I sometimes preach under an urban bridge where about 50 undocumented Hispanics hang out, craving day jobs. On Saturday mornings, the local Spanish Nazarene church provides a meal for the men, despite the intimidation of Minutemen (private individuals who monitor the flow of illegal immigrants). In Spanish, they hear a Word from the Lord, have prayer, and go off to work, often in the care of some stranger who comes cruising by, looking for cheap labor. At the end of the day, their employer may or may not pay up. “No pay” is a familiar lament.

Recently, I accompanied a Nazarene brother to a deportation hearing. He and his family overextended their visa 13 years ago. He is a homeowner and the father-inlaw of a Nazarene pastor. He has grandchildren born in this country. His beautiful daughter, now ready for college, is unable to receive educational benefits. She sees herself as an American and remembers nothing of her life in Mexico. She worries how her age will soon affect her status in the eyes of American immigration law.

My friend was picked up for an old boating fine and thrown in jail. A policeman thought he looked suspicious while pausing to identify the house where he was hired to lay carpet. The prior fine had been paid, but was never processed. Documents were presented to exonerate him, but his case was turned over to the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS). He was held for several more days, and was finally extricated, for a $5,000 bond. While in jail, he led five men to Jesus Christ, and was released late, because the new Christians probed him with lots of questions about the faith.

At his deportation hearing, 50 scared people were crowded into a repository room. The nine o’clock appointment stretched out to 11:30 when five of the accused were summoned into the court room. I accompanied my friend with a prepared text as a character witness.

Much to my surprise, we saw no physical judge. Only a TV screen about 15 feet away, showing the tiny figure of a judge behind his desk engrossed in signing documents. Finally, he asked the names of all present for their addresses and their lawyers. Why, he asked, had the accused not brought them? The translator had difficulty keeping up with the proceedings. Misunderstandings compounded in translation, generating further confusion and fear. My friend tried to introduce me, but was ignored. The accused were told to leave and come back in 16 months—with their lawyers. In the meantime, they had the option of getting out of the country. My friend walked out as confused as when he walked in.

Upon later reflection, I was elated that the prayers of the Christian community had staved off an immediate decision. We had bought time, and God’s ways can trump bureaucratic processes. We await further answers to prayer.

The immigration issue is complex. But it forces us to decide our primary allegiance: whether we are Christians first or citizens. The United States has a right to control its borders. It also has the punitive rights to respond to those who violate its laws. Any Christian needs to help his brother or sister examine the whole range of options in dealing with a legal setting that is constantly changing and morphing from state to state, including regularizing one’s legal status or returning to their country of origin.

Unfortunately, there are many people caught in the collateral damage of our laws, who have no guilt in and of themselves. Many immigrants come to us out of conditions of danger and hope that would drive many of us to respond in the same fashion under the same circumstances.

As the Church of the Nazarene ministers among immigrants, it will continue to struggle with a myriad of immigration issues. There are no easy answers. However, our first response must always be to minister with grace and love, and not with legalities. God offers us not only justice, but mercy, that we, in turn, extend to others. Indeed, as members of the family of God, immigrants are our brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, and our children. And in our extended grace to these who have so little voice, we may discover “angels unaware.” I have!

by Fletcher L. Tink
Executive director, Bresee Institude of Metro Ministries