Kathy Coffey

Anyone seeking directions on a website or application will discover many routes by different forms of transportation: bus, car, foot, light rail, etc. So too, the saints have found multiple ways to God—or perhaps with vast creative power, God finds multiplies ways to reach them. And let’s consider in this number not only the officially canonized saints, but those who lived unheralded lives of quiet holiness.

Consider, for instance the dazzling diversity between Junipero Serra, who poured energies into building a string of California mission churches, and Thomas Merton, who wrote of the same building: “The church was stifling with solemn, feudal and unbreathable fictions. … The spring outside seemed much more sacred. . . .  Easter afternoon I went to the lake and sat in silence looking at the green buds, the wind skimming the utterly silent surface of the water, a muskrat slowly paddling to the other side… One could breathe. The alleluias came back by themselves. “[1]

Unsung saints continue to pioneer wildly diverse roads today: in the research hospitals that seek a cure for Alzheimer’s, the labs that discover new ways to purify water or use solar power in Africa, the schools that encourage and educate neglected or traumatized children. They carve paths in subtler ways that are no less holy: the parents caring for the autistic child who try different ways each day to touch him, the artist or musician who gives audiences another way to see or hear, the mother trying a new recipe for the hungry kids, the spouse of the Alzheimer’s patient, the scientists who discover alternate forms of energy and innovations to preserve the planet’s resources.

The church’s shorthand often refers to a puzzling group. For instance, St. Isaac Jogues “and companions.” Did the unnamed ones not bleed as profusely, scream in as much pain, shake with as many convulsions when they were tortured? Or in more peaceful terms, did the initial six and many sisters who later accompanied Marianne Cope not work as hard in the leper colony of Molokai? When her energies flagged, she probably still got up in the morning because they were all counting on each other. Fifteen unknown sisters helped Katharine Drexel found her first school for native Americans in 1893; by 1903, eleven Navajo women were nuns prepared to carry on her work.

And what about the Irish priests who defended Julia Greeley, or arranged for the early education of Augustine Tolton, who escaped slavery in Missouri as a child and became the first black priest? What of the Franciscans who, when Tolton was rejected by seminaries in the U.S., sent him to Rome for education and ordination, or who supported Cesar Chavez’ early efforts?  

Americans love heroes, but sometimes we overlook the people who support the star. As Carol Flinders points out in Enduring Grace, we must “see the incandescent superstar for what it is, but … see the constellation in which it has come into being, too, the reverent and loving care that has surrounded and nourished it.”[2]

Theologian Elizabeth Johnson names the feast of All Saints the one for “’anonymous,’ whom the world counts as nobodies and whom the church, too, has lost track of but who are held in the embrace of God who loses not one.”[3] The letters of Paul address all the early Christians as “saints,” even when he gets frustrated with their angry feuding.

In what arenas do we still need pioneer saints today? Surely, in health care, immigration, poverty, the environment, rightful places for women in church and society, education, an end to human trafficking; the list is endless. And in many other fields, needs are still undefined. There the saints of tomorrow will shine. If we’re alert, we might even notice them moving subtly among us now.

Excerpt from When the Saints Came Marching In by Kathy Coffey, Liturgical Press, 800-858-5450, litpress.org

[1] Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1968), 295.

[2] Carol Flinders, Enduring Grace, (San Francisco: Harper, 1993), 219.

[3] Elizabeth Johnson, Friends of God and Prophets (New York: Continuum, 1999), 250.

Adolescence for me meant pouring enormous energy into “normalizing” before I knew there wasn’t any “normal,” wearing the heavy armor of a shadowy, unreal self, trying desperately to be “cool.” Needless to say, I wasn’t eager to return for reunions, but finally got lured to one by the “bribe” of an award. Whenever what I’m reading is skillfully interwoven with my experience at the same time, I recognize God’s artistry—surely at play there.

In her book The Easter Mysteries, Beatrice Bruteau advocates transcending our descriptions, our “earthly treasure.” These descriptors may include “parent/grandparent, spouse/partner, daughter/son, doctor, teacher, attorney, chef, the family, profession, nationality, political party or club to which we belong. We rely on these identities to shore up our importance and self-respect. But Jesus’ assurance that we are beloved of God means we have nothing to fear, protect or defend. What could offer greater satisfaction? Our efforts for success and security fall painfully short compared to God’s over-riding care for us.

It’s good news, but hard to believe. Until I saw it in person. One of the girls in my class that I’d consider on a higher plane in the high school hierarchy was knock-down gorgeous (she later modelled), wealthy, with a mane of red hair. She understood the intricacies of make-up and wardrobe in such an advanced way that it made me look like a kindergartener beside a Ph.D. Let’s call her Brooke.

Another girl, equally beautiful, with a swirl of blonde hair and many boyfriends, we’ll name Susan. I admired her from afar and we probably never had a conversation of more than a few words.

Imagine my shock when these distant paragons arrived at the luncheon for our class. Brooke, with advanced Alzheimer’s, came in a wheelchair and was carefully settled at the table next to Susan, who’d grown used to feeding her friend. Brooke had apparently lost all filters, and would occasionally interject a chortle, a cuss word or a comment unrelated to the conversation. Susan had an advanced tremor, and joked about her aim with a fork or sippy cup for Brooke’s mouth. She shook visibly all the time, but kept up other conversations while she assured Brooke she was well taken care of.  Their behavior had apparently gone on for years; others seemed used to it, and ten older women adapted to an unusual lunch. As a 17-year old, I never could’ve predicted that those two could give me a profound model of tenderness and a lesson in easily disrupted expectations.

With another friend, I could’ve predicted she’d become a nurse, as she did, and all knew I’d someday be a writer. But this inversion blew apart my predictions, replaced by something far better: enormous respect for Brooke’s vulnerability, and the care Susan and several other friends had given her for years.

One constant remained: the deeply compassionate friend who’d organized, hosted, driven, gotten special food and remained in touch with all of us. The great grace which came to me as a terrified first grader, venturing into a big, new world, was finding her and becoming best friends. In the last few years, the friendship has rekindled, and it seems like our delightful conversation never pauses, even in four days together. Bruteau reminds us of Jesus saying that to be in God’s reign is to be a child again. Thich Nhat Hanh tells of spending an hour to nibble a cookie, totally absorbed in the experience. Bruteau explains that in the incarnated, resurrected life we share with Jesus, “the ‘cookie of our childhood’ is still there, hidden in our heart, as are a million other tiny sources of pure happiness, and if we are attentive, we will see and enjoy them.” Like the surprising joy of a class reunion…

What intrigues about this story is that the five women martyred in Liberia in 1992 had a chance to escape. They left the violent civil war in 1990, returned to safety in Illinois, but made the decision to re-enter the craziness of maniacal military leader Charles Taylor, armed rogue bands, fire ants, and child soldiers.

Why? The sisters who knew them respond: they had work to do: teaching poor, illiterate women, staffing medical clinics, counseling high school students with PTSD who’d been forced to kill in the war. Over and over, a theme recurs: their love for the Liberian people, their desire to share their lot. Brief biographies:

Sister Barbara Mutra was a nurse specializing in prenatal and infant care. In a previous assignment, she reduced infant mortality from 80% to 20%, from two deaths a week to two a year. By 1990, 40,000 civilians in Monrovia, the capital city had died of starvation. Barbara would commandeer vehicles to bring Catholic Relief Services food and medicine to hungry children, bribing the guards at checkpoints with spearmint gum.

Sister Agnes Mueller taught Liberian women to read. Before she came, one said, “I didn’t think I had a brain and could learn.” Agnes was grateful for “learnings in pain, vulnerability and suffering,” which she might not have experienced in another culture.

Sister Joel Kolmer was especially fearless about returning to Liberia, saying, “it’s impossible for fear and love to occupy the same place in one’s heart.” An elementary school teacher, she waved her red and white baseball cap embroidered “Slick Chick” during a terrifying interrogation by a rebel soldier.

Sister Kathleen McGuire prompted her motherhouse in Illinois to break the law and become the only Catholic organization in the area to offer sanctuary to Cuban and Central American refugees in 1985. A PhD in education, Kathleen wrote, “My work…is to breathe a little life into those I know, help them to come to be a little more fully, a little more freely who they are. And knowing, then, their own grace and beauty, be able to guess at the beauty and graciousness of their Father.”

Sister Shirley Kolmer, a PhD in Math, first went to the University of Liberia on a Fulbright. Her argument for returning: Terrible conditions were exactly why they should go back. She began the counseling program at their high school for boys pressed into war, both perpetrators and victims.

William Twaddell, US ambassador to Liberia, wrote in a telegram confirming the deaths that the sisters were “acting in the most noble tradition of their order and their faith. The safety and welfare of the wounded and defenseless motivated them and were their only concerns in the midst of war.” And aren’t we the lucky ones, to have their bright lights shining on our paths?

Teresa was the first female doctor of the church, named in 1970. A non-ordained woman was a departure from tradition, but Pope Paul VI said she exercised the priesthood of all the baptized. Thirty-five years earlier, under Inquisition scrutiny, the papal nuncio called her “a restless gadabout, a disobedient and contumacious woman who invented wicked doctrines.” Teresa seemed to inspire extreme responses.

Context

The Influence of the Italian renaissance on Spain produced a golden age of literature, and the Bible translated into the vernacular. Study groups led by women were like the Vatican II renewal. But the challenge to the clerical monopoly on God incensed the Inquisition, which became a doctrinal watchdog, forbade women teachers, and destroyed vernacular Bibles.

In a rigid hierarchy and dangerous climate of suspicion and fear, Teresa danced nimbly around her critics. She became expert with coy disclaimers that she didn’t know what she was talking about. How could others condemn when she beat them to it?

Biography (1515 – 1582)

Teresa’s grandpa was a Jew, forced to convert to Christianity. Punished and humiliated in Toledo, Spain, he moved the family to Avila and became successful again.

Her youth was frivolous and flirtatious and she deeply regretted 20 years of indifference. But they were a “happy fault”—giving reason to praise God’s infinite mercies. In convents then, the wealthy had freedom to come and go, an entourage of family, friends, and servants, good wine, food and social life. Illness brought Teresa to deeper spirituality and by 1562, she founded her first reformed convent.  Despite lawsuits, she established 17 convents separated by muddy roads and terrible traveling conditions. These may have prompted her metaphor: “Whoever truly loves you, my God, travels by a broad and a royal road.”

Themes

At the time, prayer meant rote formulas; Teresa shifted it to intimate conversation with a friend. She introduced metaphors like the spiritual life as garden. We work hard at watering, but grace brings rain. One of her most popular books The Interior Castle shows Christ within, the soul’s radiant light. She reminded her sisters, “We are not hollow inside.” “The soul’s amplitude cannot be exaggerated.”

Among her endearing sayings: “From silly devotions and sour-faced saints, good Lord deliver us!” She learned to avoid scruples, and once digging into a feast, chortled, “there is a time for fasting and a time for partridge. THIS is the time for partridge!” Brisk, practical and fun, she admitted she was a sucker for affection: “I could be bought for a herring.”

The situation Jesus describes in the gospel some will hear this weekend —master inviting servants to eat–sounds like a preposterous reversal until we consider the times it’s actually happened. The roles we expect are of course, servant donning apron and serving food and drink, then eating after the master is finished. But what about the times that doesn’t happen?

In Jesus’s life, guess who’s first to see the water-turned-wine at Cana? Big hint: it’s not the clueless steward, the bride or groom, but the folks who lug the heavy jars. He continues to set the example at the last supper, removing his outer garment (symbol of public self, “official” role), tying a towel around himself and washing the feet of his friends. Bear in mind, these are gnarly feet that have walked long miles in sandals on dusty, rocky roads. And in that culture, the grubby job of foot-washing was the work of women and slaves.  

Or consider the work most parents do without giving it much thought. Does the Ph.D., M.D., attorney or other highly educated person let that stand in the way of diapering, burping, or bathing her child? Does the healthy CEO call the butler to pick up the toddler who’s fallen off a trike? Or does he simply get on with bandaging the scrapes and wiping the tears on his monogrammed, designer shirt sleeve?

A recent film, the Finale of “Downton Abbey” shows a community raised in a strict hierarchy of dominant/subservient relationships. Upstairs and downstairs were clearly delineated; the servants watched the board of ringing bells to see where to bring tea or help dress the nobility for a formal dinner. But those lines began to dissolve in earlier episodes when Sybil, youngest daughter of Earl and Lady Grantham, married their chauffeur. (The shock waves throughout the family and society were palpable.) World War I further eroded class distinctions, when the aristocrat might crouch alongside his valet in the trenches, and mustard gas or cannon didn’t distinguish social class. At Downton, Lord Grantham is personally close to his valet, Bates—they’d served in the Boer War together, and as the Crowleys are about to leave their estate, the two men reminisce like old friends about their youth. So too, his daughter Lady Mary is probably closer to Anna, her maid, than to her sisters or her friends.

In a lovely scene at the end, Mary remembers a special holiday ball when the cook danced with the Lord, the Lady danced with the butler, and the parlor maid danced with the heir apparent. Fiction bordering on soap opera? Maybe. Or a vision of a kingdom where the impossible becomes real; a mulberry tree could uproot and be planted in the sea? Today when the wealthy possess prodigious power and the rights of “lower” classes are trampled upon, Jesus points to another order. “Have faith,” he seems to say. “God doesn’t parcel out infinite love by social ranking. The apparently insurmountable ladder you see now may, as Merton says, be built against the wrong wall–and it won’t last forever. Reversals can surprise, establishments can crumble, boundaries can be breached, and human relationships don’t always stick to a strict hierarchy. You got one identity that matters here, and it comes with no distinguished titles, awards or epaulets. Servant or master—you’re one with God—can’t top that.”

At first her story seems treacly sweet. Then you look beneath the surface.

There is a reason why this girl who never left her French village, and died at 24, is so universally popular. And it’s not the syrupy piety later writers tried to foist onto her.

The biographical facts are stark: a pampered childhood, then the devastating death of her mother when Therese is four. Four sisters are devoted to her, but the closest one, Pauline, a “second mother,” leaves home to join the Carmelite convent when Therese is nine. At fifteen, she enters the same convent, having convinced the pope she’s old enough.

Simultaneously, her beloved father is hospitalized for mental illness. The teenager subsequently revises her glorious concepts of martyrdom. She sees it instead as her father lying in the 500-bed hospital, a handkerchief covering his head. Therese was never allowed to see him again, and she died an agonizing death, without painkillers, from TB.

For a teenager, life in Carmel can’t have been easy. Many nuns see the way of life as a penance deflecting God’s anger. Therese sees herself as a little child, sleeping fearlessly in her father’s arms, hiding her face in his hair. That contrast fits with how people for centuries equated holiness with grandiose male adventures: boldly fighting battles, founding organizations, dying bravely. She shifts the emphasis to the ordinary grind, no accomplishments, remaining little in God’s greatness, sleeping through her prayers.

So few Christians seem to get it—that the way of Jesus is one of descent, imperfection, disappointment. Instead, we’re hell-bent on ego-driven achievement and success, like everyone else. Therese seemed to understand what it means to follow a crucified Christ. Because her “little way” is one of confinement and failure, it is enormously appealing to those who know the humble limitations of being terminally human.

Retreat at Marillac Center, Leavenworth, KS

The Genius of Jesus, The World of Women–Kathy Coffey

October 13 at 4pm (arrive in afternoon)– October 18 after lunch

For more information or to register,

visit https://www.scls.org/prayer-spirituality/marillac-center/

or contact  retreats@scls.org   913-758-6552

Intriguing, how attitudes can shift—on neurodivergence, gender identities, racial diversity… So let’s consider a different attitude towards Herod. After all, we can learn from anyone. Sure, he’s a murderous thug, but there’s something tantalizing about his words, “John I beheaded. Who then is this about whom I hear such things?”

To flesh that out, we might imagine adding: “Why doesn’t the usual violence work? Frustrating–I thought I was done with that problem! How can this guy who’s almost unknown, powerless, and vulnerable cast doubt on my power and prestige? How can some ragged bunch of hicks, far from the corridors of power, accomplish ‘all that was happening,’ so that murmured rumors grow loud enough to rock the palace?”

Yet the Gospel tells us that Herod kept trying to see Jesus. What does his persistence teach us? Do we keep trying? Do we seek Jesus in the tattooed girl with piercings and green Mohawk? the homilist who can talk only about himself? the prison guard or bureaucrat whose harshness masks inner misery? Or in our ordinary activities and interactions: the traffic jam, the grocery store line, the crowd at the copy machine?

Most of us prefer certainty to perplexity—but Herod, despite his arrogance transforms bewilderment into a path towards Jesus. Isn’t that, after all, where we want to go? Scholars say this passage is a bridge between the departure and return of the Twelve. They’ve been preaching and healing. If the Holy is incarnate everywhere, does Herod too reach blindly towards his part in the Great Drama? And if there’s hope for Herod, maybe too for us…

•Kathy Coffey, “Rethinking the Villain” from the September 25 issue of Give Us This Day giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2025). Used with permission.

Retreat at Marillac Center, Leavenworth, KS

The Genius of Jesus, The World of Women–Kathy Coffey

October 13 at 4pm (arrive in afternoon)– October 18 after lunch

For more information or to register,

visit https://www.scls.org/prayer-spirituality/marillac-center/

or contact  retreats@scls.org   913-758-6552

In honor of World Day of Migrants and Refugees Sept. 28, three blogs this month will focus on immigration issues

People who feel overwhelmed by the cruelty and incompetence of the current administration may well wonder how to protest most effectively. Massive turn-outs like “No Kings Day” have shown the will of ordinary citizens to resist the take-over by a would-be dictator—who blatantly admits his domineering goal and is making rapid progress towards it. But time and resources are finite. How to best channel our energies?

I’m no expert on the civil rights movement, but have undying respect for its leaders, and the courage of its participants. Reading Joy Unspeakable by Dr. Barbara Holmes has shown how their wisdom might guide us now. It was, of course, a totally different era with different issues and perhaps a comparison is unfair. But we see again a similar venom directed at the vulnerable, and the contempt for brown skin that some government officials once had for black, leading them to deny basic human rights.

It would serve us well to remember Holmes’ key point about the civil rights marches: they were contemplative. Looking at photos of the marchers, we don’t often see faces twisted with legitimate rage. Instead those famous faces radiate strength, serenity, conviction. Clearly, they draw on an inner wellspring, a theology created for the movement by Howard Thurman. “While weary feet traversed well-worn streets, hearts leaped into the lap of God…you cannot face German shepherds and fire hoses with your own resources; there must be God and stillness at the very center of your being.”  (p.143) A certainty they were God’s beloved daughters and sons, deserving of dignified treatment they were not receiving inspired and invigorated.

The penalties for protesters now may not be as severe (yet), but the grounding must be the same, lest we descend into violence. For nonviolent protesters following Gandhi and King, “walking in community to challenge the forces of evil and death…the shrine was within.” (p. 144)   Marches then and now don’t happen in officially sacred space. But they move forward in hope, “toward the fulfillment of God’s promises.” It is not God’s plan that any beloved children be treated as lesser, shunted into detention centers without due process. But the current administration boasts of the numbers they have already treated inhumanely, planning more prisons for more innocent victims. The human rights at stake now are similar to those that were then: standing up to corrupt leadership is as compelling. Then as now, dominant powers expertly hide the rot “so that those who act in opposition find themselves facing the illusion of an impenetrable behemoth.” (p. 146) As prayerful marching around Jericho brought the walls tumbling down, so we march too with high hopes it could happen again.

In honor of World Day of Migrants and Refugees Sept. 28, three blogs this month will focus on immigration issues.

Everyone responds in his or her own way to the current threats to our democracy, the cruel denial of due process to immigrants, the blatant violations of the Constitution, the chaos of our government. Some organize protests, others march with clever signs, some write their congresspeople, some pray fiercely, others tutor in EAL/literacy programs for refugees, some volunteer in resettlement efforts. This is what one group did in San Diego, CA.

FAITH (Faithful Accompaniment in Trust & Hope) is an ecumenical program that has religious leaders (including three Catholic bishops) and volunteers present at San Diego’s immigration court to offer support and comfort to those who need it. It was started by the Catholic Diocese of San Diego, Our Lady of Guadalupe parish, and other faith-based community members. On World Refugee Day, June 20, 2025, Bishop Michael Pham and other clergy accompanied immigrants to the federal courthouse in downtown San Diego. Rev. Scott Santarosa, SJ, former Jesuit provincial, now pastor of Our Lady of Guadalupe parish was part of the original group.

He later asked at a special worship service, “if you are affected by what is happening in this country with immigration right now, please raise your hand.” Tentatively, the hands emerged. Seeing that need and a place where the church should stand, volunteers developed a form which enables people who have court hearings to fill out and request accompaniment. Because the newspapers are filled with immigrants’ tragic stories, they seem familiar: a father of five US citizens and the primary breadwinner of the family, deported–without a criminal record. A mother of three and housekeeper, whose medical condition made her catatonic after ICE seized her. Hard-working people with green cards detained without cause; families torn apart. Any response seems inadequate, but FAITH in San Diego seems like a model which can be replicated elsewhere.

A FAITH volunteer named Margie reports about her training: “When Bishop Pham started to share his story of leaving Vietnam as a frightened, unaccompanied 8-year-old on a rice barge, it prompted me to think of my Dad leaving Ireland on a ship after getting released from Kilmainham [the notorious British prison in Dublin, Ireland], and my 17- and 24- year old non-English speaking grandparents coming from Hungary, which caused my tears to well up.” In court, “It has been absolutely heartbreaking to watch ICE (in teams of 9 or 10) grab people of all ages as they leave the courtroom and handcuff them — especially older grandparents whose grandchildren sob in the shock of the moment.”

While this presence may not prevent arrests, it says clearly to asylum seekers, “You’re not alone. Some of us remember our immigrant ancestors, and are grateful for what this country gave them. The way you’re being treated is a travesty of democratic ideals. Everyone in the US isn’t a racist.” Clergy and lay people from many traditions participate — Episcopalians, Methodists, Lutherans, Muslims, Jews, Quakers and even people of no faith.

As reported in America magazine, (https://www.americamagazine.org/short-take/2025/08/26/san-diego-bishop-immigration-court/) volunteers said, “We can change no outcomes. We enable no results. We are powerless. Why do we do this? We do this to remind everyone that regardless of what happens in any courtroom or detention center or deportation, God made us all the good and dignified sons and daughters that we are. We stand with migrants because we believe that.” Goliath is growing, with a budget increase of over $45 billion to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement to build new detention centers and hire some 10,000 additional officers. Against huge odds, this David-like group believes in and works for the impossible. The final word isn’t in yet, but hope is kindled. Somehow but not always, the impossible has been transformed into the possible. Could other people of hope follow their model?

Retreat at Marillac Center, Leavenworth, KS

The Genius of Jesus, The World of Women–Kathy Coffey

October 13 at 4pm (arrive in afternoon)– October 18 after lunch

For more information or to register,

visit https://www.scls.org/prayer-spirituality/marillac-center/

or contact  retreats@scls.org   913-758-6552

“When an alien resides with you in your land, do not mistreat such a one. You shall treat the alien who resides with you no differently than the natives born among you, you shall love the alien as yourself; for you too were once aliens in the land of Egypt.” Leviticus 19:33-34.

At a Bar Mitzvah I recently attended, the rabbi began with an announcement of where, in case of an ICE raid during the service, people could find private spaces beyond the reach of the masked men. The sanctuary itself was public space, but the synagogue had carefully established safe zones where refugees would be protected. Abundance of caution? Perhaps, but the cruelty is rampant in California. In Los Angeles alone, ICE arrested more than 2,000 immigrants who had no criminal records.  On August 12, seven people with no criminal records—including a 17-year-old boy with Down Syndrome–were deported from their home in Oakland, and sent to detention centers around the U.S. According to neighbors, they were quiet and hard-working, going daily to their jobs in a fast food restaurant. (https://www.eastbaytimes.com/2025/08/20/oakland-ice-arrest-response/)

From a moral standpoint, Bishop Mark Seitz of El Paso, TX (who once donated a kidney to a sick parishioner!) clearly condemns the administration’s bullying. “It is not the undocumented who represent a threat to the rule of law in our country. The vast majority of migrants would not hesitate to regularize their situation lawfully were it possible. It is the fault of lawmakers unable or unwilling to establish sane and lawful mechanisms to manage migration in our country, at the border, and abroad.” Furthermore, actions such as closing the border to the vulnerable, depriving hundreds of thousands of people legal status, denying due process, “are all morally indefensible from a Catholic perspective. These actions will divide families, divide communities, undermine the rule of law, and increase the numbers of those dying at borders.”

Seitz continues fearlessly: “in the case of this administration, the speed with which these actions are being carried out, the dystopian rhetoric and sharp attitude, the unapologetic belligerence towards neighboring states in the region, the elevation of self-interest as the criterion of legitimacy, and the disregard for the rule of law and due process are without precedent.” He reminds us that in Christian churches, the practice of sanctuary was common for over a millennium. The call to all people of faith now is: protect the anxious and fearful, educate refugees about their rights, offer legal services, accompany to immigration hearings. (“The Living Vein of Compassion,” Commonweal, 6/1/25).

But the Deporter-in-Chief understands only the language of money, not the work of compassion. His “big, shameful bill” added $76 billion to ICE’s 2025 budget of $10 billion, for recruiting more agents and building more detention centers—50 since January 20. Perhaps Mr. Trump (who, ironically, does have a criminal record) could answer the question: why should taxpayers now foot the bill for the airfare and detention of mostly innocent people (70% with no criminal record) yanked from jobs which made them self-supporting?

According to Cal Matters, undocumented immigrants contribute not just their labor; they also pay significantly into the government treasury. In 2022, they paid $8.5 billion in local and state taxes in California, including into programs they can’t draw from. What is true for California must be true in some degree for the rest of the country: the seismic economic effect of mass deportation could inflict billions of dollars in direct damages to small business, agriculture, construction, hospitality and child care. If undocumented immigrants “magically disappear, you’re going to erase 10% of California production,” said Giovanni Peri, professor of international economics at UC Davis. “We’re talking about hundreds of billions of dollars.” (https://calmatters.org/economy/2024/11/trump-deportations-california-economics/)

The video has gone viral of a woman addressing her Republican congressman in Nebraska, presenting a list of similar expenses, then asking, “How much is fascism going to cost us?” As we approach Labor Day, I muse on workers we may take for granted, jeopardized by the Mass Deportation Policy. On our daily walk to her elementary school, my granddaughter and I pass a complex project, which involves big machinery for flood prevention, changing underground pipes and replacing blocks of sidewalk. Unsurprisingly, all the construction workers are Spanish-speaking. They are capable and courteous, hoisting their “Slow” or “Stop” signs to traffic so the children and their caregivers can pass the construction safely. Only a severely distorted lens could see these people as threats to the national security.

Dr. Barbara Holmes writes in Joy Unspeakable, “On this planet, we are all indigenous strangers; some of us just have the good sense to know and embrace this reality.” How many of us are native Americans? Or as Leviticus says, “you too were once aliens.”

 Retreat at Marillac Center, Leavenworth, KS

The Genius of Jesus, The World of Women–Kathy Coffey

October 13 at 4pm (arrive in afternoon)– October 18 after lunch

For more information or to register,

visit https://www.scls.org/prayer-spirituality/marillac-center/

or contact  retreats@scls.org   913-758-6552