It must be something in my face. Maybe I have the wrong attitude. Or, maybe like my friend Jack says, I ask all the wrong questions.
Still, in the interest of veracity, you should understand that last week it was the fellows with those big ol' 9mm pistols that were asking all the questions. Yes, as amazing as this might seem, two weeks after sharing with you about an experience with police that took place 35 years ago, I was detained, once again.
On my way to Argentina I made a transit stop in Miami. Incredibly, the cheapest route to Buenos Aires is flying 2 ½ hours in the opposite direction. Someday, airlines are going to understand why they occasionally lose money.
My co-worker, Mark Edwards was traveling with me. The two of us were going to teach a seminar to a group of leaders in Buenos Aires on the life of Christ and His preparation for public ministry. I was also going to do some of the hard work to begin a new ministry for International Teams in the country. When we reached the States Mark chose one line for going through immigration and I chose another.
[Note: If given the choice between standing behind me in any line or walking over hot coals, choose the fancy footwork. I ALWAYS choose the wrong one!]
The lady in uniform who looked at my passport began to ask what have become very normal questions for me when I visit the States. "Can you tell me why you travel so much?" "What is your role with International Teams?" "Have you ever been to the Middle East?" "What did you do in Afghanistan?"
I think what really tripped me up was when she asked me to identify some type of stamp in my passport. Since I do not read Arabic, I had to admit to her that I had no idea what it was. However, it seemed logical to assume it was a country where they spoke that language.
At this point, she reached over and pressed a button that lit up a flashing red light and said, "Mr. Roland, I afraid that we are going to have to detain you and ask you some more questions in a secure environment."
Tell me the truth, does the term "secure environment" sound a bit scary to you?
Right now, I am not sure who the armed folks are as you pass through immigration. I think they are with the Immigration and Naturalization Service. All I know for sure is they have a penchant for the same large sidearm... some of them actually walk with a lean away from their pistol. This cannot encourage healthy posture. Within a few minutes one of the guns came to take me to my unexpected transit lounge.
I think one of the amazing things about being detained is how few rights you have. Immediately, you are just another case or suspect or number. You certainly are no longer a missions' executive. You have gone from being another human being to another process in the work day.
My first thought was to somehow communicate to Mark that I had been detained. This took all of my powers of persuasion with the now numerous officers. I finally managed to get one supervisor with lots of stripes on his arm to call American Airlines, have them page "Mr. Edwards" and let him know that his traveling companion had been detained. I think the guy also
took sympathy on me because he told the airline rep that if I was released Mark would be able to meet me at a certain restaurant.
I must admit the word "if" caught my attention.
Having now used up my phone call and good will, I was told to sit in a locked waiting room with the other suspects.
I found myself sitting next to a Spanish-speaking grandmother, a business executive, a young man from Mexico on his way to Venezuela, and two Jamaicans with dreadlocks. I know that grandmother was scary. She had a purse the size of Rhode Island.
You know what went through my mind right there? I started thinking about why I was making the trip. As I was focusing on making disciples in Argentina the thought occurred to me that I needed to be a disciple of Jesus right here and now. As frustrated as I was by the experience, I knew that this was where the rubber really met the road. If I couldn't do it here, I probably shouldn't teach it there.
Long story short: After an hour and a half wait (and one moment of tension with a "large pistol" when I opened my Bible to read it) I was finally interviewed by the "correct" officer. He asked me many of the same questions that I am normally asked. I gave him the same answers I always do. Finally, he looked up from his computer, stared at me for what seemed an uncomfortable amount of time, and said I was free to go.
Here I have a confession to make.
I actually asked him if he could hit "save" on his computer so that my information would be available to other INS officers.
He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Mr. Roland, I cannot promise you will not be detained again!"
Boy! Talk about an optimist. I know that I am looking forward to my next rip to the States.
Still, in the interest of veracity, you should understand that last week it was the fellows with those big ol' 9mm pistols that were asking all the questions. Yes, as amazing as this might seem, two weeks after sharing with you about an experience with police that took place 35 years ago, I was detained, once again.
On my way to Argentina I made a transit stop in Miami. Incredibly, the cheapest route to Buenos Aires is flying 2 ½ hours in the opposite direction. Someday, airlines are going to understand why they occasionally lose money.
My co-worker, Mark Edwards was traveling with me. The two of us were going to teach a seminar to a group of leaders in Buenos Aires on the life of Christ and His preparation for public ministry. I was also going to do some of the hard work to begin a new ministry for International Teams in the country. When we reached the States Mark chose one line for going through immigration and I chose another.
[Note: If given the choice between standing behind me in any line or walking over hot coals, choose the fancy footwork. I ALWAYS choose the wrong one!]
The lady in uniform who looked at my passport began to ask what have become very normal questions for me when I visit the States. "Can you tell me why you travel so much?" "What is your role with International Teams?" "Have you ever been to the Middle East?" "What did you do in Afghanistan?"
I think what really tripped me up was when she asked me to identify some type of stamp in my passport. Since I do not read Arabic, I had to admit to her that I had no idea what it was. However, it seemed logical to assume it was a country where they spoke that language.
At this point, she reached over and pressed a button that lit up a flashing red light and said, "Mr. Roland, I afraid that we are going to have to detain you and ask you some more questions in a secure environment."
Tell me the truth, does the term "secure environment" sound a bit scary to you?
Right now, I am not sure who the armed folks are as you pass through immigration. I think they are with the Immigration and Naturalization Service. All I know for sure is they have a penchant for the same large sidearm... some of them actually walk with a lean away from their pistol. This cannot encourage healthy posture. Within a few minutes one of the guns came to take me to my unexpected transit lounge.
I think one of the amazing things about being detained is how few rights you have. Immediately, you are just another case or suspect or number. You certainly are no longer a missions' executive. You have gone from being another human being to another process in the work day.
My first thought was to somehow communicate to Mark that I had been detained. This took all of my powers of persuasion with the now numerous officers. I finally managed to get one supervisor with lots of stripes on his arm to call American Airlines, have them page "Mr. Edwards" and let him know that his traveling companion had been detained. I think the guy also
took sympathy on me because he told the airline rep that if I was released Mark would be able to meet me at a certain restaurant.
I must admit the word "if" caught my attention.
Having now used up my phone call and good will, I was told to sit in a locked waiting room with the other suspects.
I found myself sitting next to a Spanish-speaking grandmother, a business executive, a young man from Mexico on his way to Venezuela, and two Jamaicans with dreadlocks. I know that grandmother was scary. She had a purse the size of Rhode Island.
You know what went through my mind right there? I started thinking about why I was making the trip. As I was focusing on making disciples in Argentina the thought occurred to me that I needed to be a disciple of Jesus right here and now. As frustrated as I was by the experience, I knew that this was where the rubber really met the road. If I couldn't do it here, I probably shouldn't teach it there.
Long story short: After an hour and a half wait (and one moment of tension with a "large pistol" when I opened my Bible to read it) I was finally interviewed by the "correct" officer. He asked me many of the same questions that I am normally asked. I gave him the same answers I always do. Finally, he looked up from his computer, stared at me for what seemed an uncomfortable amount of time, and said I was free to go.
Here I have a confession to make.
I actually asked him if he could hit "save" on his computer so that my information would be available to other INS officers.
He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Mr. Roland, I cannot promise you will not be detained again!"
Boy! Talk about an optimist. I know that I am looking forward to my next rip to the States.
No comments:
Post a Comment