It’s Murphy’s Law when it comes to a spouse going out of town — something out of the ordinary will most likely happen while they’re away. The washing machine will break, someone will get sick or injured, or some strange noise will wake you up in the middle of the night.
The first morning after my husband left on a trip, I thought it was business as usual — making lunches, listening to complaints about school and exhaustion, and sending kids off. I got the high schooler out the door and watched him walk down the driveway to go to the bus stop. I said a little prayer for him and made sure he didn’t slip on the ice at the end of our driveway.
Next, I checked the clock and realized it was time for the second kid to get up for band, when suddenly I noticed a black SUV parked and running out in front of my house. I spied out the blinds and noticed there were two people sitting in there looking at a laptop and a phone. We live on a pretty boring suburban street, and my neighbors are predictably routine, so I took notice. This was anything but routine. I looked across and soon saw two more vehicles that are not typically there. I started to get nervous.
I tried to tell myself that three drivers of American-made SUVs were just lost and needed to pull over to look at directions. I knew that was wishful thinking, but I had to continue on with my morning. I woke up my daughter and went back upstairs to look out the window. The moment my daughter appeared upstairs, people started exiting the vehicles, and my suspicion was confirmed: ICE.
My heart started beating fast, and I said as calmly as possible to my daughter, “I don’t want to scare you, but ICE agents are right outside our house, and it looks like they’re walking up to our neighbor’s house.” She didn’t seem too bothered, but she started spying with me (although she needs to work on her spy skills — I had to tell her to be a little less conspicuous). I took a couple of pictures from my window, and I noticed some other neighbors standing outside their driveways taking videos with their phones. My heart sank as one of the agents started walking up my driveway, but he turned to walk between our houses to my neighbor’s backyard.
The agents were calm but serious. I counted six, all wearing cargo pants and black jackets. A couple of them had masks on. They walked up to my neighbor’s house and knocked on the door. About five minutes passed (it may have been less, but it felt like forever), and when no one answered the door, the agent on the street gave the signal to round up and leave.
As the agents started to get back into their cars, I heard a whistle from down the street. A determined-looking neighbor came stomping down the street with her phone, and I could tell by her body language that she wanted to get in their faces. I prayed out loud, “Lord, please don’t let this escalate.” But the agents had already gotten back in their cars, and most of them had driven away. The gutsy neighbor walked right up to one of their cars, but they left before she could say or do anything.
Up until this point, ICE had only been something I had seen in the news. Even though the events in Minneapolis have all been a short drive away to us here in Bloomington, I hadn’t seen anything firsthand yet.
I was scared. Would they be back? Would they knock on my door and ask me questions? Would my neighbors be taken by force? Were my neighbors scared? If the agents returned, would other neighbors get involved again and be in danger? I told my daughter, “I was trying to stay calm so that you wouldn’t be scared, but I have to be honest … my heart was beating out of my chest.” So much for being the strong and stable adult in the situation.
We moved on with our morning routine, soon getting the third and final kid up. As my daughter started packing up her backpack and doing her thing, she started singing under her breath, softly and then slowly getting a bit louder…
“He’s got the whole world, in his hands. He’s got the whole world, in his hands…”
I couldn’t help smiling and thinking she was singing this primarily for my benefit. She went on with her next verse:
“He’s got Bloom-ing-ton, in his hands. He’s got Bloom-ing-ton, in his hands…”
And then her third verse:
“He’s got all our neighbors, in his hands…”
The fourth verse took an unexpected turn, but it faithfully captured the song’s essence. She sang:
“He’s got those ICE agents, in his hands…”
In a moment when I felt anxious and like the world was completely out of control, or at least out of my control, she reminded me who is in control. But the comforting children’s song also feels incongruous against the backdrop of the chaos of the world. It’s easy enough to believe God holds my daughter in his hands, yet extending the image to everyone breaks my brain. How can he simultaneously hold friend and foe, red and blue, or even the oppressor, the crook, the cruel, the spiteful? How can God hold the world in his hands without crushing it in wrathful destruction?
During this season of Lent, I am reminded that Jesus came to this chaotic world and allowed himself to be thrown down in anger. He saw firsthand the unrest in this world, and yet he looked at the hurt and the brokenness with compassionate eyes, seeing the people as “sheep without a shepherd.” Instead of throwing us out as hopeless, he became that good shepherd who would lay down his life for those in his care.
From the cross, he not only faced the wrath of angry people, but he also faced the emptiness of what it is like to have God turn his face away. From the cross he quoted Psalm 22, which he was fulfilling in real time: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me” (Ps 22:1)? Because of Christ, we will never have to face that kind of emptiness. Even in the midst of his horrific suffering, somehow Jesus was still concerned with us receiving forgiveness: “Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Lk 23:34).
Psalm 22 continues with striking details about the suffering Christ faced. As it progresses, it finally speaks of the praise that will follow that suffering: “All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the Lord, and all the families of the nations will bow down before him, for dominion belongs to the Lord and he rules over the nations” (Ps 22:27–28).
In other words … “He’s got the whole world in his hands.” Psalm 22 reflects Jesus’ journey that led to a world covered in God’s righteousness. We may not know how it all unfolds, but Jesus holds the world now with the same hands that were nailed to a cross. What he now grasps, he holds in love until the day suffering and strife give way to peace, healing, and praise.
