The current geopolitical moment is fraught with risk. Might has once again gained the upper hand over right. The United Nations has been weakened. Many states, first and foremost the United States, have disengaged from multilateralism and humanitarian efforts, losing interest and credibility to act for peace.

Simultaneously, armed violence and conflict have engulfed numerous nations, including the Democratic Republic of Congo and Rwanda, Pakistan and India, Thailand and Cambodia, Azerbaijan and Armenia, Ethiopia, the Central African Republic, Sudan, and throughout the Middle East.

In this vacuum of moral leadership, the evangelical church is uniquely positioned to step forward. Today’s moment calls for a senior, strategic, and well-resourced evangelical response to the growing threat of violent conflict. We owe it to our brothers and sisters suffering from armed violence and sometimes fighting one another.

My proposal

I propose forming an Evangelical Board of Peace, not as a show of might, because we don’t have might as the world understands might, but as an embodiment of God’s righteousness and his power.

This body would be comprised of evangelical church and ministry leaders, committed evangelicals who previously served in politics and government, and representatives of global evangelical communions and associations such as the World Evangelical Alliance, the Baptist World Alliance, the Pentecostal World Fellowship, and Global Anglicans.

We live in a hyper-connected world where evangelicals have unique and organic access to conflict areas. Evangelical churches are deeply invested in missions, development projects, humanitarian aid, and persecution relief.

Churches in Texas alone have partnerships that reach remote villages in Africa and neighborhoods in megacities. The partnership between Texas Baptists and Ukrainian Baptists is both extensive and illustrative of how connected the global church family is to conflict zones.

Evangelicals possess something governments often lack—trusted relationships at the grassroots and access to leaders across divides.

Through missions, humanitarian partnerships, and church networks, we are present in refugee camps, rural villages, urban centers, and even near the corridors of political power. Our influence, generosity, solidarity, practical unity, and access are real. What is missing is the institutional structure to leverage them for peacemaking diplomacy.

What’s already happening

This is not theoretical. Across the world, local evangelical leaders are already engaged in courageous and fragile peacemaking efforts.

This month, armed violence has resurfaced between the Kukis and Nagas in Manipur, India, both majority Christian tribal groups. Christian leaders who have been mediating peace efforts for decades reached out to 21Wilberforce for support in strengthening domestic peacemaking efforts.

In South Sudan, violence between the government and opposition has reignited fears of another civil war. Bishop Arkangelo Lemi has been at the forefront of peacemaking for decades. When we spoke to him, he appealed for global support so local church leaders could weigh in more effectively on the warring parties to end their violence.

In a war-torn Middle Eastern nation, Christian converts have been rounded up and detained by an armed group. International prayer partners are seeking access to this group to mediate the release of the detained believers.

In 2021, a senior evangelical leader from Ethiopia, alongside Orthodox church leaders, attempted—and failed—to prevent conflict between the government and the Tigray groups.

In 2025, senior Congolese evangelicals, in collaboration with the Congolese Catholic Church, mediated between the Congolese president and the Rwandan president.

In each of these cases, courageous leaders stepped forward. What was missing was not faith. It was a global support structure.

What structure can accomplish

An Evangelical Board of Peace could engage when it is too dangerous for local churches to do so, or come alongside national evangelical peacemakers with strategic, diplomatic, and relational support.

It could manage the vast web of relationships and networks within the global church family, reaching stakeholders across divides and inviting them to the table of negotiation. It could create trusted spaces and forums where off-ramps from violence become possible.

Many government officials and even armed group leaders are, quietly and privately, waiting for such a phone call, for an impartial and credible moral authority to offer a path toward de-escalation. It would be yet another tragedy if that call never comes.

The evangelical church has the relationships, the reach, and the moral credibility. What we lack is the structure to act at scale.

It is time to build an Evangelical Board of Peace.

Wissam al-Saliby is president of 21Wilberforce, a Christian organization advocating for religious freedom and human rights.

Ash Wednesday has a word for us as we vote in the primary elections this year. It’s a word we’d rather ignore in favor of the partying and feasting of Fat Tuesday. We ignore Ash Wednesday’s word to our detriment. Instead, we should heed its message and put it into practice.

What is Ash Wednesday?

We may not know much more about Ash Wednesday than the black “smudge” we see on people’s foreheads one day in late winter. We may assume Ash Wednesday is “a Catholic thing,” and if we’re not Catholic, think it has nothing to do with us. But that would be a mistake.

It is true Ash Wednesday has its roots in the Roman Catholic Church, being instituted as the beginning of Lent by Pope Gregory in A.D. 601. It’s also true Ash Wednesday is a more common observance in liturgical churches. However, some nonliturgical churches have also taken up the practice because of what it signifies.

Ash Wednesday is a reminder of our humanity, our finitude, our creatureliness. On this day, ashes are applied to a person’s forehead in the sign of a cross. The ashes are made from what’s left after burning the palm branches waved in celebration of Jesus the year before.

The one applying the ashes traditionally says some variation of, “Remember, you are dust, and to dust you will return” (Genesis 3:19).

The applying of ashes on the forehead is not merely a religious ritual. It is based on the Old Testament practice of sitting or covering oneself in ashes as a sign or expression of contrition, repentance, or mourning. No wonder we prefer to ignore it.

But we shouldn’t ignore it. The purpose of the ashes and the accompanying prayer, fasting, and meditation is to be honest about ourselves. It is intended to focus our minds on who we are in relation to God. God is our Creator. We are God’s creation. God is holy. We are prone to sin and are dependent on God’s grace. Ash Wednesday reminds us to be humble.

Elections don’t run on humility

This isn’t the first year elections have taken place in the early days of Lent. But this year, the dissonance of their juxtaposition caught my attention.

If you’re like me, your mailbox, inbox, text messages, and voicemail have been overflowing with political ads. If you’re receiving what I’m receiving, you’re not seeing or hearing much, if any, Ash Wednesday-type humility in any of it.

What we’re seeing and hearing is carefully researched messaging and marketing. Political campaigns study what is most likely to get us to vote for their candidates, and they message toward that end. Notice, humility doesn’t factor into their message. No one is selling us a humble candidate. And they won’t until we vote for humble candidates.

Instead, we vote for the boastful. So, each candidate or their campaign is trying to out-Republican or out-Democrat their same-party opponents. They tout their credentials as truer to the cause than the rest. Plenty of them brag and mudsling. Some of them call themselves Christian. From among them, we will reward our chosen candidates with our vote.

When was the last time a candidate was advised to “go out there and be humble?” When was the last time a contrite candidate, a humble candidate won an election? I’m not saying it has never happened, but it’s certainly not common. It might be more so if we voted for it.

Ash Wednesday’s word for us

Our elections are an expression of our culture, and ours is not a humble culture, even among Christians. Ours is not an Ash Wednesday, a fasting-and-repentance culture. So, a candidate can trumpet how uber-Republican or uber-Democrat he or she is, call themselves a Christian, and no one notices the dissonance.

We can “amen” the preacher who proclaims, “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6), then turn around and throw our support behind the proudest candidate. Without noticing the dissonance … or by justifying it.

If we were to stop long enough to observe Ash Wednesday, to contemplate our human finitude and our dependence on God’s grace, we might come face to face with the dissonance between what we proclaim and how we vote. No wonder we want to skip it.

I want to skip it. I don’t want to face my creatureliness, and I don’t like fasting and repentance, either. I really don’t like fasting. I’ll do it for a medical procedure, but only because I have to. There’s some dissonance right there, my willingness to fast for a doctor and my reluctance to fast for God. I’d call that a digression, but it’s precisely the point.

It’s like I wrote last week and is apropos again this week: “I wish I was perfect so I could write this editorial without any hint of hypocrisy.” But I’m not perfect, and I don’t have a high horse to sit on and opine. I, too, need to hear Ash Wednesday’s word and put it into practice.

Practicing Ash Wednesday

I don’t know much or anything about the private religious practices of the candidates on the current ballot. I only know what I see and hear of them in public.

I don’t see or hear much in the flood of political ads in my mailbox, inbox, text messages, or voicemail to indicate the candidates are given to fasting and repentance. Including from some who identify themselves as Christian.

What I see and hear are people appealing to who you and I are privately and publicly. What these people see is we’ve been taught to sell ourselves by any means necessary and that humility is weakness, not strength. They see this even among Christians. Ash Wednesday has something to say about that.

Ash Wednesday opens the season of Lent—40 days of repentant preparation culminating in Holy Week: Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Even Better Sunday. How ironic it would be for us to give our minds to Christ and our votes to the world.

You and I may not have ashes applied to our foreheads today. Nevertheless, we can be people of prayer, fasting, repentance, and humility—people shaped by Jesus who reflect Jesus to the world.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

Our current cultural and political climate has raised a persistent question for me: Do I need to be an expert in immigration law?

I am the son of two immigrant parents who dreamed, risked, and fought for what they understood to be the “American dream.” Whatever one thinks of that phrase, it remains deeply compelling to people around the world who simply want a way out of poverty, persecution, or war.

I am also a pastor in downtown Fort Worth. The current climate—ICE raids, shifting immigration policies, the posture of our federal government, the pain I see on the news, and the relentless churn of social media—has forced me to ask, not only, “What do I say?” But also: “What am I responsible to know? Do I really need to become an expert in immigration law in order to speak faithfully?”

Alongside that question is a quieter but heavier rumbling: “How do I speak up? What if I don’t know enough? What if I get it wrong?”

Those questions weigh on me as a Latino, a husband, a father, and a pastor trying to shepherd people through a cultural moment marked by fear, anger, confusion, and—if we’re honest—apathy.

The church’s citizenship

My experience is hardly unique. Many of us are bombarded with sensationalist headlines, ill-informed hot takes, and a flood of emotions: outrage, exhaustion, and fear. And yet, we were never meant to be experts on every social issue of our day. God has not called his people to provide a comprehensive answer to every political debate.

Although the church has something to say about every cultural and political issue, the church serves a higher purpose than simply reacting to the culture around it.

Being a Christian means you belong to the church—the ekklēsia—a word that historically referred to a political gathering of citizens. Scripture describes believers as citizens of another kingdom, a people whose ultimate allegiance does not rest with any nation-state but with the kingdom of God.

This reality orders our lives and shapes the lens through which we see the world.

As a Christian, I may never become an expert in U.S. immigration law. I am, however, responsible for being formed by the politics, values, and ethics of the kingdom to which I claim allegiance. That means every issue—immigration included—must be viewed not primarily through a partisan lens but through a kingdom one.

What kingdom politics means

Kingdom politics has something to say about how we treat immigrants, sojourners, and the vulnerable. Scripture is unambiguous on this point. God consistently identifies himself as one who defends the outsider and calls his people to reflect that same posture. Our first concern must not be whether a policy benefits us, aligns with our political tribe, or preserves our comfort.

I’ve watched immigrant families flee violence, navigate a maze of paperwork, and wait in fear of the next policy change. Their stories remind us, debates about “immigration” are never abstract. They are about image-bearers with names, faces, and futures.

As citizens of the heavenly kingdom, we live as temporary residents—the Bible’s language is “sojourners and exiles”—in earthly kingdoms, and our values will at times feel out of step with the dominant culture.

Our identity should shape how we engage our neighbors, especially the marginalized.

Language that dehumanizes entire ethnic groups of people, fearmongering toward specific people groups, or an obsession with preserving “heritage” at the expense of human dignity makes little sense for people whose citizenship is grounded, not in bloodline or border, but in a heavenly kingdom.

Kingdom politics leads us to lean in rather than shrink back from public life. But our actions must not be driven by blind loyalty to a party or personality.

We are called to live out our faith with wisdom, winsomeness, and hope. So, yes, vote, protest, raise concerns, call out injustice, and pray for our nation and its leaders—all in light of an eternal kingdom that will outlast every administration.

What to be experts in

Instead of trying to master every legal detail or outsourcing our formation to social media algorithms, we can begin with proximity. Learn about immigration through relationships, not just headlines. Find an organization in your city serving refugees, asylum seekers, or undocumented families. Volunteer your time. Open your home. Share a meal. Listen before you argue.

Do these things because your allegiance to the kingdom of heaven demands it.

Is it necessary for Christians to become experts in immigration law before we can speak with confidence and clarity on these issues? No.

However, we must become experts in welcoming the outcast, confronting injustice, defending the vulnerable, and recognizing the image of God in every person.

The deeper question is not whether Christians can recite immigration policy, but whether our politics—our posture, our language, and our actions—reflect the kingdom to which we claim allegiance and the neighbors Christ calls us to love.

Joel Suárez is the engagement pastor at Paradox Church in Fort Worth. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

Nuestro clima cultural y político actual ha planteado una pregunta persistente para mí: ¿Necesito ser un experto en derecho migratorio?

Soy hijo de dos padres inmigrantes que soñaron, arriesgaron y lucharon por lo que entendían como el “sueño americano”. Sea lo que sea que uno piense, esa frase sigue siendo profundamente convincente para personas de todo el mundo que simplemente desean una salida a la pobreza, la persecución o la guerra.

También soy pastor en el centro de Fort Worth. El clima actual—redadas de ICE, políticas migratorias cambiantes, la postura de nuestro gobierno federal, el dolor que veo en las noticias y el incesante torbellino de las redes sociales—me ha obligado a preguntarme no solo: ¿Qué digo? sino también: ¿De qué soy responsable de saber? ¿Realmente necesito convertirme en un experto en derecho migratorio para hablar con fidelidad?

Junto a esa pregunta, hay un murmullo más silencioso, pero más pesado: ¿Cómo alzo la voz? ¿Y si no sé lo suficiente? ¿Y si me equivoco?

Esas preguntas pesan sobre mí como latino, esposo, padre y pastor que intenta pastorear a las personas en medio de un momento cultural marcado por el miedo, la ira, la confusión y—si somos honestos—la apatía.

La ciudadanía de la iglesia

Mi experiencia no es única. Muchos de nosotros estamos siendo bombardeados con titulares sensacionalistas, opiniones apresuradas y mal informadas y una avalancha de emociones: indignación, agotamiento y miedo. Y, sin embargo, nunca se supuso que fuéramos expertos en cada asunto social de nuestro tiempo. Dios no ha llamado a su pueblo a tener una respuesta integral a cada debate político o cultural.

Aunque la iglesia tiene algo que decir sobre cada cuestión cultural y política, la iglesia cumple un propósito más alto que simplemente reaccionar ante la cultura que la rodea.

Ser cristiano significa que perteneces a la iglesia—la ekklēsia—una palabra que históricamente se refería a una asamblea política de ciudadanos. La Escritura describe a los creyentes como ciudadanos de otro reino, un pueblo cuya lealtad última no descansa en ningún estado-nación, sino en el reino de Dios.

Esta realidad ordena nuestras vidas y da forma al lente a través del cual vemos el mundo.

Como cristiano, puede que nunca llegue a ser un experto en la ley migratoria de los Estados Unidos. Sin embargo, soy responsable de ser formado por la política, los valores y la ética del reino al que digo que pertenezco. Eso significa que cada tema—incluida la inmigración—debe verse no principalmente a través de un lente basado en nuestro partido político, sino a través de un lente del reino.

Qué significa la política del reino

La política del reino tiene algo que decir sobre cómo tratamos a los inmigrantes, a los forasteros y a los vulnerables. La Escritura es inequívoca en este punto. Dios se identifica constantemente como aquel que defiende al extranjero y llama a su pueblo a reflejar esa misma postura. Nuestra primera preocupación no debe ser si una política nos beneficia, se alinea con nuestra tribu política o preserva nuestra comodidad.

He visto a familias inmigrantes huir de la violencia, navegar por un laberinto de trámites y esperar con miedo el próximo cambio de política. Sus historias nos recuerdan que los debates sobre la “inmigración” nunca son abstractos. Se trata de portadores de la imagen de Dios, con nombres, rostros y futuros.

Como ciudadanos del reino de los cielos, vivimos como residentes temporales—el lenguaje bíblico es “extranjeros y peregrinos”—en reinos terrenales, y nuestros valores a veces se sentirán fuera de la cultura dominante.

Nuestra identidad debe moldear la manera en que nos relacionamos con nuestros vecinos, especialmente con los marginados.

El lenguaje que deshumaniza a grupos étnicos enteros, el sembrar miedo hacia grupos específicos de personas o una obsesión por preservar la “herencia” nacional a costa de la dignidad humana tienen poco sentido para un pueblo cuya ciudadanía está fundada, no en una línea de sangre ni en una frontera, sino en un reino celestial.

La política del reino nos lleva a involucrarnos, no a replegarnos, de la vida pública. Pero nuestras acciones no deben estar impulsadas por una lealtad ciega a un partido o a una personalidad.

Estamos llamados a vivir nuestra fe con sabiduría, gracia y esperanza. Así que sí: vota, protesta, denuncia la injusticia y ora por nuestra nación y sus líderes, todo a la luz de un reino eterno que existirá más allá de cualquier administración.

Cómo participar como ciudadanos del reino

En lugar de intentar dominar cada detalle legal u otorgar a los algoritmos de las redes sociales la responsabilidad de nuestra formación, podemos comenzar con la proximidad.

Aprende sobre la inmigración a través de relaciones, no solo de titulares. Busca una organización en tu ciudad que brinde asistencia a refugiados, solicitantes de asilo o familias indocumentadas. Ofrece tu tiempo como voluntario. Abre tu casa. Comparte una comida. Escucha antes de discutir.

Haz estas cosas porque tu lealtad al reino de los cielos así lo exige.

¿Es necesario que los cristianos se conviertan en expertos en derecho migratorio antes de que podamos hablar con confianza y claridad sobre estos temas? No.

Sin embargo, sí debemos convertirnos en expertos en acoger al excluido, confrontar la injusticia, defender al vulnerable y reconocer la imagen de Dios en cada persona.

La pregunta no es si los cristianos pueden recitar la política migratoria, sino si nuestra política—nuestra postura, nuestro lenguaje y nuestras acciones—refleja el reino al que decimos pertenecer y a los vecinos a quienes Cristo nos llama a amar.

Joel Suárez es el pastor de involucramiento de la Iglesia Paradox en Fort Worth. Las opiniones expresadas en este artículo de opinión son las del autor.

Lately, I’ve felt a quiet grief rising in me, not primarily over immigration policy itself, though I hate the pain and suffering and assault on God’s image I’ve seen, but over what it’s doing to the church.

I’m watching Christians choose sides and then choose suspicion. Choose caricature. Choose political teams over the Lord’s table.

The temptation is strong: You’re passionate about what you believe, and if you want to “win,” you pick a side with power. In our context, that essentially means Republican or Democrat.

And once you pick a team, the script writes itself. You inherit the talking points. You inherit the outrage. You inherit the algorithms. You inherit the enemies.

And you don’t love your enemies.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, you begin fighting the wars of the powers and principalities.

And immigrants continue to suffer, seen as issues of policy and not images of God. ICE agents get dehumanized and hated. Other innocent people get caught in the crossfire. And the church looks just like everyone else.

I’m realizing the real issue that concerns me is, not immigration policy, not ICE, not woke versus anti-woke. It’s ecclesial fracture under political pressure.

I’m not afraid of a beastly state as much as I’m afraid of a beastly church.

The greatest danger

I don’t think the greatest danger in this moment is that Christians will disagree about immigration enforcement. The greatest danger is we will lose the ability to love one another while we disagree. That’s a far deeper spiritual crisis.

The problem is, some who have already chosen a team will insist true Christians could never disagree with them and be faithful. But in many issues, faithful believers can land in different places on policy details, because issues are usually more nuanced than we let them be.

Even if they aren’t, you can be faithful and wrong, or right and unfaithful.

Faithfulness isn’t measured by accuracy but by love. Even for our enemies.

Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.

If you’re right and you’re not loving, you’re wrong.

Romans 13 and Revelation 13

In Romans 13, governing authorities are described as servants of God, restraining evil and maintaining order. Authority is real. The state has a limited but necessary role. It bears the sword. It keeps the peace.

But Revelation 13 shows us something else. There, political authority becomes beastly because it demands ultimate allegiance, mimics divine imagery, and persecutes faithful witness.

Government can function as servant or as beast. What makes the difference? Allegiance.

Romans 13 describes delegated authority—authority under God. Revelation 13 exposes idolatrous authority—authority that competes with God.

The beast is not simply powerful, it demands allegiance. It is worshiped. It receives devotion. It shapes identity. Here is where the church must be very careful.

When we begin to speak as if our political tribe is the guardian of righteousness; when we treat policy disagreement as spiritual betrayal; when our emotional energy, imagination, and hope are tethered as tightly to a party or a policy as to Christ, we are drifting from Romans 13 into Revelation 13 territory.

Not because we vote or protest or counter-protest, not because we care about law, but because our allegiance has shifted.

How political tribes train us

What troubles me most right now is not that Christians are thinking deeply about immigration. It’s that we are letting political tribes disciple us in how to think, feel, and treat others.

Political tribes train us to simplify complex realities. They teach us which stories to amplify and which to ignore. They teach us how to view the other side. They reward outrage and punish nuance. Once we absorb that formation, loving across disagreement becomes nearly impossible. Demonization follows quickly.

If you support stricter enforcement, you must hate immigrants. If you criticize enforcement methods, you must be anti-law and unconcerned about trafficking or drug trade.

Motives are assumed. Minds and hearts are judged. People’s relationship with Jesus is questioned. That is spiritual poison.

The church’s higher call

The church is called to something more demanding.

We are not called to abandon civic engagement. We do not withdraw from public life. But we must refuse to give our allegiance to nations and parties—things that were only ever meant to serve.

The state is a peacekeeper. It restrains harm through force and law. That role is limited and external. The church is called to be a peacemaker.

We embody cruciform love. We honor the image of God in every person—immigrant, citizen, officer, protester. We tell the truth. We refuse propaganda. We grieve suffering wherever it appears. We do not trade a person for a policy.

This does not mean we avoid hard conversations. It means we have them differently. It means we can hold strong convictions and still break bread. It means we can say, “Help me understand what you fear,” instead of, “You are the problem.” It means we refuse contempt, even when we are convinced the other person is wrong.

That kind of love is not sentimental. It is costly. It requires dying to the need to win. It requires humility—the recognition we, too, are vulnerable to the powers.

Our most radical witness

Perhaps the most radical witness the church can offer in this moment is not a unified immigration platform, but a unified love, a community where sharp disagreement does not fracture fellowship, where political loyalty never outruns loyalty to Christ, where Caesar may have his coin, but God always has our lives.

Immigration policy will continue to be debated. Elections will come and go. Nations will rise and fall. But the credibility of our witness depends on whether we love one another in the midst of it all.

We are to be known for our love for one another. Christians must lead the way of love in all things. Not because love wins arguments. But because love is how we follow Jesus and make him known to the world.

Nick Acker, a native Texan, is co-lead pastor of Grace Ventura Church in Ventura, Calif., adjunct faculty member at Stark College and Seminary, a resident fellow at East Texas Baptist University’s B.H. Carroll Theological Seminary, and author of Exegeting Orality: Interpreting the Inspired Words of Scripture in Light of Their Oral Traditional Origins. He finds his greatest joy in his wife and three children. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

“God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness …’ So, God created the human in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them” (Genesis 1:26-27).

In the beginning, God created humans—us—in God’s image.

We’ve been qualifying “human” ever since. As if God’s image is so small a thing it can’t be found in all of us.

To qualify who or what counts as “human” is to diminish God’s image, which ultimately is to dishonor God.

If we call ourselves “Christian,” we must strive to honor God. Part of honoring God is honoring God’s image. The greatest commandment and its close second tell us how to do that: Love God with our whole being, and love one another as we love ourselves.

As I explained in my previous editorial, this love is agape. It is sacrificial love. It is not easy love, which I would qualify with quotation marks as “love.” Easy “love” is usually not love at all.

Agape is how God loved and loves us before we love anything else. It is not a love that comes naturally to us. Qualifying, and thereby diminishing, God’s image is as natural to us as breathing.

How we diminish God’s image

We diminish God’s image when we assign worth based on wealth, place of birth, heritage, intelligence, race, nationality, religion, gender, education, attractiveness, health, athleticism, or any number of other qualifiers. God’s image in us precedes and supersedes any and all of them.

If a person looks like this, sounds like that, lives there, wears this, believes that, votes the other way, we have a propensity to deem that person less-than-human, or at least worth less than us.

We may not say it in those words. Instead, we may say it in code, with euphemisms. Or we may not speak it at all. Instead, we may display it with our facial expressions, our body language, our behaviors. Or we may encode it in policy.

Many of us do not intend to minimize God’s image in the people around us. We may be unaware of what we are communicating. Those who care about people and do not want to harm them want to know when they have done wrong so they can do and be better.

Others of us do intend to diminish other people. Those who care most about themselves knowingly dehumanize and hurt others as a means of feeling superior, gaining or retaining power, or out of sheer hatred or disgust. They know exactly what they are doing and have no intention of apologizing for it.

Any who call themselves “Christian” must not be among the latter group. Any who identify themselves with Christ must be among those who receive correction and seek to set right the wrong.

I wish I was perfect so I could write this editorial without any hint of hypocrisy. The truth is, I’ve been a Christian and have worked on this very issue in myself for decades, and I still have so far to go.

How not to diminish God’s image

Over many years and through many lessons—some hard and embarrassing, some gracious and joyful—I’ve come to see every person bears God’s image. I see God’s image in every shade of skin. I hear God’s image in the many languages spoken, written, sung, and signed.

When I pay attention to the person in front of me, when I really see the person, I often encounter God’s image in the histories, heritage, and culture of people from around the world.

I’ve learned to question and reject stereotypes and caricatures of people unlike me. And I’m still learning.

One thing I know for sure: There is more joy in finding, seeing, and celebrating God’s image in each other than in disparaging one another.

We honor God and God’s image when we value each person as God values them. Racist memes, caricatures, and so-called jokes don’t honor God or God’s image. Ethnic slurs and profiling don’t either. Christians are not above reproach here.

We can acknowledge none of us alone displays the whole of God’s image, and what portion of God’s image each of us conveys is marred by sin.

The color of our skin is not sin. The sound of our language is not sin. Our gender is not sin. Sin is when we violate God’s law. Sin is when we disobey what Scripture clearly commands.

We are constantly presented with the opportunity to see God’s image in the people around us. Too often, however, we allow God’s image to be obscured by our differences, disagreements, and disputes.

We’re not likely to be free of our differences, disagreements, or disputes any time soon. Even with them, we are free to set them aside to look for God’s image in each person and to honor it as the sacred thing it is.

Some suggestions

To honor God and God’s image in each other requires us to regard one another with agape, the love God demonstrates toward us.

To practice that love, to practice seeing and beholding God’s image in others, I’ve found the following helpful:

♦ Go to a restaurant featuring food from another culture or country and ask for a traditional dish made in the traditional way. And eat it. You can go a step further by asking about the significance of the dish. Often, it is a comfort food or a celebratory food. Comfort and celebration are gifts from God. What a gift to find new comfort and celebration.

♦  Attend worship at a church of another culture, language, ethnicity, or nationality. Don’t worry about understanding or liking everything. Watch and listen for how God is worshipped in that place.

♦ Read books and watch movies by people different from yourself. For this exercise, don’t be concerned with verifying the truth of every statement. Instead, look for what is important to those people and why. Jesus did this when he interacted with people.

♦  During Black History Month (February), determine to learn something new about the contributions of Black men and women. Focus on one person, one topic, or one period of history, and give your attention to it. You can do the same during Hispanic Heritage Month (Sept. 15 to Oct. 15) and Native American Heritage Month (November).

In the beginning, God created humans—us—in God’s image.

We’ve been qualifying “human” ever since, as if God’s image is so small a thing it can’t be found in all of us. God is not so small.

When we start to see God’s image carried in each person we meet, we won’t be able to diminish it. We will only be able to magnify the God whose image we see everywhere.

*******

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

“All is fair in love, war, and politics.”

That seems to be the mantra guiding American political discourse these days. But when an election conspiracy video was posted to President Donald Trump’s Truth Social account that presented former President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama as nonhuman apes, that discourse sank to a new low.

The video was eventually taken down, and as so often happens when politicians mess up, the post was blamed on an unnamed staffer. But the damage was done. Millions of Americans saw their worst fears about President Trump confirmed, and they saw many of his allies running for cover or pretending this was no big deal.

Condemnation deserved

Let’s be very clear. This is a big deal, and it is deserving of every syllable of the condemnation it has received.

Put aside for a moment the respect President Obama and his family have rightly earned or the disagreements we may have with him. Set aside for a moment his own record of transgressing traditional norms for public discourse. Absolutely no one should ever be subjected to this kind of offensive, dehumanizing, and dishonest rhetoric.

“Wait a minute,” you might object. “Didn’t the prophets, John the Baptist, and especially Jesus use dehumanizing rhetoric? Did not Jesus call his opponents ‘snakes?’”

It is true both John the Baptist (Matthew 3:7-8) and Jesus (Matthew 23:33) condemned their opponents in the religious aristocracy as a “brood of vipers.” It is difficult to overstate how insulting these taunts were. That is why I am not always persuaded by condemnations of harsh political rhetoric. Sometimes, the unvarnished truth needs to be told.

But what President Trump did in posting such an obscene image is not at all the same as what Jesus and John did.

For one thing, President Trump speaks from a place of political power. Jesus and John did not.

For another, the rhetoric Jesus and John chose was intended to break through the resistance of their recalcitrant opponents, so they could see themselves for who they really were. The video posted on President Trump’s account, by contrast, was designed to inflame passions among those still aggrieved by President Obama’s rhetoric and policies.

More importantly, it was an expression of the current president’s own malice, a window into the soul of a man who has been upfront about his desire to exact vengeance against those who have opposed him.

In other words, the harsh rhetoric of Scripture is redemptive in its aims, whereas President Trump’s rhetoric is petulant and vengeful. Moreover, it was flagrantly and indefensibly racist. Rather than establishing grounds for a more empathetic dialogue on race, it made such dialogue all the more difficult.

And all of this is beside the fact both President Trump and President Obama claim to be Christians. It is offensive beyond words to see one believer treat another in such a manner. Such public conduct cries out for the church’s united rebuke.

Opportunity for positive public witness

As a person, my first concern is for how this event has brought emotional distress to the Obama family, and my second is for the millions of Black Americans for whom this kind of rhetoric is all too familiar. They deserve nothing less than our unequivocal support and unwavering love.

As a pastor, my heart and mind cannot help but turn to how this incident affects the church. It isn’t just or even primarily that white evangelicals voted for President Trump in overwhelming numbers. Sometimes, we have to vote for candidates we do not like.

It is that we, the white evangelical church, are now associated with this kind of racist, heartless, and cruel rhetoric. And it burdens my heart how this incident has the power to divide God’s family even further.

But I would like to propose a more hopeful outcome. What if the American church—which has been hopelessly divided on any number of issues over the last century—finally spoke with one voice?

What if Christianity Today and the Christian Century published a joint editorial condemning Trump’s video? What if the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission and the Baptist Joint Committee got together and published a joint statement condemning racist and destructive political rhetoric?

Look, I’m a political and ecclesiological realist. Some of my oldest friends would even describe me as a pessimist. I understand the divides in American Christianity are unlikely to ever be healed. We all carry around with us a long list of grievances against those we believe have corrupted our institutions and distorted our society.

But unity will certainly not come if we don’t take advantage of the opportunities we are given to speak with a single voice. Moreover, institutional integrity will not come if we do not police our own side in “the culture wars.” Doing so does not mean we have compromised with the Enemy. It means we have side-stepped his trap and have walked faithfully with our Lord.

Our choice

The question for all of us now is, “What will we do?”

As individuals, congregations, and larger institutions, will we look away one more time as norms of decency are flouted and intellectual hospitality—the practice of treating those who disagree with us fairly and engaging their disagreements honestly—is demeaned? Will we choose to forget, opting for the easier and less costly way of citizenship?

Alternatively, will we gird up our loins, speak up against the darkness, and affirm by our actions our true citizenship is in heaven?

Will we stand shoulder to shoulder with every brother and sister of color who has suffered under the lingering injustice of race-based hatred, thereby bearing witness to the radical, reconciling work of God in Christ (2 Corinthians 5:11-21; Galatians 3:26-4:7; Ephesians 2:11-18)?

The choice we make may not change the course of history. It will, however, say much about who we are, and it may impact our ability to bear a credible witness for Christ in the future.

Wade Berry is pastor of Second Baptist Church in Ranger and has been resident fellow in New Testament and Greek at B.H. Carroll Theological Seminary. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

In the middle of the Super Bowl, one of the most watched moments in American culture, Benito—Bad Bunny to most of the world—turned a football field into a love letter.

It might have been the most energetic, cinematic halftime show in history. Every shot felt intentional. Every transition felt orchestrated. It wasn’t just a performance. It felt like a story being told with light and movement and bodies and rhythm. It was spectacle, yes, but it was also testimony.

I celebrate Puerto Rico. Their culture is beautiful. I love the island, and at the same time, I’m ashamed of how little we understand its history. I’m grieved by the abuses of power, the neglect, the ways we have benefited from people while failing to fully honor them.

My brothers and sisters from that beautiful island play an important role in our story, whether we’ve taken the time to learn that story or not.

Some people said they felt left out because they couldn’t understand the words.

Let me promise you: even those of us with mediocre Spanish couldn’t understand most of the words unless we’ve been singing these songs for years.

But you didn’t have to understand the words to hear the story. In fact, he put the message on a billboard for us, loud and clear: Love is the only thing stronger than hate.

You don’t have to agree with everything Benito has ever said to agree on that.

Desiring diversity

What struck me most was how winsome the invitation felt. This wasn’t scolding. This wasn’t shaming. It was joy. It was beauty. It was a wide-open welcome to embrace people of all cultures and all nations.

That invitation stirred a memory in me I didn’t expect.

When I was growing up in the church, we weren’t very diverse. It was a Baptist church: good people, faithful people, sincere people. But the truth is, we were mostly white with a little Latino and African American culture sprinkled on top. Even as a kid, I think we knew something was missing. Not wrong in a hateful way. Just … incomplete.

We knew—instinctively, scripturally—the kingdom of God was bigger than our sanctuary. Bigger than our zip code. Bigger than our music styles and potlucks and fellowship halls.

So we sang:

“Jesus loves the little children,
all the little children of the world—
red and yellow, black and white,
they are precious in His sight.”

It may not be the most politically correct language now, but the longing underneath it was holy. We wanted the world God loved to look like the world God made. We just didn’t know how to get there.

So, we did what a lot of churches did back then. We flew flags.

Expressing diversity

We hung them in the sanctuary, the gathering place of God’s people. If someone in the church had roots in another country, we flew that flag. If we went on a mission trip, we flew that flag. If someone had a cousin who once visited from another country, sometimes we flew that flag. If the janitor had migrated from Vietnam, we flew the Vietnamese flag.

It was imperfect. It was symbolic. It didn’t actually create diversity. But it revealed our hunger for it.

We were trying to say in the only language we had at the time, “All of God’s children belong here.” Even when most of them weren’t actually in the room.

Watching Bad Bunny fill the Super Bowl halftime stage with language, culture, bodies, flags, and stories that have so often been marginalized or muted in America, it felt like those flags finally came down off the walls and walked onto the field, not as decoration, not as aspiration, but as presence.

Celebrating diversity

I’m a pastor in the most ethnically diverse city in the United States. That means we have more culture and better food than almost anywhere else. It means we’re a beautiful, complicated, vibrant place to live. Our diversity isn’t our weakness. It’s our strength.

Somehow, by the grace of God, I now get to pastor a church as diverse as the city we’re in and as diverse as the world we are called to love. It’s beautiful. It’s compelling. People want to be a part of it. Not because we’ve figured everything out, but because embodied diversity—real community across lines of difference—feels like good news in a fractured world.

Somewhere along the way, the conversation in our country got reframed as if diversity itself was a threat. As if the presence of different languages and cultures somehow diminished us instead of deepening us. My hope—and my prayer—is moments like this help the pendulum begin to swing back.

Even beyond the halftime show, it felt like the whole broadcast was quietly whispering the same longing. Despite a mediocre-to-boring game, every entertainer, every commercial break, even the national anthem—sung so beautifully by Charlie Puth—and artists like Brandi Carlile, carried echoes of something deeper.

Two of the commercials even featured songs by my hero, Fred Rogers. It was as if the culture itself was saying: “We’re tired. We want a better example. We’re hungry for an invitation to love and unity, not hatred, bigotry, and division.”

Thanksgiving

The church I grew up in didn’t have it figured out. But we knew the difference between right and wrong. We knew, deep down, love was better than fear. My hope is we don’t forget that now.

For those who tuned out and watched a different halftime show: You might have missed something beautiful, a reminder the world is longing for an invitation to love and unity, not division.

Bad Bunny seemed to know all of this, and he filled his brilliant show with small, holy Easter eggs for those willing to pay attention:

• An actual wedding, officiated by a Latino Christian pastor.
• The gift of his Grammy to a young Puerto Rican version of himself, a reminder any kid is capable of changing the world.
• Tiny, defiant signs of dignity placed inside one of the largest platforms in the world.

This was the halftime show our country needed. Well, I can’t speak for the country.

I can only say this: It’s the halftime show I needed.

Thank you, Benito.

Chris Seay is the lead pastor of Ecclesia Houston. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

Fellow Christians are afraid to go to church. The Christians I’m referring to aren’t in Nigeria, India, Iran, Burma/Myanmar, China, parts of southern Mexico, or any number of other places around the world. They’re here in the United States.

And they’re not only in Minnesota, Ohio, Oregon, Chicago, or other places where federal immigration enforcement is in the news. They’re here in Texas. They’re among our fellow Texas Baptists.

Our fellow Texas Baptists are afraid to go to church. Do we care? The Scripture we call authoritative and the “supreme standard” for all human activity commands us to care, and to do so in the same way Scripture’s God cares for us.

Love—agape love—is a synonym for the kind of care I’m talking about. This love is much more than a feeling. This love acts, sacrificially. This love casts out fear.

Our family is afraid to go to church, Texas Baptists. In agape love, we need to stand by them and stand up for them. To do that, we need to face the fear—theirs and ours.

What’s happening in Texas

Jesse Rincones—executive director of Convención Bautista Hispana de Texas, a Lubbock-area pastor, and a member of the Baptist Standard board—reported the following to me:

“A church in the Dallas-Fort Worth area has had three families deported.”

The pastor of a Texas Hill Country church “took a family to their legal check-in, and the family was deported. That was the second time it happened to a family in his congregation.”

Pastors tell Rincones church attendance is affected, because people “won’t leave their homes. … Even with legal status they are afraid.”

Christians from all over the world have come to Texas, the vast majority of them legally. They are well represented among Texas Baptists. From conversations with some of their ministry leaders, I have heard concerns about such things as:

• knowing the difference between local police officers and ICE agents and how to appropriately interact with them,
• being unsure what official documents need to be carried and what good it will do to carry them, and
• whether their children, homes, and money will be taken from them.

What’s happening in one church

In an opinion article we published Feb. 4, Pastor Pablo Juárez reported attendance at his church is also affected.

In the last year, “fear of detention has led … families [to] avoid public spaces. Several members have been detained during routine traffic stops when local law enforcement contacted Immigration and Customs Enforcement instead of following due process.”

“Some [congregants] were deported within days,” Juárez wrote, “while others remain detained for months despite expressing a willingness to return voluntarily to their home countries. Detained individuals have reported administrative failures, missed flights, and prolonged uncertainty.”

“In some cases, older adult congregants with medical needs remain confined without clear timelines for release or deportation. The emotional, spiritual, and financial toll on families has been significant,” Juárez continued.

It bears repeating: Love casts out fear. In agape love, we need to stand by them and stand up for them.

Acknowledge the fear

Whatever an immigrant’s status—citizen, or legal or illegal noncitizen—fear is a common denominator for many at present.

Regarding those in the United States illegally: People enter the United States illegally for various reasons. Many times, it’s to escape greater fear in the places they left. Far too often, some are brought here on false pretenses or against their will. Some aren’t here illegally by choice.

Whether these individuals should continue to be afraid while in the United States is a discussion broader than this editorial. So, I will focus on those immigrants in the United States legally.

Legal U.S. residents—citizens by birth or naturalization, or legal visa holders, refugees, asylees, or others with legal status—who have not committed any crime should have no reason to fear federal immigration enforcement. Yet, many of them do right now. And many of them are our brothers and sisters in Christ.

Their fear is not unwarranted. What is reported above is just a summary of why many legal U.S. residents are afraid—because of their direct experience with federal immigration enforcement during the last year.

I’ll state it again: Love casts out fear. In agape love, we need to stand by them and stand up for them. As Christians, we are obligated to do no less.

Address the fear

Texas Baptists, before we are Texas Baptists, we are Christians. Christian is not a label, a social identity, or a political affiliation. To be a Christian is to follow Jesus, to lay down our lives for others as Jesus laid down his life for us. To be a Christian is to be obligated to Jesus and to live in obedience to him.

In obedience to Jesus, we strive to live righteously before all people. Part of living righteously is acknowledging the law and the consequences of breaking the law. Yes, there is legal and illegal immigration, and immigrating illegally carries consequences. How those consequences should be carried out should square with God’s justice.

In obedience to Jesus, we seek justice for all people. Part of seeking justice is holding injustice to account through appropriate action. Appropriate action in our context includes pressing lawmakers to address injustices in immigration law and enforcement. Texas Baptists, we have the right resources among us for just such action.

Also in obedience to Jesus, we live righteously and seek justice when we see our brothers’ and sisters’ struggle as our own. Instead of discounting the reports, turning a blind eye, washing our hands of it, instead of demonizing “them,” we need to come alongside our brothers and sisters in Christ and share their burden—including their fear of going to church.

Our family is afraid to go to church, Texas Baptists. Love casts out fear. In agape love, we need to stand by them, stand up for them, and let love cast out fear.

*******

Data and resources

Data

Consider the following data points:

• Pew Research finds Christians make up about 47 percent of all international migrants globally as of 2020, and the United States is their most common destination.
• A report by Catholic bishops and evangelical leaders found “more than 10 million Christians are vulnerable to deportation accounting for roughly 80 percent of all of those at risk of deportation.” Put another way: “One out of every 12 Christians in the U.S.—including one out of 18 evangelical Christians” could be deported or have a family member deported.
• A report estimates “about 80 percent of all of those at risk of deportation are Christians.”
• Children are also affected. According to a report by the U.S. Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations, a subcommittee of the Senate Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs, “federal immigration officials have detained U.S. citizen children and treated children with reckless disregard for their safety and wellbeing.”

Resources

The following resources provide guidance on federal immigration law and enforcement, as well as how to appropriately interact with federal immigration officials. The links below contain information current as of this writing (Feb. 5, 2026).

Immigration enforcement in Texas is complex, varying by county. Texas Baptists’ Christian Life Commission has prepared a brief explaining the complexity and how to navigate it. The brief includes links to further resources.

In short, 287(g) is a section of the Immigration and Nationality Act authorizing the Department of Homeland Security to enter into agreements with state and local law enforcement to conduct federal immigration enforcement activities.

The CLC is also maintaining a county-by-county chart of 287(g) agreements.

Other resources include:

• Texas Immigration Law Center provides a guide to Texas’ 287(g) agreements.
• Immigrant Legal Resource Center provides several resources, including a Know Your Rights FAQ.
• To locate a detainee, you can search on the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement website.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

El clima migratorio actual en los Estados Unidos ha creado un profundo temor e inestabilidad dentro de las comunidades inmigrantes, particularmente entre inmigrantes indocumentados que no tienen antecedentes penales y que durante mucho tiempo han contribuido a sus iglesias y comunidades.

Esta situación actual ha herido profundamente a muchas congregaciones, incluyendo mi iglesia. Esto no es una declaración política. Es un clamor pastoral por ayuda.

Como cristiano y pastor, creo que es necesario reflexionar cuidadosamente sobre cómo el pueblo de Dios sirve y trata a las familias inmigrantes con fidelidad, compasión y cuidado práctico, mientras permanecemos arraigados en el evangelio de Jesucristo.

Creo que, como embajadores de Cristo, es más importante estar espiritualmente correctos que políticamente correctos. Hay momentos en la vida cuando tenemos que decir: “Esto no está bien. Esto no es de Dios”.

En este caso, a veces tenemos que decirlo con tristeza. A veces tenemos que decirlo con claridad y de manera directa. Pero como seguidores de Cristo, no siempre podemos andar con rodeos respecto a la verdad.

Un espejo moral

Comunidades ordinarias moldeadas por la fe pueden normalizar (ignorar) el sufrimiento cuando ocurre “cerca”, pero no directamente a ellas.

Con respecto a la comunidad inmigrante en los Estados Unidos, las iglesias evangélicas pueden ignorar el dolor humano a través de la política, el legalismo o el problema de alguien más.

Las detenciones, las separaciones familiares, el temor a la deportación y el efecto silenciador de la incertidumbre pueden convertirse en ruido de fondo: se oyen, pero rápidamente quedan ahogados por el miedo, la avaricia, la religión o las ideologías políticas.

A menudo conocemos el momento y el sonido del sufrimiento, y aun así elige mirar en otra dirección en lugar de cumplir con su compromiso. Así que desafío a las personas de conciencia, especialmente a las comunidades de fe, a preguntarse si están usando su voz para silenciar los clamores de ayuda o para abogar por la dignidad de los desprotegidos.

La historia sugiere que lo que perseguirá a las futuras generaciones no es solo lo que se hizo, sino lo que se ignoró. La pregunta, entonces, es si la respuesta a las injusticias de hoy será recordada como una compasión valiente o silencio e inacción.

Un espejo bíblico

A lo largo de la Escritura, Dios revela una preocupación particular por el extranjero, el forastero y el desplazado. Al pueblo de Dios se le recuerda repetidamente que su identidad está moldeada por la gracia y la liberación, no por el poder o el privilegio.

Deuteronomio 10:18–19 ordena al pueblo de Dios amar al extranjero, fundamentando este amor en la propia historia de vulnerabilidad de Israel. Levítico 19:34 instruye además que el extranjero debe ser tratado como un residente nacido en la tierra, enfatizando la dignidad más que una aceptación condicionada.

En el Nuevo Testamento, Jesús encarna esta ética. Comienza su vida terrenal como refugiado (Mateo 2:13–15), ministra entre los marginados y enseña que dar la bienvenida al extranjero es un acto de fidelidad hacia Él mismo (Mateo 25:35–40).

Estos textos no permiten que la iglesia permanezca neutral cuando las personas vulnerables son maltratadas. Más bien, obligan a la iglesia a actuar de maneras que reflejen la compasión y la justicia de Dios.

Cuando la aplicación de la ley migratoria resulta en detención prolongada, separación familiar o deshumanización de personas que no han cometido ningún delito, la iglesia debe responder primero como iglesia.

Hechos 5:29 nos recuerda que obedecer a Dios tiene prioridad cuando están en juego las convicciones morales. Esta postura no se basa en política, sino en un discipulado fiel moldeado por el carácter de Cristo.

Esto afecta a la iglesia

A través del panorama evangélico, líderes fieles al Reino de Dios han respondido a la crisis migratoria de distintas maneras. Muchos han optado por hablar públicamente, utilizando plataformas sociales para llamar la atención sobre la injusticia y abogar por las comunidades vulnerables. Creemos que este testimonio público, cuando se hace con responsabilidad, es valioso y necesario.

Como pastor, he hablado públicamente con cuidado. Mi énfasis principal ha sido la defensa práctica. Nos hemos preguntado no solo cómo hablar fielmente, sino cómo actuar fielmente—cómo pasar de las palabras a expresiones encarnadas del evangelio. Como nos recuerda Santiago 2:17, la fe que permanece solo en el discurso, sin acción, es incompleta.

En el último año, la crisis migratoria ha afectado directamente a familias dentro de nuestra iglesia. El temor a la detención ha llevado a una disminución en la asistencia, pues las familias evitan espacios públicos.

Varios miembros han sido detenidos durante paradas de tráfico rutinarias cuando la policía local contactó a Inmigración y Control de Aduanas (ICE), en lugar de seguir el debido proceso que dicta la ley.

Algunas personas en mi congregación fueron deportadas en cuestión de días, mientras que otras permanecen detenidas por meses a pesar de haber expresado su disposición a regresar voluntariamente a sus países de origen. Las personas detenidas han reportado fallas administrativas, vuelos perdidos y una incertidumbre prolongada.

En algunos casos, adultos mayores de la congregación con necesidades médicas permanecen detenidos sin plazos claros para su liberación o deportación. El costo emocional, espiritual y financiero para las familias ha sido significativo.

No considero la crisis migratoria como una oportunidad ministerial, sino como una obligación del evangelio. Compartir el evangelio incluye tanto la proclamación como la presencia—hablar la verdad bíblica y, a la vez, atender necesidades reales en momentos de crisis.

La crisis migratoria presenta a la iglesia un momento decisivo de testimonio. Creo que la iglesia debe responder, no con temor ni silencio, sino con una presencia fiel, amor sacrificial y claridad teológica.

Continúe leyendo para ver cómo está respondiendo mi iglesia.

*******

Cómo está respondiendo mi iglesia

Apoyo de emergencia para familias

Cuando quienes sostienen económicamente a la familia son removidos sin previo aviso, las familias quedan sin ingresos, sin seguridad alimentaria y sin tiempo para prepararse. Establecimos un fondo de emergencia dedicado a ayudar a familias que enfrentan separaciones repentinas por detención o deportación. Este fondo permite que la iglesia responda de inmediato con compasión y estabilidad durante crisis inesperadas.

Alianza con el Consulado de México

Durante los últimos 12 meses, hemos recibido al Consulado de México en nuestro campus cuatro veces y hemos apoyado a más de 2.500 personas documentadas e indocumentadas que necesitaban prepararse para lo peor, porque lo peor está ocurriendo.

Estos eventos brindan a las familias orientación profesional sobre su estatus migratorio y les ayudan a renovar pasaportes y otros documentos esenciales.

Las familias viajan desde toda el área metropolitana de Dallas–Fort Worth y el este de Texas para asistir a estos eventos, lo cual refleja la confianza depositada en la iglesia como un espacio seguro y accesible.

Apoyo de consejería informado por trauma

En alianza con Re-Therapy Counseling Services, estamos ofreciendo dos sesiones gratuitas de consejería a familias impactadas por la crisis migratoria. Esta iniciativa brinda atención profesional a niños, cónyuges e individuos que experimentan trauma, ansiedad y depresión, afirmando el compromiso de la iglesia con una sanidad integral.

*******

Animamos a los seguidores de Cristo con una visión centrada en el Reino a enfrentar este momento con valentía y compasión, recordando que nuestro llamado no está definido por la lealtad política, sino por la vida y las enseñanzas de Jesucristo, quien llama a su iglesia a amar, no con una mentalidad política, sino con un amor sacrificial hacia el extranjero y con cuidado por los vulnerables.

El Dr. Pablo Juárez es pastor de First Baptist Church of Kaufman en español. Las opiniones expresadas en este artículo de opinión son del autor.

NOTA DEL EDITOR: La segunda sección del artículo original fue revisada el 11 de febrero de 2026.

The current immigration climate in the United States has created deep fear and instability within immigrant communities, particularly among undocumented immigrants who have no criminal record and who have long contributed to their churches and neighborhoods.

This current situation has deeply hurt many congregations, including my church. This is not a political statement. It is a pastoral cry for help.

As a Christian and a pastor, I believe it is necessary to reflect carefully on how the people of God serve and treat immigrant families with faithfulness, compassion, and practical care, while remaining grounded in the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I believe, as a Christ-ambassador, it is more important to be spiritually correct than politically correct. There are times in life when we have to say: “This is not right. This is not of God.” In this case, sometimes we have to say it sadly. Sometimes we have to say it clearly and directly. But as followers of Christ, we can’t always beat around the bush about the truth.

A moral mirror

A biblical mirror

Throughout Scripture, God reveals a particular concern for the foreigner, the sojourner, and the displaced. The people of God are repeatedly reminded their own identity is shaped by grace and deliverance, not by power or privilege.

Deuteronomy 10:18–19 commands God’s people to love the stranger, grounding this love in Israel’s own history of vulnerability. Leviticus 19:34 further instructs the foreigner is to be treated as a native-born resident, emphasizing dignity rather than conditional acceptance.

In the New Testament, Jesus embodies this ethic. He begins his earthly life as a refugee (Matthew 2:13–15), ministers among the marginalized, and teaches welcoming the stranger is an act of faithfulness to himself (Matthew 25:35–40).

These texts do not permit the church to remain neutral when vulnerable people are mistreated. Rather, they compel the church to act in ways that reflect the compassion and justice of God.

When immigration enforcement results in prolonged detention, family separation, or the dehumanization of people who have committed no criminal offense, the church must respond first as the church.

Acts 5:29 reminds us obedience to God takes precedence when moral convictions are at stake. This posture is not rooted in political defiance but in faithful discipleship shaped by the character of Christ.

This affects the church

Across the evangelical landscape, faithful leaders have responded to the immigration crisis in different ways. Many have chosen to speak publicly, using social platforms to call attention to injustice and to advocate for vulnerable communities. We believe such public witness, when done responsibly, is valuable and necessary.

As a pastor, I have spoken publicly with care. My primary emphasis has been on practical advocacy. We have asked not only how to speak faithfully, but how to act faithfully—how to move from words to embodied expressions of the gospel. As James 2:17 reminds us, faith that remains only in speech, without action, is incomplete.

Over the past year, the immigration crisis has directly affected families within our church. Fear of detention has led to decreased attendance as families avoid public spaces. Several members have been detained during routine traffic stops when local law enforcement contacted Immigration and Customs Enforcement instead of following due process.

Some individuals in my congregation were deported within days, while others remain detained for months despite expressing a willingness to return voluntarily to their home countries. Detained individuals have reported administrative failures, missed flights, and prolonged uncertainty.

In some cases, older adult congregants with medical needs remain confined without clear timelines for release or deportation. The emotional, spiritual, and financial toll on families has been significant.

I do not view the immigration crisis as a ministry opportunity, but as a gospel obligation. Sharing the gospel includes both proclamation and presence—speaking biblical truth while also meeting real needs in moments of crisis.

The immigration crisis presents the church with a defining moment of witness. I believe the church must respond, not with fear or silence, but with faithful presence, sacrificial love, and theological clarity.

Keep reading to see how my church is responding.

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How my church is responding

Emergency support for families

When primary wage earners are removed without warning, families are left without income, food security, or time to prepare. We established a dedicated emergency fund to assist families facing sudden separation due to detention or deportation. This fund allows the church to respond immediately with compassion and stability during unexpected crises.

Partnership with the Mexican Consulate

Over the last 12 months, we have hosted the Mexican Consulate on our church campus four times and supported more than 2,500 documented and undocumented people who needed to be prepared for the worst, because the worst is happening.

These events provide families with professional guidance on their immigration status and help them renew passports and other essential documents.

Families travel from across the Dallas–Fort Worth Metroplex and East Texas to these events, reflecting the trust placed in the church as a safe and accessible space.

Trauma-informed counseling support

In partnership with Re-Therapy Counseling Services, we are offering two free counseling sessions to families impacted by the immigration crisis. This initiative provides professional care for children, spouses, and individuals experiencing trauma, anxiety, and depression, affirming the church’s commitment to holistic healing.

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We encourage kingdom-minded followers of Christ to engage this moment with courage and compassion, remembering our calling is shaped not by political allegiance, but by the life and teachings of Jesus Christ, who calls his church to love, not with a political mindset, but with a sacrificial love for the stranger and care for the vulnerable.

Dr. Pablo Juárez is the pastor of First Baptist Church of Kaufman en Español. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The second section of the original article was revised, Feb. 11, 2026.

As an immigrant and a follower of Jesus, I have lived with a quiet tension for most of my life—the feeling of not fully belonging here or there.

Many immigrants know this space well. We straddle cultures, languages, and expectations. Yet in Christ, we find a deeper citizenship, a truer belonging no nation can grant and no policy can take away.

It is from that place of belonging in Christ I write today—with grief, with conviction, and with mustard-seed hope.

Our country is in a moment of deep moral confusion, especially around immigration, human dignity, and the treatment of vulnerable families. We are seeing policies that result in prolonged detention, family separation, the erosion of due process, and the loss of life in plain daylight, in American streets, under government custody.

These are not merely political issues. They are deeply spiritual ones. They force us to ask not only what kind of nation we are becoming, but what kind of church we have been.

The truth is uncomfortable: This administration has had strong support from the evangelical community. Many believers cast their votes believing they were defending faith, family, or freedom.

Yet policies are the fruit of leadership, and leadership is influenced by those who place leaders in power. Whether we like it or not, what is done in our name reflects, in part, our witness.

This is not about partisan loyalty. It is about spiritual integrity.

Scripture calls to remember

Scripture calls God’s people to be people of truth. When truth is distorted, when suffering is minimized, when entire groups of people are described in ways that strip them of dignity, the church cannot afford silence.

Our words matter. Our sermons matter. Our budgets matter. And yes, our votes matter. Discipleship does not end at the church doors or the ballot box.

Throughout Scripture, God commands his people to remember: “You shall not oppress a sojourner … for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 23:9).

Israel’s story begins with Abraham leaving his homeland, trusting God in a foreign land. Isaac and Jacob followed that same path of dependence and displacement. The defining act of God’s deliverance—the Exodus—freed a people who had been enslaved for 400 years, longer than the United States has existed.

Remembering was meant to shape how God’s people treated the foreigner, the poor, and the vulnerable. Memory was a guardrail against cruelty.

The prophets carried this message forward with boldness. They confronted kings. They saw through religious performance. They reminded God’s people that worship divorced from justice is an offense to God.

“Let justice roll down like waters,” Amos declared. Isaiah rebuked a nation that fasted and prayed while neglecting the oppressed. Micah summarized God’s desire simply: “to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.”

The church in America must hear those prophetic voices again, not as ancient history, but as present truth.

Allegiance to Christ

At the center of our faith stands Jesus Christ—the ultimate Deliverer.

Shortly after his birth, he became a refugee, carried by his parents into Egypt to escape state violence. The Son of God entered the world not through privilege, but through displacement.

Throughout his ministry, he consistently moved toward the vulnerable: the poor, the outcast, the sick, the foreigner, and the sinner. He warned against religious leaders who burdened others while protecting their own comfort, and he confronted systems that crushed those without power.

Our allegiance, then, must be to his Lordship above all else. Not to party, platform, or personality, but to the crucified and risen Christ, whose kingdom is marked by truth, mercy, and justice.

If we claim his name, we cannot ignore those he draws near to. And we cannot allow political identity to divide the body he gave his life to redeem. Dear church, we belong to Christ before we belong to any tribe. Let us not be divided where he has made us one.

Calling the church to remember

It is time for the church to be the church, to hold leaders accountable not with anger, but with moral clarity, to speak not as an arm of any political movement, but as the body of Christ.

This does not mean demonizing those who voted differently or assuming bad motives. It does mean looking honestly in the mirror and lamenting where we have lacked courage, clarity, or compassion.

Lament is not weakness. It is a deeply biblical act. It is how God’s people return to alignment with his heart.

We can be both pastoral and prophetic. We can tell the truth about harm while still extending grace. We can acknowledge fear and complexity without excusing injustice. We can call our congregations to deeper discipleship that includes how we think about immigrants, refugees, and those at the margins.

For immigrants in our pews, these issues are not theoretical. They are personal. They shape whether parents sleep peacefully at night, whether children fear coming home from school, and whether families trust the systems around them. The church should be the one place where they do not feel invisible, disposable, or suspect.

Calling our nation to remember

And to our nation, we offer this gentle but urgent reminder: You, too, were once sojourners. The American story is one of migration, refuge, and new beginnings. Forgetting that history makes it easier to close our hearts. Remembering it can open them again.

Our ultimate hope is not in any administration, platform, or election cycle. Our hope is in Christ, whose kingdom is marked by truth, justice, mercy, and love. But that hope does not lead to withdrawal. It leads to faithful presence in our communities and in the ballot box.

May the church in this moment choose courage over comfort, truth over tribe, and Christ over every lesser allegiance.

It is time to remember.
It is time to repent where needed.
And it is time to be the church.

Diego Silva is the director of economic strengthening at Buckner International. A native of Brazil, he lives in Georgetown with his wife and two boys. He writes about faith, community development and global mission. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.