Rediscovering Ways of Finding Courage in Community through Christianity

Three years ago, when I walked into St John’s the Evangelist Episcopal Church, I was not prompted to think about boundaries, but I was compelled to think about possibilities: 

A collect of joy, welcoming with sacramental service to others

The Rev. Dr. Wilda Gafney’s reinterpretation of biblical texts

The Rev. Gustavo Gutiérrez’s reflections on a Christian community professing faith that works through acts of charity and spiritual inspiration

Dr. Catherine Meek’s framework for racial reconciliation that looks at healing one’s self on the inside and to not judge others.

Through the Episcopal Church I heard Bishop Craig Loya tell us that Thérèse of Lisieux’s “spirituality is often called the Little Way, which is essentially that Jesus does not expect us to do big things, but Jesus does expect us to do every little thing that is in front of us with the biggest possible love.”

It is with all of this in my heart and mind, that last November I was spiritually inspired to respond in my community. I was leaving my local food co-op and turned onto the side street in an industrial area. The street was usually parked up with a semi or two but today was different. Cars were aligned all up and down the street and people were walking all about. I wondered what was going on. As I slowly turned on Hampden Avenue, I found myself smack in the middle of the Bro-Tex ICE raid, with shouting citizens, semitrucks, and agents in tactical gear slamming their fists on the front of my car and yelling at me that I could not go forward. A Saint Paul Police officer was standing next to the agents, doing nothing. As I slowly made my way back through the crowd of protesters all I could see were young people.

I’ve often heard people ask where are the young people today. I found them there that day in the streets. And even though my four adult sons live a thousand miles away, I immediately recognized these people as my children. Some appeared angry. Some appeared lost. I was compelled to join them. And so, I did.

I completed constitutional observer training and gathered with my neighbors at a local Lutheran church to decide what we could do together. I heard one person say they were experiencing church trauma by just being in the building. I heard others say that our societal systems had failed and it was up to us to create new ways, and I wondered if they meant that Christianity had failed too. I decided not to worry about naming and defining Christianity. I didn’t need to tell people that I had been trained as a pastoral care giver. All I needed to do was to join with everyone here to say I care about my community, including my immigrant neighbors. That people did not have to feel alone. That I could respond with love and not with hate. It was the doing that was important, not the theological reflection.

I became a commuting observer, what is known as a rapid responder. I decided my risk assessment was high. I did not have any aging parents to take care of. My children were all grown and independent, no grandkids. I did not have any pets. I had only one houseplant and my neighbor knew how to water it if I was gone. I was not doing anything illegal. But most importantly, I knew in my bones that my God was with me and I was not alone. I belonged out in the streets.

I would pick up a copilot and together we would respond to potential or real ICE activity in the city. Because of my pastoral care training through the church, I took on the role of providing aftercare at incidents. This involved checking in with folks, including other responders, family members and neighbors. My goal was always to create a caring community. This not only involved making sure information was exchanged (legal, financial, housing, moving abandoned vehicles and food resources) but listening to what was on people’s hearts, what their eyes were telling me, making real connections. Being present.

Sometimes I would stop at St John’s to take a break. I remember giving a mini tour to one of my copilots and they saw in the building an icon of Martin Luther King, Jr and that stopped them. “Is Martin Luther King a saint in your church?” This resulted in further discussion during our “windshield time,” and led to sharing about our own questions of faith. 

Driving about the city, being on a call with others was a communal spiritual practice of resistance, resilience and restoration. During dispatch calls, I heard other commuters challenge ICE agents on open mics, “I live here. In this community we take care of each other. Where are you from?” “If someone around here has a problem, we help them-we don’t put them in shackles. We don’t want you here.” I heard a commuter plead with us one day that he had to go pick up his daughter from the school bus, but he couldn’t leave the bus stop he was currently watching in another neighborhood because these were his children, too. I’ve heard a chorus of commuters cheer when ICE vehicles left a vulnerable location with no abduction. I’ve heard the deadening silence when someone has been taken. I have witnessed abductions. I have prevented some. We have done what we can to peacefully defend the human rights and values that serve as the foundation of our Constitutional democracy. I have done my darndest to carry out my renewed baptismal vows, striving for justice and peace among all people, and respecting the dignity of every human being.

Bishop Mariann Budde does a beautiful job of summing up what this communal experience is all about. In April 2025, when we were wrestling with the changes in our country, she joined in a conversation on hope and offered these words: 

"I find hope in the gathered community…and I pray that the living God makes a palpable impact in your spirit in ways that you can trust and that allow you to continue to move forward one faithful step at a time with whatever life is asking of you, and I hope you know that you are not alone. Your God is with you, but also there are all these people…that are striving to do something of the same, and that when you lose hope they are there to hold you up, and some day you may be the one to be holding the rest of us up, and that’s something of the mystery and the glory of the gathered community, the beloved community, and the body of Christ."

I am grateful beyond words for Saint John’s and the Episcopal Church and what I feel here when I gather with my community of faith every Sunday and with my Pastoral Care team in Circle of Care. The words I hear today ring joyfully and triumphantly true. I am embraced with unconditional love, and I continue to learn and grow in joy and love and in my strength and understanding. I know that my humanness is a gift and I am reborn by the Holy Spirit time and time again. 

Amen. 

Betsy Wehrwein has been attending St John the Evangelist Episcopal Church, St. Paul since January 2023 and is involved with migrant support and pastoral care, to name a couple of ministries. She is a cradle Episcopalian but left the church for 20 years She is a regular participant in ECMN’s racial justice and healing retreats.