Immigration

We bring our prayers to Creator God, who both "takes up our pain and bears our suffering" and will "let justice roll down like a river."

We bring our prayers to Creator God, who both "takes up our pain and bears our suffering" and will "let justice roll down like a river."

It has been a chaotic couple months for our government and the entire U.S. As negotiations continue for the federal government to be funded beyond February 15, we as people of faith must hold fast to that which we know to be true about our identity and calling.

The following story is a real account of what happened, although for the safety of those involved we have chosen not to use their names. The story can also be found in Spanish below the English version, since the stories were first shared with us in Spanish by the Costa Rican man mentioned in them.

Like most Sundays, I’m at the piano leading my congregation in worship. The lights are lowered in the gym-turned-sanctuary where we worship.

Many are wondering what Christians who are far from the U.S. southern border can do to seek justice and support the dignity of those who are migrating.

Here are a few ideas:

1) Pray

If you’re wondering what to say, and how to say it, when praying for the “migrant caravan” during Sunday worship, these words might help:

This year I took a leap of faith. I’m starting a new season of life and taking a humbling journey of hustling to be a social entrepreneur.

The U.S. Supreme Court recently upheld President Donald Trump’s travel ban in a 5-4 vote. It restricts entry of citizens from seven countries to varying degrees: Iran, North Korea, Syria, Libya, Yemen, Somalia, and Venezuela. Most of these countries are Muslim majority nations.

“In the last days, God says,
I will pour out my Spirit on all people.
Your sons and daughters will prophesy,
your young men will see visions,
your old men will dream dreams.”

Houston has a large and growing Muslim population. My little suburban corner of the city is no exception. Recently I was shopping in my local grocery store and no less than five Muslim women walked past me wearing headscarves.

As we stood together studying the stunning variety of breakfast cereals I had to admit, I felt a little jealous. As a Reformed pastor and theologian I don’t get a uniform. No hat. No collar. Nothing.