A Friar on the Border
by friar Joseph Bach, OFM Conv.

I am a Conventual Franciscan Friar;
but not first by habit,
not first by title,
not first by the grey cloth that brushes desert
dust.

I am Brother.
Brother to the migrant mother carrying fear in
one hand
and faith in the other.
Brother to the child who knows the language of
walls
before the language of welcome.
Brother to the man who has walked so long
his feet have become prayer.

I live in the borderlands of New Mexico,
where mountains keep watch,
where the wind remembers names,
where the desert can be cruel
and holy at the same time.

Here, the land teaches Franciscan spirituality.
Poverty is not theory here.
It is the empty water bottle.
The loneliness detention.
The ankle monitor.
The silence of helplessness after deportation.

To be a friar here
is to walk slower.
To listen deeper.
To kneel lower.
To speak less
and love more.

It is to be an acompañante de esperanza,
a companion of hope.

The hope that sits beside grief.
The hope that translates tears.
The hope that waits in courtrooms,
visits behind the window in detention centers,
answers midnight calls,
and stands at fences
without becoming one.

Hope with blistered feet.
Hope with sunburned skin.
Hope with paperwork in hand
and prayer on the lips.

St. Francis kissed the wounds of the world.
Here, those wounds have names.
They have A numbers.
They have birthdays missed
and children asking, “When will Papi come
home?”

So I carry the Gospel
not as a book to wave,
but as bread to break.
As water to pour.
As mercy to risk.
As presence to offer.

And Our Lady of Guadalupe,
Madre of the marginalized,
Star over the desert night,
she walks these roads before us.
She appears wherever dignity is denied.
She whispers to the abandoned:
“You are still my beloved.”

To be a Conventual Franciscan Friar here
is to know fraternitas has no border checkpoint.
That compassion needs no passport.
That the Kingdom of God
has never been contained by barbed wire or a
wall.

It is to stand in the dust
and still sing alleluia.
To witness suffering
and still choose tenderness.
To see death-dealing systems
and still plant seeds of resurrection.

I am a friar in the borderlands.
An imperfect brother.
A servant of peace.
A witness to holy struggle.
An acompañante de esperanza.

And until every child is safe,
every family is welcomed,
every stranger is called neighbor…

I will keep walking.
Keep praying.
Keep loving.
Keep hoping.