Picture this: cots are lined 6 feet apart, stretching from wall to wall. Two thousand and three hundred children don KN95 masks and coordinated outfits of navy, grey, and green. Soldier-like, the boys march this way and that – to restrooms, cafeterias, showers. A teen boy sits, protectively, with his arm around the younger boy next to him. They look up, expectantly, but not scared. This is certainly not the scariest thing they’ve seen. Across the room there is a palpable resilience. These boys look just like me when I was in school, though slightly darker and bearing the strength of their shared experience. They joke with each other. They smile and sing along with my songs. They clap along with the beat of my guitar, even as it reverberates through the cavernous room.

When the preacher begins to speak, the boys cheer, their responses continuing to echo his calls. I can’t understand much of what he’s saying, though I desperately wish I could. In this small way, I catch a glimpse of the culture shock that awaits the luckiest of these boys. 

Venga tu reino. Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo.

After praying the Lord’s Prayer, we sing a closing song* and receive a Benediction. But one benediction is not enough. The boys swarm Rev. Gonzales, asking for prayers and blessings and rosaries. They hold up their name tags, reminding us all that their lives matter.

One older boy, bilingual, tells me that he used to lead worship at his iglesia back home in El Salvador. He asks if he can play my guitar, and he starts playing these beautiful songs. Several younger boys crowd around, and I step back. He ought to lead worship next time. A curly haired boy looks back at me with glistening eyes. I meet his gaze and we share a brief moment of humanity that transcends language and culture. 

The logistics of immigration are complicated. Simply getting 2,300 boys showered and fed every day requires many moving pieces. But they wouldn’t be here, cooped up in a sweaty convention center, with resilience and bravery shining in their eyes, if they hadn’t needed to. 

Our closing song was Tú has venido la orilla or, in English, Lord, You Have Come to the Lakeshore. The boys weren’t familiar with this song, and, afterwards, several of them asked us if we could repeat the lyrics over and over again. They wanted to remember these words, and, looking back, I can see why. I invite you to read these lyrics and pray for these brave young men seeking “other seas.”

READ: A More Holistic Response to the Immigration Crisis

Tú has venido a la orilla

Tú has venido a la orilla

No has buscado a sabios, ni a ricos

Tan solo quieres que yo te siga

Señor, me has mirado a las ojos

Sonriendo, has dicho mi nombre

En la arena, he dejado mi barca

Junto a ti, buscaré otro mar

Tú sabes bien lo que tengo

En mi barca, no hay oro, ni plata

Tan solo redes y mi trabajo

estribillo

Tú necesitas mis manos

Mis cansancios que a otros descansen

Amor que quiero seguir amando

estribillo

Tú pescador de otros mares

Ansia enterna de almas que esperan

Amigo bueno que asi me llamas

estribillo

Lord, You Have Come to the Lakeshore

Lord, you have come to the lakeshore

looking neither for wealthy nor wise ones;

you only asked me to follow humbly.

O Lord, with your eyes you have searched me,

and while smiling have spoken my name;

now my boat’s left on the shoreline behind me;

by your side I will seek other seas.

You know so well my possessions;

my boat carries no gold and no weapons;

you will find there my nets and labor.

refrain

You need my hands, full of caring

through my labors to give others rest,

and constant love that keeps on loving.

refrain

You, who have fished other oceans,

ever longed for by souls who are waiting,

my loving friend, as thus you call me.

refrain

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news,” Fred Rogers said to his television neighbors, “my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”

In light of our often random and tragic reality, it’s easy to misconstrue Mister Rogers as a saccharine balm. Truly, his mom’s advice doesn’t diminish suffering. Over 400,000 people have died of COVID complications in this country alone. White supremacy continues to rear its ugly head and remind us that we have sinful skeletons in our collective closet. Our world seems smaller than ever, due to technology, but that very same technology seems to pull us further and further apart. I could go on . . .

What can the “look for the helpers” advice do for us in these times? I suggest that, while it doesn’t diminish the painful realities of our corporate life, it does offer us one path through the valley of cynicism. Mister Rogers was, after all, the great anti-cynic. Never cool, often misunderstood, but seldom cynical.

On my best days I try to care less about being cool (read: cynical) and more about pushing back against the darkness. It’s easy to get bruised, bent, and broken in the fight for a better world. You’ll get knocked down or worse. But gratitude is good medicine. Look for those helpers and thank God for them. Especially the small ones, the weak ones, the insignificant ones that’ll never make the headlines. They’re mustard seeds. They’re meek. And they might just inherit the earth.

READ: The Coalition for Praise and Protest Statement

Look for the Helpers—written March 7, 2020, just before the world turned upside down

There’s a 5-year-old in Carthage, MO

Who couldn’t stay up late for my show

So the next morn he woke up real early

And made his way outside in the cold

Where he found a couple weary musicians

Loading gear in a green Kia Soul

He tried to pick up a box of band t-shirts

But he couldn’t cause the box was too full

Look for the helpers

There’s a woman named Dorothy Johnson

At Green Hills retirement home

For four years she’s been serving as the president

The best one that they’ve ever known

She never misses a resident’s birthday

Sends every visitor a thank-you note

She’ll take your hand and she’ll ask you a question

And remind you you’re not alone

Look for the helpers

Look for the helpers

He’s at the checkout bagging your groceries

She’s at your bedside when you’re sick as a dog

You might not recognize them or remember their names

Sometimes love looks like a thankless job

So look for the helpers

Look for the helpers

Look for the helpers

Things don’t go the way we thought they would. Tragedy strikes. Grief sets in. We see a whole new world on the way back down. We wouldn’t wish it on anyone but we can’t unsee it. Maybe it’s got something to teach us. Maybe.

I just finished reading “For Such a Time as This,” a memoir by Rev. Sharon Risher. Rev. Risher had just graduated from Austin Seminary, gotten ordained, and landed her first chaplaincy position at Parkland Hospital in Dallas, TX. And then, on June 17, 2015, her world turned upside down. Risher’s mother, Ethel Lance, and 8 others were brutally killed in a mass shooting at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC. I can’t even begin to imagine this kind of pain. And though her memoir doesn’t shy away from the pain, it doesn’t stay there either. On the way back down from pain, anger, isolation, and fear Rev. Risher found her new life’s ministry as an “accidental activist” for gun law reform. She reminds me that there’s purpose on the way back down from pain and life on the other side of death.

(Song Video illustrated by Paul Soupiset)

On The Way Back Down

words & music by Paul Demer 

Verse 1:

Climbed the tallest mountain in San Francisco 

Looking for a melody 

Way up in the canopy 

Where redwoods see more sorrow than I could know 

Higher than the golden gate 

Foggy like a cityscape 

But on the way down 

I looked down at the ground 

And saw a system of roots beneath 

The roots under my feet

Were holding up them trees

And bringing the mountain together 

Chorus:

And you notice different things

You notice different things

You notice different things on the way back down 

Verse 2:

He got a little buzz around his first release 

The crowds were getting bigger 

So his agent pulled the trigger 

And shot him to a stardom he’d never known 

Waving like a lighter 

His future growing brighter 

But as he looked down 

At New York on the ground 

He knew what fame could never fix 

His wife was back at home 

As he stood there all alone 

Above a city that never sleeps 

Chorus:

Verse 3:

You bottled up your pain until it ran all over 

Your words were getting sharper 

And my heart was getting harder 

I wondered if we’d make it through a night so dark 

I faced you like a fighter

Then held you that much tighter 

And as we looked down

Our tears they hit the ground 

Sowing seeds for morning’s mercy 

Now we’re digging in the dirt 

Pulling out the buried hurt 

As a garden grows beneath

Chorus: