Albert Einstein said nothing happens until something moves.
Apparently that’s true in physics as well as human trafficking.
The thing that’s killing Steven Cass, and I agree, is everyone seems to be talking about awareness now. Trafficking awareness is really a hot topic, not just in churches, but the news media in general. Everyone’s having meetings and seminars. Awareness is important, certainly. But almost NO one is actually DOING anything.
Thing is, in Mexico at least, and Latin America, things ARE moving. There is no end to the number of girls that could be saved and rescued. Right now. This minute. If we were willing.
There are no secrets, no methods, that have to be discovered. There’s no learning curve to climb.
After four years Steven has learned how to do it, where to do it, and what to do afterward—after the girls are rescued.
After rescue, you simply introduce them to Jesus. It’s the most important thing, and the ONLY thing that makes it all come together, and allows the rehabilitation phase to work.
The Son of God promised to give life, and give life more abundantly. I can’t think of anything these Twilight Treasures want or need more.
I’m sure Steven would be the first to tell you the Holy Spirit is the only person that makes the rescue phases work as well. (Even though he’s survived multiple stabbings, beatings with a baseball bat, and has a bullet fragment still imbedded in his body!)
There’s only one problem here.
At the time of my visit, there was only room for two more girls at the Rosarito safe house. Steven could go into town and “grab” FIVE more girls, or a hundred, but there’s no place to put them.
Sadly, it always comes down to money. In the end. We talked a lot about this. There are no solutions on the horizon. Other than God providing day to day.
But I have to say I was shocked to learn how much we’re supporting Breaking Chains. Financially. Did you know the ENTIRE Body of Christ has pledged to support Breaking Chains to the vast sum of 750 dollars a month?
Shame on us!
And shame on me!
An innocent little 7-year-old girl is being repeatedly raped right now on a dirty bed while you’re reading this—and she will be raped repeatedly, day in and all night long, 24/7, until we, you and me, care enough to stop it.
All of us.
Anyone, for God’s sake!!!
And we CAN do it.
After our talk up in his room, Steven went back over to the girl’s house. I stayed in his room, musing over our conversation.
I couldn’t get over the seeming hopelessness of what he’d been sharing. At that time he’d rescued around 400 girls, but there were thousands more who were waiting. And helpless—until we did something.
So how can we get involved here?
I began walking around his small room reading all the news clippings and thank you notes from Steven’s girls that are plastered all over the walls.
Tons of photos. Some were smiling, happy faces. But TOO many little faces were filled with pain and anguish.
There were some bloody bodies.
I thought I’d heard everything, but when I read about the little 7-year-old, and about a tiny torn and bloody infant who died in one journalist’s arms after being anally sodomized, I lost it.
I fell on my knees, sobbing, crying out to God. Show us what to do!
My sobbing, wracking pleas slowly evolved into hot anger at the Body of Christ. Because we, of all people, should be the ones who care enough to end the problem—or at least rescue the children.
Then, because our great God is all powerful, and all knowing, I got mad at Him next: WHY don’t you DO something!!!
Or at least change us enough to care more.
These extreme emotional responses to child trafficking had been going on for some time. Long before I went to Rosarito. But the two days at the safe house, and what I observed there, and was blessed to be able to participate in, exponentially exacerbated these emotions.
On the drive back north from San Diego to Los Angeles, I had to pull off the freeway at Dana Point.
I had a serious need to grab a cup of java and sit out on the marina’s breakwater, look out over the supposedly peaceful Pacific, and try to decompress and process everything I’d seen and experienced in Rosarito.
It wasn’t meant to be.
There was a huge Pacific tide rolling in, slamming and crashing against some large rock outcroppings out in the surf line. The rocks were holding their own against the breakers, but the birds perched on them were looking a tad nervous.
I kept wondering if there was supposed to be some spiritual meaning for me in all the majestic wet violence. Perhaps one of those cool, Ah ha! moments. But after twenty minutes I realized I was just forcing it and gave up.
God’s creation is magnificently beautiful but it’s also cruelly violent.
For now at least.
I took the rest of my coffee and drove on home.
Even before my visit to Rosarito, I realized I could no longer in clear conscious give ANY money to the established organized church.
Not mine (a really good one), not yours, not anyone’s. No more. No longer.
According to an article in Reject Apathy magazine by Nathan George, entitled “Fair Trade Churches”, there are about 138 million church attendees in the USA. They have a collective income of $2.5 trillion. If they were a nation, they’d be the 7th richest. They give just under 3% of their income in church offerings. Of that, only 4% ends up outside the church walls. (0.12%)
It’ll be a great day for the Kingdom of God when every last one of these mausoleums shutters their doors and goes out of business. And their professional staffs have to find real jobs.
Maybe then, the Body of Christ will discover the excitement and joy of being led by the Holy Spirit who resides in all believers. And not some man, creed, tradition or institution. Maybe then we’ll change the world in one generation like the first century church.
End world hunger. End human trafficking.
My gifts and offerings to God now go directly to Him. (Actually to little brown hands in this case.) Not to professional intermediaries, no matter how good and useful they may be.
The trip to Rosarito only confirmed and ratified that decision.
So, today as I write this, I’m swinging helplessly back and forth from uncontrollable sobbing on one extreme to near-violent rage and anger at the Body of Christ for allowing trafficking to continue. To continue while we spend God’s money and our offerings to Him on building programs, staff salaries, and all the attendant “Christian” ministries and programs that are so urgently necessary and essential to our faith. Yeah, right!!!
I know most people will not agree with me about this. You too, perhaps.
Personally however, after the last abortion, and the last hungry child in the world goes to bed with a full stomach, and the last little innocent girl is anally, vaginally, and orally raped and sodomized you can do whatever the hell you want to do with your money and I won’t give a damn. You can pay your professional priests and spiritual guidance directors, sports and music pastors as much as you want, but first, PLEASE, let’s join together and get that precious, innocent little 7-year-old girl out from under that rutting bastard.
Let’s give (at least some, and preferably a lot) of our money-to-God offerings to Steven and Breaking Chains.org and rescue the rest of his “daughters” from the streets and brothels of Latin America.
Oh my, my, my… Will they ever rejoice and be glad. Like the Twilight Treasures in that house in Rosarito. I wish you could see their faces and listen to their joy! Especially the four-year-old. There’s a father that loves them! Well, two, counting Steven.
Remember two things if you’re fortunate to go down there. One, listen CAREFULLY to Steven. (Ha.) And, two, hang on to your heart. If that four-year-old gets it you’ll never see it again.
God bless you!
Remember to the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.
So be it!
Coming next: Breaking Chains.org Updates. New paradigms in the fight against sex trafficking.