Render unto Caesar and deport the rest

The Revs. Traci Smith and Elias Cabarcas, wife and husband pastors, talk about their work with immigrant families, especially children, at a Chicago Presbytery Assembly. Photo: Gerald Farinas.

Ah yes, nothing screams “follower of Christ” like passionately quoting Romans 13 to justify deporting desperate families while simultaneously ignoring the whole “love your neighbor as yourself” thing.

Here in the Presbyterian Church (USA), we’ve had a front-row pew to the growing phenomenon of so-called Christians and even rogue pastors twisting Scripture like a balloon animal to argue against caring for immigrants, asylum seekers, and the dreaded “illegals.”

(gasp)

Let us be clear: Jesus, born in a stable because there was no room in the inn (or whatever it is based on scholarly translation), then whisked away to Egypt as a political refugee, would obviously be denied a visa today.

The Holy Family?

Probably detained at the border.

“Sorry, Joseph, your carpenter certification doesn’t transfer here.”

And Mary? “We regret to inform you that pregnancy is not a qualifying asylum condition.”

Don’t even ask about the donkey—they’d confiscate that too.

Yet somehow, in 21st-century America, we’ve managed to baptize nationalism in holy water and slap a cross on a border wall.

Bravo.

We’ve watched pastors bless ICE agents with the same hands they lift in praise on Sunday, conveniently skipping over Leviticus 19:34: “The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself.”

That’s the Old Testament, though. Surely Jesus would have been more nuanced?

Except, He wasn’t.

Jesus, whom we like to claim as our own personal get-out-of-jail-free card, said things like, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.”

Not “I was a stranger, and you demanded to see my papers.”

Not “I was a stranger, and you reported me to Homeland Security.”

No.

He tied eternal reward to how we treat the least of these.

Awkward, isn’t it?

But let’s not let a little thing like the Bible get in the way of a good political platform. After all, if the PCUSA had a dollar for every time someone said, “We’re a nation of laws,” while ignoring the Beatitudes, we could finally fix the church boiler.

Which by the way, we need to buy these new parts for the boiler at Edgewater Presbyterian Church if you want to donate some money toward it.

We’ve watched Christian leaders proclaim, “America First!” as if Jesus died for a flag.

These are the same folks who claim to be persecuted because Starbucks removed snowflakes from their holiday cups—but are silent when refugees drown trying to find safety.

Now, to be fair, not all who oppose immigration are doing it out of malice. Some are simply afraid—of change, of economic instability, of people who speak different languages or pray differently.

But fear does not excuse injustice.

The call of Christ is to faith, not fear. And yet, fear seems to have better lobbyists—and a chainsaw-wielding tech oligarch who controls one of the most significant pieces of communication infrastructure today.

As Presbyterians, we’ve historically been a people of both word and deed.

Our denomination has long advocated for just immigration policies, refugee resettlement, and the radical notion that all people are made in the image of God—even if they didn’t come here “legally,” speak English, or eat donuts from Kroger with a cup of overly sweetened milky coffee.

So to our fellow Christians who rail against immigrants while clutching their Bibles: we invite you to read what’s actually in it.

You might find that Jesus wasn’t the spokesman for border patrol you imagined!

He was the wandering, sandal-wearing, refugee-sheltering, authority-challenging Savior who flipped tables when people turned religion into a transaction.

And for the rest of us, may we be reminded that our faith isn’t proven by who we vote for, but by who we stand beside.

And if we’re going to err, may it be on the side of grace—because one day we, too, may find ourselves strangers in need of welcome.

Or at least in need of a decent immigration policy.

Amen and pass the tamales—preferably the ones from the carts in Rogers Park pushed around by those smiling abuelas.