“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness on them light has shined.” Isaiah 9:2

For weeks, my area of the country has been living under a cloud of darkness. People are afraid, fearful for their families, fearful for themselves, fearful of masked men who have come here to create chaos. Theoretically, they are here to go after, “the worst of the worst,” of illegal immigrants. But evidence of that is short, and evidence of the misuse of power is great.

Immigrants, who have been here legally for decades, have permanent residency, and Green Cards are afraid. Afraid of being racially profiled, afraid of being ignored when they offer their passports, afraid of being targeted for the color of their skin. Afraid to send their kids to school, afraid to go to work or church, afraid to walk down the street. The weight I feel, cannot begin to compare, to the hurt,  pain and fear of our entire immigrant community across the state. Restaurants are closed, to protect their employees . . . Doctor’s appointments are canceled, while employees stay home from work.

Justifications, for pulling people off the street, going after others in parking lots, or at grocery stores, then  demanding proof of citizenship and immigration status, are flimsy at best

This week, the Wall Street Journal, broke a story saying ICE agents are rewarded by the number of their arrests, and not whether those arrests are justified. Which begins to explain the angst in my community. Long weeks of ICE activity have only increased that fear, as more and more people report being questioned, or being detained because of their ethnic heritage, including naturalized citizens or birthed in the United States.

Homeland Security  insists that we not believe our eyes, in the videos taken by observers. In a particularly cruel, frigid morning, with below zero wind chills, a man was removed from his home, wearing only his boxer shorts and a child’s blanket, hastily thrown around his shoulders. Not having verified the actual people living in the home, ICE agents broke down his door, refusing to let him get his identification. A young Somali woman, born here, spent two days in detention after showing her identification, held in a cell with a Native American woman. Both unlawfully arrested and detained. The newly elected Mayor of St. Paul, of Hmong heritage, feels she needs to carry evidence of her citizenship. Even our local police in Minneapolis, St. Paul and surrounding suburbs, have experienced the heavy hand of ICE’s racial profiling, with ICE stopping off duty police, demanding papers from nonwhite officers.

The Trump administration appears to have no interest in pulling back, but only doubling down, to create more chaos, and more pain . . . Threatening to invoke the Insurrection Act in a city, where only a fragile peace holds. We are both overstressed and angry, at the daily injustices we see.

In Isaiah’s vision, he speaks not only of the light that breaks into the darkness, but of the joy that comes with it. For, Isaiah says of God, “You’ve shattered the yoke that burdened them, the staff on their shoulders, and the rod of their oppressor.” Isaiah 9:4

I find in the book of Isaiah, a sustaining hope, that this period of injustice will indeed end. Light will dawn upon us here, in our darkness. The rod of the oppressor will cease, the yoke on our shoulders will be lifted and the burden of constant fear will be over.