are the most conflicted about their own sexuality, and it’s easier to direct that anger outward. We should never underestimate how much of that is in the Church.

The Role of Church and Society

In June 2021, Pope Francis wrote to you: “Thinking about your pastoral work, I see that you are continually seeking to imitate this style of God.” How did this affirmation from the Holy Father make you feel? How is your pastoral work aligned with the agenda of Pope Francis, who welcomes and encourages members of the LGBTQ community to come to Mass and send their children to Catholic schools and religious instruction?

The Holy Father’s support means everything to me. In 2019, Pope Francis invited me to meet with him for 30 minutes in the Apostolic Palace, where we discussed LGBTQ ministry. At the end of that meeting, he asked me to continue my ministry. But I didn’t feel that I could share that with the public. Then last summer I learned that I would be able to share the letter he had sent, which was a great blessing. And remember, as a Jesuit, he is also my boss. By the way, everything I do in this ministry comes after asking for permission from my Jesuit superiors.

I try to align my ministry with the Holy Father’s outreach: showing welcome, reaching out to a group on the margins, and helping them find their place in what is, after all, their Church too.

Why are some well-intentioned members of the Church or any faith community so averse to admitting that a person does not choose to be LGBTQ but is born that way, and that God loves that person regardless of his or her sexual orientation?

Frankly, I have no idea. Nearly every reputable psychiatrist, psychologist, biologist, physician, and social scientist—not to mention LGBTQ people themselves and their parents—will tell you this, but some people refuse to believe it.

Some of this is from fear, which can lead to hatred. The New Testament says, “Perfect love drives out fear.” Well, perfect fear drives out love too.

There is still an alarming amount of homophobia in our Church. I don’t mean sincere misunderstanding or even critiques of LGBTQ ministry; I mean hatred. I suppose that if someone is forced to admit that a person is born this way, it may threaten how they have been dealing with sexuality overall—and perhaps with human anthropology—and that may lead to denial.

Is there a mystery in attempting to reconcile our call to faith, hope, and charity with our brothers and sisters who identify as LGBTQ? What should we do when we don’t understand the words of Scripture and the reality of persons in our families or communities?

The mystery is how so many people can judge them when Jesus says not to judge, and hate them when Jesus says to love. When we look at the Bible, we also need to understand a few things. First, we need to understand the passages about homosexuality in their historical context and remember that Catholics are not fundamentalists. Sometimes I ask people, “Do you think that we should stone people who commit adultery?” And they say, “Of course not.” And I say, “Why not? That’s in the Bible too.” Most people are fine with understanding those lines in a different way today. But when it comes to homosexuality, suddenly we’re all fundamentalists.

But the more basic lesson of the Scripture is how Jesus reached out to those on the margins.

Just look at the stories of him encountering the Roman centurion (who wasn’t Jewish), the Samaritan woman (who was in an irregular sexual relationship), and Zacchaeus (who was a hated tax collector). These are all people on the margins in various ways, as LGBTQ people are in the Church. And what does Jesus do? He listens to them, accompanies them, and loves them. We need to pattern ourselves after Jesus. Otherwise, what’s the point?

What role can the entertainment arts play in educating people about the complexities of LGBTQ issues?

We can’t underestimate the influence that the arts and popular culture have in terms of helping the world see LGBTQ people as human beings. Think of shows like Will & Grace, Ellen, and, more recently, Jeopardy!, where a transgender person became one of the most winning contestants in the show’s history. For those who don’t have contact with many LGBTQ people, these shows helped to show them in their humanity.

On a more serious note, we also have movies about conversion therapy like Boy Erased, which show us the wrong way to deal with LGBTQ people. So, I think the arts community has an important role to play.

How can parents gain a new perspective on LGBTQ lifestyles and the psychological dangers of rejection? What can we do when parents are unwilling to stop their condemnation?

The last thing that LGBTQ kids (and LGBTQ people in general) need is more trauma. I don’t want to paint them as always victims—like anyone, their lives are filled with joy too—but we can’t underestimate how challenging their lives are. While there is growing acceptance for LGBTQ people, they still face immense hurdles, especially in finding welcome in the Church.

In cases where parents refuse to listen to experts or feel that they’re doing something immoral by accepting their children, we must help these kids feel loved by God—and welcome in the Church—any way that we can.

Inspired by St. Francis, this author reaches beyond language and cultural differences to connect with Afghan refugees resettling in the United States.

A young Afghan boy told me about his harrowing escape from Afghanistan the day Kabul fell.

He had been in school that day but managed to connect with his uncle and cousins to get to the airport. He came here with only the clothes on his back. His sandals are falling apart, held together by tape. His family is still in Afghanistan.

He is one among thousands of Afghan refugees who fled after the Taliban captured the capital city on August 15, 2021. For a long time, Afghanistan has been a pawn in the global power struggle between superpowers. It is a beautiful country that was the birthplace of the great Sufi mystic and poet Rumi.

Today some 95,000 of our Afghan brothers and sisters are scattered throughout the United States at various refugee camps. During previous migrations, Americans have been generous in traveling to other countries to help at refugee camps; many have donated money and resources to help. This is the first time in a long time that we have set up refugee camps in our own country.

A Salaam and a High Five

I spent several weeks volunteering in such a refugee camp in Virginia, filled with over 5,000 Afghan refugees. Many came with nothing. Many are separated from family members. They speak Pashto or Dari along with some English. Each morning as I arrive at the camp, I am greeted with the traditional salaam with a bow of the head and a touch to the heart—though many of the boys that I worked with follow that up with a high five and “What’s up?”

Despite all that he has been through, the young boy who told me about his escape from Afghanistan is filled with laughter and joy. He speaks a little English, so he helps teach the other children who do not. I also heard the story of a young man who is married and has one daughter. He has a master’s degree. Despite the fact that he has lost everything, he has a contagious smile. I was trying to teach him English while he taught me Pashto.

I was part of a group of volunteers from different organizations, including the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. Our role was to provide recreational opportunities and a chance to relate with some Americans in a relaxed and friendly atmosphere.

While at the camp, I was blessed to work with volunteers representing different parts of the country and coming from various backgrounds. Some I had previously worked with, and others I met for the first time. We all had one thing in common: an inner sense of how we are all connected and a drive to reach out to those in need.

I draw my inspiration from the 13th-century Franciscan theologian and leader St. Bonaventure, who tells us that how we choose and what we choose make a difference—first in what we become by our choices and second in what the world becomes by our choices. This simple statement by Bonaventure explains the profound vision of St. Francis: a vision of a world where we are all connected; through God, we are all one.

_{An Afghan boy pumps his arms with excitement as he and other refugees board a bus at Washington Dulles Airport on September 1, 2021.
Photo: CNS photo: Kevin Lamarque/Reuters}

Making Connections

Larry and Cathy Couch share that vision. Larry has been a Catholic activist and leader. We had worked together on numerous projects over the years, particularly around immigration. He served as a lobbyist for the National Advocacy Center of the Sisters of the Good Shepherd in Silver Spring, Maryland. He has advocated for people living in poverty and victims of human trafficking, worked to prevent domestic abuse, and sought compassionate immigration reform.

At the camp, we were told that our role would be to interact with the refugees and maybe help provide some recreational opportunities. Larry and Cathy thought they would be working at the distribution center, sorting and distributing clothes and other supplies. Instead, they were assigned to work at a recreational tent where Afghans would gather during the day. The tents were separated by gender, so Cathy was at the women’s tent and Larry at the men’s.

As Larry described it: “Our challenge was to relate with the refugees across the language barrier. This proved to be a more interesting and more challenging work than handing out clothes.”

The tents were open each day from 9 to 5. When we arrived, there were no structured programs in the tents. Folks just came and hung out. The younger boys would go back and forth between the men’s and women’s tents. Larry mentioned that years ago he had volunteered with Big Brothers. There he learned that sometimes it is enough to just be there, watch TV, and play games. As Cathy described it: “We were told to ‘engage’ with the kids. That was no problem. The girls were very friendly and eager to interact with me and with the female Marines who were assigned to the tent.”

Because there was no formal structure, we volunteers were pretty much left on our own. Our days consisted of doing art projects, teaching language skills, shooting hoops, and just being present.

While the children were energetic, it was clear that they had recently gone through a major trauma, having been displaced from their homes and lost most or all of their possessions. Indeed, they were now strangers in a strange land. Despite this, they were very eager to learn, especially English.

Larry is a master in tae kwon do. Tae kwon do had been growing in popularity in Afghanistan since Rohullah Nikpai won medals in both the 2008 and 2012 Olympics. Larry offered to teach basic skills to the young boys, but that idea was rejected. It was felt that many of the children had been traumatized by war, and it was feared that if we trained in tae kwon do on a military base, the children might assume they were being prepared to go into battle.

Instead, we organized a demonstration on the base. The theater was packed with boys and girls and some adults. They were somewhat skeptical at first, wondering what this old White guy was doing wearing a dobok (the uniform worn by tae kwon do martial artists). But when Larry started breaking boards with his hands and feet, they sat on the edges of their seats, cheering. For a brief period of time, we gave them a respite from their trauma. Larry and Cathy summed up their experience, saying: “We are very grateful to have had the opportunities to spend time with these wonderful Afghan refugees. Hopefully, we helped to make their transition into our way of life a bit less stressful.”

Sharing Stories and Laughter

A week after Larry and Cathy got to the camp, I arrived. At the airport, I met a volunteer from New Mexico named Pooya Rezai. Pooya himself was a refugee. He was born in Iran in 1973. His family left during the Iran-Iraq War and settled in America in 1984. Pooya had previous experience working with refugees.

When he was a teen in Los Angeles, his parents started a community center to assist immigrants and refugees with notary and translation services. With the mantra “Keep Your Roots and Learn Your New Country” as a model, the community center hosted Persian poetry nights, plays, and concerts. Years later, Pooya responded to the refugee crisis in Europe as a volunteer. He traveled to Lesbos, Greece, to volunteer with Emergency Response Centre International.

Pooya and I formed a team. Each morning when we arrived at the tents, Pooya would organize the boys and lead a morning exercise session. I would sit with the men and share stories. They would ask me questions about different parts of the country. They were concerned about how to maintain their culture while assimilating into America. Sharing our stories was a way to teach them English. They all wanted notebooks so they could write down phrases and practice them.

_{Refugees travel by bus to a processing center. They are among hundreds who fled Afghanistan after the fall of Kabul to begin a new life in America.
Photo: CNS photo: Kevin Lamarque/Reuters}

Despite all that they had lived through, they still managed to laugh—especially when some of the younger men asked me about dating in the United States and I tried to explain the concept of online dating.

Pooya came up with the idea of building kites. For various reasons we were told that it would not be a good idea. But we went ahead anyway, gathering newspapers, sticks, string, and glue to assemble a dozen kites. We gathered the boys in an open field and gave them the kites. The look of joy on their faces was priceless. These boys had been through a traumatic experience, but for a brief few hours they were able to be just boys again.

A number of other people volunteered to help. Marines were assigned to each tent; some would spend time with the boys and girls playing basketball or Uno. One Marine shared her story. Her parents were refugees from Central America and had to escape violence in their home country. She was able to convey hope to the Afghan women.

We also worked with Ariana Arghandewal, a refugee from Afghanistan whose parents left during the civil war in 1989. She came to the center to work as an interpreter. When I asked her why, she said: “I’ve been a refugee twice over and understand both the cultural and linguistic challenges of moving and adjusting to an entirely different society. I wanted to be of service to people who would be experiencing some of those challenges. I came to the United States from Germany, and that was a culture shock that took me years to adjust to. Clearly, those coming from Afghanistan would have a hard time with it. I just wanted to ease that transition for them.”

Welcoming the Stranger

One key concept in every major religion is the belief in welcoming the stranger. The Bible is full of messages about this. Ezekiel 16:49 tells us that God destroyed the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah because of the inhabitants’ refusal, despite their prosperity, to care for the stranger and the poor. The Gospel of Matthew teaches us, “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me” (25:35).

St. Francis would never have considered anyone a stranger. He would have thought of them as a child of God, his brother and sister. He would welcome them, feed them, and care for them. St. Francis viewed all creation as his brothers and sisters. He understood that we are each unique but connected through creation.

Every creature is not only a member of a certain species but also a unique aspect of the infinite mystery of God. Every aspect of creation is a unique sacred story, and through our interconnectedness with God and all creation, we are part of the sacred story.

Sister Anita Baird wants to make sure that every person’s vote matters, especially those in the minority.

Sister Anita Baird, a Daughter of the Heart of Mary, has never been afraid to speak up when it comes to tough topics, especially those related to racial justice. For over 20 years, she has been working to achieve the reality “that all men are created equal” on behalf of those for whom that statement doesn’t necessarily always ring true.

These days, Sister Anita is speaking out about an issue that she says is a fundamental human right but remains challenging for many. That issue is the struggle minorities face when it comes to their voting rights and the concerns surrounding those rights. It is, she says, “a pro-life issue.”

“When you take away people’s power to voice their choices to protect their rights, it has a spiraling impact,” she explains. “It’s not just voting in the booth, but when you talk about systemic issues, when you look at housing, when you look at education, when you look at health care in the midst of COVID-19, we see how unequal access is for people of color. And I think that’s why it’s so important for us to be aware that it’s not just simply casting your ballot, but how it impacts communities that have been disadvantaged for hundreds of years.”

Sister Anita believes the beginning lines of the Declaration of Independence that “all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights” are some of the most powerful words ever written. She points out, though, that when they were written, they did not really include everyone. The writers, she says, “owned slaves, and they did not consider them full human beings. Women were not included and poor Whites who did not own property were not included. So it was a very narrow frame of ‘all men are created equal.'”

And while such challenges now affect primarily people of color, she believes that over time it will begin to affect others too.

Years of Work

Sister Anita’s work for racial justice goes back decades. In 2000, she was named founding director of the Office for Racial Justice for the Archdiocese of Chicago by the late Cardinal Francis George. Her role was to direct archdiocesan initiatives to eradicate racism in its structures and institutions. She also served as Cardinal George’s liaison for race relations to the city of Chicago.

She has served as her community’s regional superior, provincial councilor, and as its first Black US provincial. She was president of the National Black Sisters’ Conference from 2001 to 2003.

In 1998, Sister Anita was awarded the Harriet Tubman award from that conference. The yearly award honors one of its members who, through her ministry, is an advocate for Black people and has a strong identity within the Black community.

At the time, she told Global Sisters Report that there is a clear difference between racial equality and racial justice, noting that having only equality and not justice would be as if the Catholic Church’s response to the sexual abuse crisis was to promise it wouldn’t happen again.

In both cases, she says, justice is needed, not simply statements or a desire to move forward. “It took until 1979 until the bishops finally acknowledged racism as a sin,” says Sister Anita, referring to the bishops’ pastoral letter “Brothers and Sisters to Us.”

In 2018, the bishops once again took up the issue of racism with their pastoral letter titled “Open Wide Our Hearts: The Enduring Call to Love. ” In it, they stated: “As bishops, we unequivocally state that racism is a life issue. . . . We have also seen years of systemic racism working in how resources are allocated to communities that remain de facto segregated.”

When Sister Anita became the first Black woman to win the Outstanding Leadership Award from the Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR) in 2018, she told the conference that racial justice in the Catholic Church will take “more than just singing ‘Kumbaya.'”

_{LEFT: George O’Hara, accompanied by Sister Anita, was one of the founding members of the Archdiocese of Chicago’s anti-racism team. RIGHT: Sister Anita presents Chicago’s Auxiliary Bishop Joseph N. Perry with the St. Katharine Drexel Racial Justice Award in 2010. Photo credit: photos courtesy of Sister Anita Baird}

The Importance of Speaking Up

When asked why Catholics should care about this issue, she says it’s not only Catholics. “I don’t know how any Christians can turn a blind eye to the situation, just in terms of the dignity of the human person and the rights that every human being has to live decently and have access to just basics,” she adds.

Sister Anita says that, as Catholics, “we have to follow the mandate of Jesus. It’s very basic.”

Unfortunately, though, she believes the Catholic Church has been co-opted into the current political frenzy and has not spoken out enough. That voice has been silenced, she states, adding that the bishops are not addressing the issues that are at the heart of people’s daily lives.

Minorities often face challenges when voting. In recent years, a number of states have instituted laws that many feel lead to voter suppression. In response, the John R. Lewis Voting Rights Act was introduced to Congress. The purpose of the bill is to make voting more accessible and easier for citizens. It addresses issues such as voter registration and voting access, election integrity and security, redistricting, and campaign finance.

The bill was passed by the House in August 2021, but since moving to the Senate it has languished. Sister Anita says that speaks to the division we are facing in our nation. “The whole thing is about winning,” she notes. “It’s sad to see, especially because he was one of their colleagues.”

In response, on Martin Luther King Jr. Day in 2021, the Black Sisters’ Conference, of which Sister Anita is currently the vice president, joined with the LCWR in issuing a statement regarding the sacred right to vote. In it, the sisters pointed out that “the strength and vibrancy of our democracy is dependent on the right of all people to vote regardless of their race, zip code, economic status, or party affiliation.”

Citing the long history of racism with voting rights, the sisters stated: “Our brothers and sisters struggled, some gave their lives, to secure the Voting Rights Act of 1965. It falls to us to continue their work. Pope Francis reminds us in ‘Evangelii Gaudium’ that our vocation as Catholic sisters is inherently political: ‘We are all called to participate in public life. . . . Authentic faith always involves a deep desire to change the world. . . . We cannot remain on the sidelines in the fight for justice.'”

A Resurrection People

But Sister Anita has hope, and she points out that by the middle of this century, people of color will be in the majority in the United States.

Therefore, she says, steps to make voting more difficult in communities of color, often in lower income neighborhoods, “may backfire. I think sometimes when you push people back against the wall, it gives them more energy. If you tell people they can’t do something, it often gives them the courage and incentive to prove you wrong. There’s always a way around. But I think people have to be motivated and energized.”

Hope is something that as Christians we must continue to have, Sister Anita says. “As dark as these days may seem, I think back to my ancestors, who came over on those slave ships and were separated from family, lost their language, their identity, lived under the brutality of the whip for hundreds of years without seeing an end to it. Somehow, though, they never lost hope, and they never lost trust in God.

“So if they could endure that, certainly I have no right to lose hope today. Much progress has been made. That is very true. We just have to stay the course. As people of the Gospel, we have to believe that, in the end, truth and justice will prevail.”

Moses got to the Promised Land, Sister Anita points out. He wasn’t able to cross into it, but his people did. Similarly, she says, quoting the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., even though we haven’t made it yet, in time, “We will get to the Promised Land.”

Sidebar: Key Terms

Two terms that are often bandied about when discussing voting rights are redistricting and gerrymandering. Not everyone knows or understands what those terms mean or what their implications are for voters, though. Here is a brief overview.

Redistricting (Redistribution). This is the way in which electoral districts are added, removed, or otherwise changed. This complicated process occurs every 10 years and is based on census numbers. Once those numbers are released for all 50 states, seats in the US House are handed out accordingly. Through the process, some states will gain or lose seats. Some will keep the same number of seats. Regardless of how the number of seats plays out, though, new districts for congressional and state legislative seats must be drawn to create districts that are equal (or as close as possible) in population.

Where those lines are drawn is often left up to the state legislature. Some states, however, have created commissions‚Äîsuch as a citizens’ commission in California‚ to do the work and thus avoid having elected officials involved in the process. At times, redistricting plans can end up having to be decided by the courts.

Critics argue that the process has been used to neutralize minority voting power. Supporters, however, say that the process enhances electoral competitiveness.

Gerrymandering. When district lines are drawn to benefit one candidate or party over another, that is known as gerrymandering. According to the website FairVote.org, the practice is usually legal but can be challenged. What can be illegal, however, is racial gerrymandering, “which originally referred to manipulating legislative district lines to under-represent racial minorities. Tactics such as ‘packing’ Black voters into a given district or ‘cracking’ them to make Black voters a minority in all districts can be illegal. This sort of gerrymandering was first used in the South after the Civil War to dilute the Black vote.”

The practice is named after Massachusetts Governor Elbridge Gerry, who in 1812 submitted to the state Senate a redistricting plan that would have concentrated the voting strength of the Federalist Party in just a few districts, thereby giving disproportionate representation to the Democratic-Republican Party.

Some of Governor Gerry’s new districts were oddly shaped, with one resembling a salamander, thus giving rise to the term gerrymandering.