When I Was A Stranger …

The inscription on the Statue of Liberty, “Give me your tired, poor, your huddles masses,” echo Jesus’ words, who said, “When I was a stranger, you welcomed me.”

One of the most thought-provoking films I’ve seen in a long time is “Cabrini,” which tells the story of Frances Xavier Cabrini, the Catholic sister who came to this country from Italy to care for immigrants and became first American citizen elevated to sainthood.

In the opening scene, a young boy arrives at a hospital entrance with his deathly ill mother in 1880’s Manhattan. He is turned away. The reason? He and his mother are Italian immigrants.

We cringe at the thought that incidents such as this ever happened in America. At the time, Italians were widely viewed as dirty, lazy and prone to crime. Sound a little bit like the political rhetoric and false narratives surrounding immigrants and refugees today?

We might like to think we are more compassionate people than those of the 19th century who would refuse an immigrant medical help. However, the threats are still real. I offer an example from my own university town in Illinois.

Last year, a county board member introduced a resolution to deny services to undocumented immigrants — even though there was no evidence undocumented persons were straining the system. Hundreds of citizens showed up at a hearing to oppose the measure, many citing the passage in the gospel of Matthew, “When I was hungry, you gave me to eat, when I was thirsty, you gave me to drink, when I was naked, you clothed me, when I was a stranger, you welcomed me.”

The proposal was roundly defeated.

Asylum seekers at the U.S. southern border. Catholic sisters and lay people have offered food, water, clothing and shelter to those seeking to enter the U.S.

Lambasting and scapegoating immigrants and refugees of the kind resurfacing today today was not always acceptable. I am currently writing a biography of the great Catholic peace activist, Eileen Egan. Eileen was the first woman hired by Catholic Relief Services, the U.S. bishops’ overseas aid service that still exists and has suffered under the Trump administration’s defunding of USAID.

One of Eileen’s first responsibilities was to help resettle World War II refugees, including holocaust survivors, Poles whom the Nazis had imprisoned in Siberian work camps, and even Germans whose homes had been destroyed by Allied bombing raids.

The United States at the time led the world in these efforts. Other nations also accepted significant numbers of immigrants, most of whom arrived with barely a pair of walkable shoes on their feet. Guess which country was one of the most generous in accepting these war-weary arrivals? It was Mexico. That country opened its doors to thousands of displaced Poles.

Eileen often cited the gospel of the Good Samaritan in urging Catholics to contribute to the resettlement efforts. She said in one radio broadcast:

“The Catholics of America are giving their testimony by pouring oil and wine and binding up … wounds. Their acts of love stop at no frontier, nor do they differentiate between members of Christ’s body as friend or foe.”

Eileen would often quote her friend Mother Teresa, now St. Teresa of Calcutta, who said, “Christ is the hungry one, the naked one, the thirsty one.”

Eileen Egan, left, of Catholic Relief Services, and Mother Teresa, with whom she traveled the world. Mother Teresa would say, “Christ is the hungry one, the naked one, the thirsty one.”

Today’s Catholic sisters and lay people who volunteer at the U.S. southern border, offering food, water, clothing and shelter to asylum seekers, are carrying out that gospel mandate.

The Conference of Benedictine Prioresses — women who lead monasteries and represent some 1,100 monastic sisters — recently issued a statement urging the president and Congress to “create pathways to citizenship, provide humane treatment for those in detention, and ensure immigrant families are not torn apart.”

I was proud to see that the Benedictine sisters of Mount St. Scholastica Monastery in Atchison, KS, where I am a lay associate, endorsed this statement.

The prioresses cited as their inspiration St. Benedict, who offered hospitality to strangers. “Travelers and pilgrims were often met with violence on the road and sought refuge in his monasteries,” the sisters wrote. “Benedict was inspired by the gospel of Jesus Christ to receive all who came seeking refuge. He modeled his life on that of Christ who received the poor, the lame, the outcast, and the stranger.”

I grew up seeing from my childhood home the Statue of Liberty raising her lamp in the air above New York Harbor. The promise inscribed on the statue to aid the tired, poor and those yearning to breathe free, are another motif on Jesus’ words in Matthew’s gospel.

It still quickens my heart to recall that the Statue of Liberty was one of the first sights both sets of my grandparents saw arriving from Italy. Like today’s immigrants, they too came to this country with little in their pockets, but loads of hope and ambition.

One grandrafather became the head fitter at Bergdorf Goodman in New York. The other helped build the Exxon (then Esso) refinery in Bayonne, New Jersey. Their children and grandchildren include an artist, a physicist, a homeland security specialist, a medical researcher, two teachers, a police officer, and a national journalist and author, just to name a few.

There is no reason to believe that those given a pathway to citizenship today will do any less well in contributing to our nation.

I wish that people of faith — especially my fellow Catholics — who support the current crackdown on immigrants would research the facts rather than listen to the rhetoric. For example, there is no evidence that other countries have emptied their prisons of violent criminals and sent them to the U.S., no matter how many times Donald Trump repeats that.

The Lenten readings at daily Mass this past week included some beautiful passages from the Book of Isaiah, offering guidance on how we are to treat others, especially the outcast, the stranger:

“Thus says the Lord: If you remove from your midst oppression, false accusation and malicious speech, if you bestow your bread on the hungry and satisfy the afflicted, then light shall rise for you in the darkness and the gloom become like midday; then the Lord will guide you always and give you plenty, even in a parched land.”

When we give, so too the Lord will give us plenty, even in a parched land.

As the Lenten season progresses, can we say that when Christ was hungry and thirsty, we gave him something to eat and to drink? When he was alone, lacked proper clothing, was oppressed and imprisoned, did we comfort him?

As peace activist Eileen Egan reminded us, acts of love stop at no frontier.

This passage from the gospel of Matthew was cited by Benedictine prioresses seeking more humane treatment by the Trump administration and Congrees of undocumented immigrants.