When Compassion Is a Command, Not an Option

A Reflection in Light of the Troop Deployment Against Immigrants

Today we learned of plans to call up 20,000 National Guard troops—not for flood relief, not for humanitarian aid—but to confront families at the border. To turn away men, women, and children seeking refuge, shelter, and hope. Among them, a 4-year-old child arrested and torn from his parents.

This is not just policy. This is personal. And it demands a moral and spiritual response.

“Let the little children come to me,” Jesus said, “and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.” — Luke 18:16

And yet we are hindering them.

We are terrifying children instead of welcoming them. We are criminalizing the desperate instead of listening to their stories. We are deploying troops as if these families were enemies, instead of embracing them as neighbors.

This is not the heart of God.

When Jesus walked the earth, He Himself was a refugee. Matthew 2:13–15 tells how His family fled to Egypt to escape King Herod’s violence. If the Holy Family showed up at our border today, under these policies, they would likely be denied asylum, detained, and separated.

“You shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” — Deuteronomy 10:19

“Do not mistreat or oppress a foreigner, for you were foreigners in Egypt.” — Exodus 22:21

Over and over, Scripture calls us to remember where we came from. To remember that we, too, have been the outsider, the wanderer, the one in need of mercy.

So when we use language that dehumanizes immigrants as “illegals” or “invaders,”

When we celebrate harshness and treat kindness as weakness,

When we cheer for soldiers instead of social workers, and barbed wire instead of bridges…

We are not reflecting Jesus.

We are reflecting Pharaoh.

“Woe to those who make unjust laws, to those who issue oppressive decrees, to deprive the poor of their rights and withhold justice from the oppressed.” — Isaiah 10:1–2

“Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow.” — Isaiah 1:17

And as the church, we must be honest: too often, we’ve been quiet. Too often, we have chosen comfort over courage. But silence is not neutral—it sides with the oppressor.

Martin Luther King Jr. warned us:

“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”

So let me be clear, with love and conviction:

To separate children from their parents at the border is not pro-family.

To arrest asylum seekers is not justice.

To equate the Kingdom of God with nationalism is not discipleship.

To build policy on fear rather than compassion is not what Jesus taught.

“I was a stranger, and you welcomed me… Whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did for me.” — Matthew 25:35, 40

That is Jesus, not as a theory, but as a person.

Present in the child clutching her father’s hand.

Present in the mother begging for safety.

Present in the refugee. The vulnerable. The rejected.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

Let us draw near, too.

Let us not harden our hearts.

Let us not allow fear to drown out compassion.

Let us become a people known for radical, active love.

Because every time we care for the immigrant, we care for Christ.

Every time we speak up for the voiceless, we echo heaven.

And every time we show mercy instead of might, the Kingdom comes a little closer.

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A Prayer:

Lord of the stranger,

You crossed every border to reach us.

You became flesh, so none would be turned away.

Forgive us when we close our hearts.

Forgive us when we forget the children.

Forgive us when we are silent.

Stir in us the holy discomfort that leads to action.

Make us brave. Make us tender.

Make us more like You.

Amen.