I recently attended a retreat where my fellow presenters included astronauts who have flown on the Space Shuttle and spent time on the International Space Station. If you ever need reinforcement for belief in a higher power, just listen to the observations of those who have voyaged in outer space. They describe a universe that is far vaster and more intricate than we can imagine. As one astronaut put it, our generation knows more about the inner workings of the cosmos than any previous one, yet we still understand only a thimbleful of its complexity.

This is not to say all who venture to these far reaches become instant evangelists. They do, however, share a common awe for the beauty and intricacy of the universe. Scott Kelly, one of the astronauts I met, has spent more time on the International Space Station than any other human. Kelly was raised Catholic, but jettisoned formal religion as a teenager in favor of an open-minded agnosticism. He writes in his memoir Endurance: A Year In Space, A Lifetime of Discovery:
"I am a scientific minded person, curious to understand everything I can about the universe. We know there are trillions of stars, more than the grains of sand on planet Earth. Those stars make up less than 5 percent of the matter in the universe. The rest is dark matter and dark energy. The universe is so complex. Is it all an accident? I don’t know."
Endurance: A Year in Space, A Lifetime of Discovery

Many scientists seem more comfortable with the existence of mystery than so many of us who call ourselves people of faith. We crave certainty. We seek doctrine and rules. We want a God who conforms to our andromorphic needs. Of course Jesus was a light-skinned male (though he probably looked more like a present-day Syrian refugee). Of course, Mary had blonde hair and blue eyes. And God is a senior citizen with a snow-colored beard.

Could we not think of God as pure mystery, as absolute love, as inviolate light, as the deepest, truest point of being within our own soul and still follow the teachings of Jesus?

Listening to these astronauts forced me to reexamine the current political discourse about “protecting” the U.S. border. When astronauts gaze upon Earth from deep space, they see one mass. A single planet. A fragile bead suspended in infinite blackness.

Borders are artificial human constructs. What we now consider our inviolate U.S. borders once belonged to other people: to Mexicans, to the French, the Spanish, the Dutch, and yes, our Native Americans. About this history we seem to have collective amnesia.

Thomas Merton so accurately noted that the root of war is always fear. Today’s debate over building a concrete border wall or steel barrier – take your pick -- is drenched in fear. There is fear of strangers, fear that what is ours will be taken. Exaggerations, stigmas and outright falsehoods supply oxygen to these fears.

In the gospels, Jesus’ followers ask him what they must to do “bear good fruit,” to enter the Kingdom of God, and attain eternal life. Each time his answer is remarkably similar. “Go and sell your house and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven,” he tells one rather disappointed follower in Matthew’s gospel. To a lawyer in Luke, he says imitate the Samaritan who stopped to help wounded foreigner whom others passed by.

He puts it perhaps most succinctly in Matthew’s gospel: “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger and you invited me in… I was sick and you looked after me.”

It seems to me that people of faith are called to tear down walls, not build more of them.

Just ask astronauts how many walls they see in space.