In times of uncertainly and confusion, a person desires nothing more than the calming kindness of a stranger or a neighbor, who generously offers assistance, support, and understanding. This is the ministry of hospitality. I experience this ministry every Friday when I spend my day at ICDI’s House of Hospitality, where I help the men living there with school assignments and learning English. The house, located in Cicero, IL, is for men who have been released from detention and have no other place to go upon their release. Upon hearing this process for the first time, I was awestruck by the unpredictability of it all. Dropped off on the corner of 101 West Congress, these men, uncertain of their surroundings but certainly confused on what to do next, are approached by a stranger who knows their name and nothing else. The stranger ask them to get in the car so they can take them to this mysterious house that their legal counsel has told them about. The men agree and the ministry of hospitality begins. Once they arrive, the new residents are given basic necessities: a small room to live in, clothes, hygiene products, and a small stipend for public transportation. Most, however, send a portion of this stipend to their families back home. I was more inspired by the hospitality extended to these men; yet, the residents also illustrate the ministry of hospitality in a miraculous manner.

The house is by far the most diverse place I have ever been. Fifteen men live in the home and more than 10 countries, spanning from China to Ethiopia and many places in between, are represented. All the men are bilingual and many are trilingual, yet levels of English vary the spectrum from minimal to superb. Communication, however, is not stifled by the barriers of language or culture because each man in the house extends hospitality to one another. It is as if the ministry of hospitality becomes a universal language they everyone is able to speak. All of them are separated from their families. All of them are living in an unfamiliar place. All of them are painstakingly waiting for some sort of status or permit to come from the immigration system. Many have been waiting for more than a year and a half, and the waiting will continue. The men deeply comprehend each other’s situation because they too are living the same reality. It is the shared experiences of restlessness in their waiting and anxiety about their futures that allow for the ministry of hospitality to be exercised freely. I will provide one example.

Headed to the house for the third Friday in a row, July 17^th was a steaming hot day with spectacular sunshine that Chicago had not seen all summer. As I walked in, a delicious scent of spices and smoke coming from the kitchen filled the house. I followed the smell to find a feast being prepared by Ray, who is from Rwanda and no stranger to the kitchen. I have seen Ray preparing something or cooking a meal each of the previous Fridays. Each time he offers me something to eat or drink as soon as I arrive. I asked Ray what this feast was for. With sweat gleaming from his brow he told me that today was the beginning of Eid, which is the celebration that occurs at the end of Ramadan, a month of fasting and prayer for Muslims. Ray said the Muslims in the house were downtown praying and they would be hungry when they returned. So I asked Ray how I could help and the only thing he wanted me to do was test the food. The food was almost complete when the Muslims came back drenched in sweat and in obvious need of water and food. To their surprise, Ray had prepared a feast fit for the whole house so that all could join in their celebration. The table was set, the food cooked, and hospitality was served.

The most endearing aspect of this story was knowing that Ray is a Christian. Most Christians I neither know what Eid is, nor have they ever sat down for a meal with a Muslim. Yet, Ray understood the significance of the day, he understood his fellow residents of the house would be hungry, and he understood they needed food. And so he cooked for them. The Muslims did not ask Ray to prepare a feast full of chicken, beef, rice, salad, and soup. Instead, Ray used the ministry of hospitality to invite his neighbors to the table and join in a celebratory feast of both Eid and brotherhood. As ten men, some Christian and some Muslim, from numerous countries sat around the table, I was able to witness and experience the ministry of hospitality in a way that most people never will.

Opened two years ago, the Marie Joseph House of Hospitality for Men is home to 15 men representing more than 12 countries.

Interning with the Interfaith Committee for Detained Immigrants is unlike any internship I could imagine. Most internships focus on the completion of a project or report that will be of some use for the organization and display the impressive new skills or information the intern has gathered. However, this is not the emphasis of my internship. My role at ICDI is to experience this ministry of hospitality and solidarity. I will not leave with a specific task done or a tangible goal achieved. I will leave, however, with stories, relationships, and experiences: stories of remarkable encounters such as this one, relationships with the unlikeliest of people, and experiences that will shape my thinking from now and forevermore.

Throughout the week I participate in a different ministry of the Interfaith Committee for Detained Immigrants. Each ministry is an enriching experience that allows me to see a new perspective of immigration that, had it not been for this internship, I would not have witnessed otherwise. Yet before I begin to reflect on one of these ministries, there are a few things necessary to know about the Interfaith Committee for Detained Immigrants. ICDI formed under the leadership of Sister JoAnn Persch and Sister Pat Murphy, “whose names are synonymous with justice in Chicago” according to one of their volunteers. These Sisters are adamant about the holistic care of detainees throughout the entire process of detention, whether that means residency or deportation. The ministries of ICDI include pastoral care at detention centers, court watch at immigration court, post detention accompaniment programs at their houses of hospitality, and a prayer vigil every Friday as deportations are happening at the deportation center. In all ICDI has nearly 200 volunteers that enable these different ministries to provide care for detainees. For the sake of time, I cannot reflect on each of these ministries and summarize the experiences I have had thus far. However, I will reflect on one of my weekly experiences.

Every Tuesday I get in a car with three nuns as we make our way up to Woodstock, IL to do pastoral visits with detained immigrants. Quietly I sit in the back as the Sisters discuss how the other Sisters in their order are doing, what they had done over the weekend, and what exciting news they have about the other four ministries they operate. After my confusion has passed from the check-in on many of their Sisters and the happenings of their order, I am awestruck by how fast paced and dedicated the lives of these nuns are. Then I remember that they are triple and quadruple my age, which humbles any thought I have of how busy I think I am during the school year. Coming into my internship I prejudged this organization to be something that Sister JoAnn and Sister Pat did to stay busy in their maturing years; however, I was greatly mistaken.

Once we arrive at our destination, we are soon joined by a team of volunteers who come the same week of every month. Everyone greets one another with the warmest of welcomes as we make our way through security and into an empty pod where the detainees are held. Depending on the week, for the next two to four hours the volunteers and I will visit with a number of detainees. We wait at the entrance of the pod to greet their smiling faces, full of excitement from the opportunity to simply be with someone from “the outside” for a half hour. As they file in wearing the same orange jump suits as those incarcerated, we shake their hands and ask what languages they speak. Today I had the privilege to sit down and listen to six men tell me how they are feeling, which is usually a difficult task for any man. Yet, that difficulty fades away once someone has been held in detention, regardless of the length of time. I will share one experience from yesterday.

A younger man walked in and seemed surprised to be greeted by someone younger than fifty. He spoke English well. I asked him if he wanted to sit at my table. Eager to begin conversation, we introduced ourselves and then he immediately asked how I can got involved with doing this. What he really wanted to know was why I am doing this. So I explained how I got involved and he began to thank me for taking the time to come visit; we had not been sitting together for more than a minute.

For purposes of confidentiality, I will call my new friend Mark. Mark is 35 years old and hails from El Salvador. I asked him how he was doing, how are you feeling; a general but important question that I am sure he does not hear every day like many of us do. Mark responded first saying he was fine, next with a comment on the food, and finally that he was sad and worrisome. Attempting to explore the last comment more, I asked why so. At first he simply replied “because of my kids”. Then for the next thirty minutes, Mark expressed care and worry that only a parent can do. With his eyes illuminated from talking about his children, suddenly Mark’s face turned downtrodden with anxiety about possible deportation. I could see his hurt, yet in no way could I identify with his pain. The intensity of his worry is unlike anything I have had to worry about. Then Mark asked me how old I was, and I answered with 21 years old. He responded by saying that “we’ve been in this country for the same length of time”.

Mark wants nothing more but to be with his children and to be a good father. He does not want to be like his father, who left Mark, not because of deportation but voluntarily, when he was 7. That is the reason Mark explained to me that he will do everything he possibly can to be with his children, not matter the lot of his future: El Salvador or the United States. During our rich conversation, we formed a strong connection and a few things become abundantly clear to me. First, Mark will do everything within his power to be the father he desires to be and the father he knows his children need. Secondly, if Mark is deported from the U.S. it will be years before he can see them again. And lastly, I can do nothing to help Mark. I cannot fight his legal battle. I cannot help him with getting his family to El Salvador. I cannot help him see his kids again if they are separated.

The only way I can help is to sit and be present with Mark. Yet, for simply spending 45 minutes with him, for doing this small act of love, he expressed his deepest gratitude. I promised Mark that I would pray for him, his children, and hopefully for the future they will have together. He thanked me and quickly gave me a hug, both knowing we are not supposed to do that. Finally Mark said, “I want to do good things for my kids because God has blessed me with them, but also pray for yourself; that you keep doing good things”. All I had done was listen and ask the occasional question. I was simply present, but to him that was a good thing. Whether I think Mark should be deported or not is not the primary question. I have no say in that matter, nor can I help in one way or another. What matters is if Mark will have the opportunity to be a father to his children. All Mark wants to do is simply be present with his kids. That is not just a good thing, it is an essential thing.

But until his future is decided, I will continue to visit with Mark every Tuesday. I will come and listen to stories of his children, about the letters they write to him. I will come and be present, asking the occasional question that gives Mark the opportunity to relax his tightened shoulders and talk. Then after we part ways and in my feeling of helplessness, I will continue to pray that Mark will have the opportunity to be the father he longs to be; a father that is present with his children.

Above is one of the teams that goes to the detention center once a month. Sister JoAnn (front row in the dark green sweater) and Sister Pat (front row in the pink sweater) started the pastoral care ministry for detainees 5 years ago.