THE FIRST LETTER OF PAUL TO THE CHURCH OF [NAME WITHHELD ON ADVICE OF COUNSEL]

by Matthew E. Henry (MEH)

from Paul—a prisoner to the gospel of God—to all those 

across the Eastern Ocean who have named themselves 

after Christ, consider themselves His most holy people. 

 

doubtless you have heard of the bonds of our brother, 

Pastor Daniel Fuentes Espinal who, born in Honduras, 

heeded God’s call to minster among you in Maryland 

for over a decade. heard how he was stalked and taken 

into the unholy hands of masked men on the road between 

Lowes’ and McDonald’s. was shackled into the belly 

of their beast, but preached the fruits of repentance—his hope

of their finding forgiveness in Jesus—to his captors 

from his car to the cell they anonymously threw him in.

 

when such reached my ear, my spirit was greatly troubled, 

but I took comfort assured that you—his siblings in Christ—

were firmly knit in condemning such actions, tied in the unity

of securing his release from imprisonments worse than mine. 

that no disagreements could cut the knot of our fellowship. 

I was astonished to hear some among you have raised your voice

against our brother on social media, confident in the baffling belief 

our refugee Savior—who fled Judea for Egypt—would stand 

within the invisible lines you’ve drawn about both His kingdoms.

 

given all we hold holy, how in the Hell—you so vehemently 

sentence others to—have you allowed Phillip Doug to say 

our brother “is not a victim if he is in our country illegally”? or 

tolerate Todd James—a supposed minister of the Grace 

of God—claims that “Christians who have illegal paperwork 

are getting sent back to their country so they can preach the gospel

and lay their life down like the apostles did”? Miller Tonee rejoices 

that people in his congregation are self-deporting. Herb Jimzel—

whose bio proclaims he spreads God's love to orphans, the poor, 

and to those with no hope—says his family came here legally—

in all caps, with three exclamation points—sees no contradiction 

between our brother’s treatment and “the word of God.” Shawn Dale

says pastor Espinal should be glad he wasn’t shot. 

 

though I once warned the Philippians to beware the devious bitches 

in their midst and wished botched circumcisions to scar my detractors 

in Galatia, I’m uncharacteristically at a loss for words to address 

those reprobate minds who forget our brother’s skin looks more like 

our shared Savior’s than what they feign. fiery indignation scalds

my tongue to near-silence least I scandalize those of you who allow 

such slander to continue. 

 

hear the word of the LORD, set your house in order. God is faithful—

He will see to His servant, but will also remember and repay all you

have and not done, especially to those within the household of faith.

Editor’s note: This poem includes actual quotations found on social media in response to the story of Pastor Daniel, but the names of the authors of those quotations have been changed… on advice of counsel as well.

Author’s note: You can help free Pastor Daniel Fuentes Espinal by supporting his GoFundMe.

Matthew E. Henry (MEH) is the author of six poetry collections, most recently said the Frog to the scorpion. He is an educator and editor who received his MFA yet continued to spend money he didn’t have completing an MA in theology and a PhD in education. He writes about education, race, religion, and burning oppressive systems to the ground at www.MEHPoeting.com

JULIO

by Judy Strang

Screenshot provided by the poet’s son from the video he recorded.

My son told me 

he’d put on his vest and 

hooked the phone into the chest pocket facing out, 

pressed video, then strode across the narrow city street. 

That was his spontaneous choice, 

just home from his night shift, 

after parking his car across from his apartment,

after seeing two masked figures accost a person on the sidewalk.

 

In his paramedic suit and bullet proof vest with the phone-on-video,

he told them his name and pointed to his photo badge. 

He asked them to identify themselves,

looked at their badges—photo-less, flimsy, 

“Those could be printed on Etsy,” he said, “How do I know who you are?” 

They would not answer. But he got the name of the person they were taking, 

who gave it to him freely. 

My son yelled at the masked faces, “Take off your masks. 

Show us who you are.” 

And he yelled it again, venting his anger at their secrecy 

at their silence 

at their unjust power—

then it was over.

They had shoved the man into their unmarked car and were driving away.

 

My son told me

that’s when he let loose the language he’d wanted to spit in their faces. 

He threw it at their backs, watching the car disappear,

then stood there on the sidewalk, 

next to the door to the stairs leading to his apartment, 

and called the police. 

He waited for them to come so he could report the incident. 

A paramedic, he would speak his truth, 

“to serve human need, with respect for human dignity,”

and he would wonder what would happen 

to the man he would never see again 

whose name he would never forget

 

Judy Strang lives in the woods of Amherst County, VA, where she writes creative nonfiction, directs the Sourwood Forest artist residency program for the Pedlar River Institute, and works part time for the Harte Center for Teaching & Learning at Washington & Lee University (Lexington, VA). Her creative nonfiction, including What Holds Us Here: pieces from a place in the woods (Blackwell Press 2023), examines how humans understand (or not) their place within more-than-human nature.