EL PASO, Texas — In this deeply Catholic city, people are keenly aware of the meaning of Christmas, especially the biblical story reenacted in the posadas, or inns, where Mary and Joseph went futilely searching for somewhere to spend the night in Bethlehem.
Today, strangers who have made a long journey fraught with dangers are stranded in this border city on the edge of Texas with nowhere to stay for the night. Instead, these migrants are finding shelter in parking garages, churches and the El Paso International Airport, where they wait overnight for flights to their U.S. destinations after they’ve been processed and vetted by U.S. immigration authorities.
The city has even prepared its massive convention center, just feet away from a 55-foot Christmas tree with over 400,000 lights that cast a warm glow over San Jacinto Plaza and its Winterfest. The annual celebration, complete with an ice-skating rink and a life-size Nativity scene, is a nightly magnet for hundreds of bundled-up families sipping hot chocolate or nibbling on churros.
In times polarized by divisions over migration and talk about an invasion by strangers, the story of Mary and Joseph is a universal reminder, Catholic Bishop Mark Seitz said, particularly to El Pasoans and a nation with roots firmly planted in generations of migration.
“We’ve been very conscious in the church this year, more so than ever, about the parallels to Joseph and Mary’s plight, and the opportunity that we have to identify with the story of Jesus, and his family when they went to Bethlehem and couldn’t find any place for them in the posada, and that message really comes home here in our community,” said Seitz, who formerly served in Dallas. “At Christmas, our hearts expand a little more. I would invite people to meet the stranger among them. Don’t be afraid of the newly arrived.”
El Paso’s tolerance and compassion are once again being tested with the latest wave of migrants who have arrived in recent days in hopes that the Christmas period will bring an end to the pandemic-era rule known as Title 42 and uncertainties about securing asylum in the United States.
Title 42′s limits on border crossings were set to expire Tuesday at midnight, but the Supreme Court put that plan on hold after conservative-leaning states, including Texas, sought the top court’s help to keep restrictions in place. The Biden administration has asked the court to lift the program, but not before the Christmas holidays end, leaving migrants confused and in limbo.
In recent days, some El Pasoans have complained to local news media that migrants are cutting through neighborhoods and leaving garbage behind.
The story of Mary and Joseph resonates along this border region because so many of its residents are immigrants themselves. One out of every five residents here is foreign-born, according to the U.S. Census. Many others say they know someone who has made the perilous journey in search of a new life in the United States.
On a downtown street, near San Jacinto Plaza, migrants awaited the coldest days in recent memory. Groups of El Pasoans drove up and gave coats, sweaters, blankets, sandwiches, water and hot chocolate to the strangers who have arrived in waves.
Among them is Evelyn Morales, 11, a middle school student and daughter of immigrants. She said she could be home hanging out with her family, or at the mall or theater watching movies. Instead, she, along with her family, volunteered to hand out food to migrants.
“People should care about other people. I’ve told my little cousin that you should be grateful of what you have because other people don’t have it,” she said.
A few streets away is Sacred Heart, a church run by Jesuits whose mission is to help the dispossessed and downtrodden in El Paso’s historic Segundo Barrio. Outside on the sidewalk, Isabel María Armas and her husband, Ángel Leonel Zambrano, looked wearily at their 2-year-old son, Nehemías Castillo.
At night, the mother and toddler were given refuge inside the church. Zambrano slept on the sidewalk. As the arctic storm threatened the city, Armas explained they had come from Venezuela, a country where temperatures are over 70 degrees this time of year.
“We’re not used to this cold,” Armas said.
“And we’re worried about how we will fare in the coming hours,” Zambrano added.
The parents asked their son what toy he wanted for Christmas. “I think he’s too young to even know about Santa Claus,” Armas joked.
The toddler startled them when he said, “carrito,” a little car, and they laughed.
Armas and Zambrano might be in a precarious situation. It’s unclear if they have paperwork proving they were vetted by the U.S. Border Patrol, a condition some shelters, including the City of El Paso, require to welcome people in need.
In the early evening, the couple planned to walk to the main square to watch the holiday festival and listen to the music, activities that have captivated many of the recently arrived migrants who’ve come not just from Latin America, but from throughout the world.
At a shelter at the Centro Pastoral Sagrado Corazón, some 65 migrants vetted by the U.S. Border Patrol waited Thursday evening for news about their flights or bus trips. They hoped the arctic blast wouldn’t hinder their travel plans so they could reach family or friends by Christmas.
Alex Chura, 37, and his daughter, Yaritza, 15, from Perú, were still in awe of their last 48 hours at the border. They talked about the big holiday tree in the square and the giant star on the mountain, a sharp contrast to the concertina wire and Texas National Guard soldiers with their parked Humvees put on the U.S. side of the Rio Grande to deter migrants from crossing.
At the diocese’s shelter, volunteers and workers greeted them with hot meals, donated clothes and other essentials popular in the Mexican-American community during the holidays, from tamales to buñuelos and champurrado, a warm chocolate beverage.
“This is so beautiful, and yet so sad,” said Chura, as he sobbed. “This is our first Christmas away from home, away from our family. I couldn’t bring my other child, my 3-year-old, and my wife, so as you may imagine, my heart is broken in two this Christmas. But this city, its welcoming people, has kept our hope alive. This city has been our salvation.”
Daily scenes like the ones at the diocese’s shelter have played out not so very differently from the plight of Joseph and Mary pleading with strangers for shelter in Bethlehem, Seitz said.
“This is El Paso where for time, for many generations, people have welcomed strangers,” he said. “That’s just who we are. It’s in our identity, in our DNA. [El Pasoans] welcome people just like they, their parents, ancestors, once were welcomed into a new land.”
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