Across the country, it seems everyone is up in arms about immigrants and refugees. The issue is often framed as a political debate. But for Christians, how we care for outsiders is far more than a policy question.
The Gospel doesn’t just shape how white and Black Americans see each other in our culture, or how we view people in other nations. It also shapes how followers of Christ view migrant men and women living among us.
Even a cursory reading of the Old Testament—combined with a clear understanding of Christ’s cross in the New Testament—should call into question the way many Christians in our culture approach immigration. Beyond the confusion and division in our political discourse, our personal lives often reflect little concern for the sojourner in our midst.
Russell Moore once wrote that the Christian response to immigrant neighbors has been akin to saying, “You kids get off my lawn,” in Spanish. But if the God of the Bible shows particular compassion for immigrants—equating them with orphans and widows—and if the cross of Christ compels us to reach across ethnic and cultural divides, then how much more should the people of God care for immigrants in our communities?
Consider the story of Sam and Lucas.
They live in Mexico in the midst of desperate poverty, unable to provide for their wives and children. One day, a friend tells them he knows a way for them to get jobs in the United States. There, they could earn enough to support their families from afar. With no other options, they say goodbye to their loved ones and leave.
Weeks later, they’re lying in the back of an old SUV, hidden under a blanket as the truck bumps down a rural road. Eventually, they arrive at the rear entrance of a popular restaurant, where the owner steps outside. After a brief conversation with the driver, the owner hands him some cash, then opens the back door of the SUV. He uncovers the men and tells them to get out quickly.
Inside the restaurant, the owner gives them a quick meal and introduces their new reality: busing tables and washing dishes. After they eat, he drives them to a run-down house they’ll share with a group of other workers. “I’ll pick you up at 10 a.m.,” he says, and drives off.
Sam and Lucas now have a new life. Every day, they’re shuttled between the house and the restaurant. It’s a well-known place, filled with glowing reviews and all kinds of customers—people like you and me. But amid the bustle, no one notices them. No one knows their names. They are invisible. They send home as much money as they can, numbing their isolation through alcohol and prostitution.
It’s not my intent to stereotype migrant workers—this is a true story, but of course not every Latino dishwasher has lived the same experience. Nor is it my aim to oversimplify the plight of immigrants or the complex challenge of how to support them. And I’m not proposing comprehensive political answers to the legislative gridlock that surrounds illegal immigration.
But I am saying the Gospel has something to say about all of it—especially for those like Sam and Lucas. In the midst of political division and personal disagreement, the Gospel reminds us that immigrants, legal or illegal, are men and women made in God’s image and pursued by His grace. Followers of Christ must see immigrants not as problems to be solved but as people to be loved.
The Gospel compels us to reject any form of oppression, exploitation, bigotry or harassment of immigrants, regardless of their legal status. These are people for whom Christ died, and their dignity is equal to our own.
Their families are equally important. Many immigrants—like Sam and Lucas—have come to the U.S. for understandable reasons, fleeing economic desperation and political instability to keep their families alive. Others arrived years ago and now have families here.
I think of Ricardo, a follower of Christ and father of five children, three of whom are U.S. citizens. He entered the country illegally more than 20 years ago and has spent those decades supporting his family and serving in his community. If he returned to his village in Mexico now, he would be resigning himself and his family to poverty.
His other option would be to split up his family, leaving his children behind with a neighbor. Surely, if the Gospel compels us to respect the dignity of immigrants, it also compels us to protect their families.
This is all complicated by immigration laws that are outdated and out of step with today’s labor market. Combine that with selective enforcement of these laws, and it’s clear to most—regardless of political leaning—that our system needs reform.
Even here, the Gospel isn’t silent. The Bible teaches that governments exist under God’s authority to establish and uphold laws for the good of the people (see Romans 13:1-7). We have a responsibility as citizens to help shape laws that are just. That includes securing our borders, holding employers accountable for hiring practices, and taking steps to ensure fairness for taxpaying citizens.
At the same time, we have a responsibility to reject and reform laws that are unjust and oppressive toward immigrants. Failing to act on either side of this equation is a failure of justice—and justice is a Gospel issue.
I don’t pretend there are easy answers. But I do believe the Gospel requires us to wrestle with these questions. Regardless of where you land politically, we’re talking about our neighbors—and Jesus was very clear about how we should treat them.
As long as immigrants—documented or undocumented—live among us by God’s sovereign design (see Acts 17:26-27), we are compelled to love them as we love ourselves (see Luke 10:25-37).
