Illegal Before the Law but the Bearers of God’s Image before Their Maker
Joshua 20:1-3 (ESV)
Then the Lord said to Joshua, 2 “Say to the people of Israel, ‘Appoint the cities of refuge, of which I spoke to you through Moses, 3 that the manslayer who strikes any person without intent or unknowingly may flee there. They shall be for you a refuge from the avenger of blood.”
The Yali people, pygmy cannibals in Papua, Indonesia, had an interesting custom. Once a man fleeing from his enemies enters a plot of land called Osuwa, he is immediately granted protection and safety; no one could touch him, much less hurt him as long as he stays there. The cities of refuge in ancient Israel served a similar purpose: God told the elders of those cities to admit anyone who kill[ed] a person accidently and unintentionally “into the city and give him a place to live with them. If the avenger . . . pursues him, they must not surrender the one accused” (Joshua 20:5).
Perhaps, to the advocates of illegal aliens (a.k.a., undocumented immigrants), the closest thing to cities of refuge in America may be “sanctuary city”—a safe harbor to illegal aliens, since special municipal provisions allow people to “avoid cooperating with federal immigrant law enforcement authorities.” So, what will you do if border patrol agents are knocking on your door after being tipped off that you are harboring an illegal immigrant?
Henri Nouwen, in The Wounded Healer, tells a story of a young fugitive kept hidden by people of a small village. When the soldiers threatened to kill them for not handing him over, they turned to their minister who, upon reading the verse, “It is better that one man dies than that the whole people be lost” (Jn. 18:14), advised the people to do just that. That evening, the minister, still saddened by his decision, was visited by an angel, who said, “Don’t you know that you have handed over the Messiah?” When the minister asked, “How could I know,” the angel said, “If, instead of reading your Bible, you had visited this young man just once and looked into his eyes, you would have known.” Does this powerful story make my question any easier to respond? No, not really. What if the young fugitive was a “Barabbas,” a murderer, who feigned innocent eyes?
The dilemma to the Bible affirming believers is this: On the one hand, being mindful of God’s command to “not mistreat alien[s]” (Lev. 19:33) and “to love those who are aliens” (Deut. 10:19), we are tasked with helping the needy (which many illegal immigrants are). After all, before God they are humans, not illegals, who bear His image. On the other hand, as believers who are told by Scripture to “submit to the authorities”—a “God’s servant . . . to bring punishment on the wrongdoer” (Rom. 13:1-5)—it is our civic duty to affirm the law, which would include reporting crimes to authorities. Note that inasmuch as the establishment of cities of refuge was a merciful measure taken to protect the guilty without malice, its protection did not extend to the guilty with malice (i.e., those who killed premeditatively).
A few years ago, I experienced firsthand what this dilemma may feel like from the standpoint of illegal immigrants. In February of 2016, just before my greyhound bus left for Bakersfield from Los Angeles, I was told that my connection bus in central California, which would have taken me to a smaller city where I was scheduled to preach the next day, was cancelled. I quickly called the host pastor, who was returning from a leadership conference in Nevada, to see if he could pick me up. Fortunately, I only waited an hour in Bakersfield before the pastor, along with his congregant (“Hugo”), arrived to pick me up. Later, we dropped off Hugo at his weather-beaten, single-story house; he seemed eager to get home, mostly because his wife just had their second child.
I first met Hugo in my previous visit during which time I was surprised to find out that he, who speaks English well and does not appear Hispanic, was originally from Mexico. What I learned after Hugo was dropped off was that he and his wife are illegal aliens who have lived in the States for nearly 20 years. Constantly living in fear of deportation, the only jobs Hugo can find consist of backbreaking farm work that pay just enough to fund a small mortgage and put food on the table. I also learned that many in this community are in the same predicament: always anxious, suspicious of new people, and stuck in a dead-end job. I’m not exactly a bleeding-heart liberal, but my heart went out for them all.
So, what do you, as a theological conservative who does not support illegal immigration, say to them from the pulpit? I didn’t tell them to go home because this is, in effect, their home. There are border patrol agents whose job is to enforce immigration laws. I will neither go out of my way to help their search nor interfere with it. However, my call as a minister of the gospel is wholly different. Whenever I get to share God’s Word before Hispanic congregations in America, I remind them of this: “We have all have made mistakes, but God forgives us in Christ. If God has so convicted you, you can return home and share the gospel with your families and friends, many of whom are steeped in syncretistic Catholicism. And whenever you feel fearful, ‘Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus’” (Phil. 4:7-8). To those who see the world in black and white, this isn’t an adequate answer, but that’s where I reside, in tension.
Now, there is one scriptural teaching that Hugo needs no reminder of; in fact, he may be way ahead of us: “He made his home . . . like a stranger in a foreign country. . .. For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God” (Heb. 11:10). But, for us, because life in America is so comfortable, we live as if this is our destination. May we, like Hugo, “admit[] that [we] are aliens and strangers on earth” (v. 13). Let us then live and serve the Lord accordingly all the while “longing for a better country—a heavenly one” (v. 16).
Hugo was always attentive whenever I taught. His pastor was counting on him to step up to leadership and he seemed excited about the opportunity. So, I prayed for him, calling upon the Lord to prepare Hugo for fruitful labor that would bring true hope in Christ to those who live with fear in his community.
Then the Lord said to Joshua, 2 “Say to the people of Israel, ‘Appoint the cities of refuge, of which I spoke to you through Moses, 3 that the manslayer who strikes any person without intent or unknowingly may flee there. They shall be for you a refuge from the avenger of blood.”
The Yali people, pygmy cannibals in Papua, Indonesia, had an interesting custom. Once a man fleeing from his enemies enters a plot of land called Osuwa, he is immediately granted protection and safety; no one could touch him, much less hurt him as long as he stays there. The cities of refuge in ancient Israel served a similar purpose: God told the elders of those cities to admit anyone who kill[ed] a person accidently and unintentionally “into the city and give him a place to live with them. If the avenger . . . pursues him, they must not surrender the one accused” (Joshua 20:5).
Perhaps, to the advocates of illegal aliens (a.k.a., undocumented immigrants), the closest thing to cities of refuge in America may be “sanctuary city”—a safe harbor to illegal aliens, since special municipal provisions allow people to “avoid cooperating with federal immigrant law enforcement authorities.” So, what will you do if border patrol agents are knocking on your door after being tipped off that you are harboring an illegal immigrant?
Henri Nouwen, in The Wounded Healer, tells a story of a young fugitive kept hidden by people of a small village. When the soldiers threatened to kill them for not handing him over, they turned to their minister who, upon reading the verse, “It is better that one man dies than that the whole people be lost” (Jn. 18:14), advised the people to do just that. That evening, the minister, still saddened by his decision, was visited by an angel, who said, “Don’t you know that you have handed over the Messiah?” When the minister asked, “How could I know,” the angel said, “If, instead of reading your Bible, you had visited this young man just once and looked into his eyes, you would have known.” Does this powerful story make my question any easier to respond? No, not really. What if the young fugitive was a “Barabbas,” a murderer, who feigned innocent eyes?
The dilemma to the Bible affirming believers is this: On the one hand, being mindful of God’s command to “not mistreat alien[s]” (Lev. 19:33) and “to love those who are aliens” (Deut. 10:19), we are tasked with helping the needy (which many illegal immigrants are). After all, before God they are humans, not illegals, who bear His image. On the other hand, as believers who are told by Scripture to “submit to the authorities”—a “God’s servant . . . to bring punishment on the wrongdoer” (Rom. 13:1-5)—it is our civic duty to affirm the law, which would include reporting crimes to authorities. Note that inasmuch as the establishment of cities of refuge was a merciful measure taken to protect the guilty without malice, its protection did not extend to the guilty with malice (i.e., those who killed premeditatively).
A few years ago, I experienced firsthand what this dilemma may feel like from the standpoint of illegal immigrants. In February of 2016, just before my greyhound bus left for Bakersfield from Los Angeles, I was told that my connection bus in central California, which would have taken me to a smaller city where I was scheduled to preach the next day, was cancelled. I quickly called the host pastor, who was returning from a leadership conference in Nevada, to see if he could pick me up. Fortunately, I only waited an hour in Bakersfield before the pastor, along with his congregant (“Hugo”), arrived to pick me up. Later, we dropped off Hugo at his weather-beaten, single-story house; he seemed eager to get home, mostly because his wife just had their second child.
I first met Hugo in my previous visit during which time I was surprised to find out that he, who speaks English well and does not appear Hispanic, was originally from Mexico. What I learned after Hugo was dropped off was that he and his wife are illegal aliens who have lived in the States for nearly 20 years. Constantly living in fear of deportation, the only jobs Hugo can find consist of backbreaking farm work that pay just enough to fund a small mortgage and put food on the table. I also learned that many in this community are in the same predicament: always anxious, suspicious of new people, and stuck in a dead-end job. I’m not exactly a bleeding-heart liberal, but my heart went out for them all.
So, what do you, as a theological conservative who does not support illegal immigration, say to them from the pulpit? I didn’t tell them to go home because this is, in effect, their home. There are border patrol agents whose job is to enforce immigration laws. I will neither go out of my way to help their search nor interfere with it. However, my call as a minister of the gospel is wholly different. Whenever I get to share God’s Word before Hispanic congregations in America, I remind them of this: “We have all have made mistakes, but God forgives us in Christ. If God has so convicted you, you can return home and share the gospel with your families and friends, many of whom are steeped in syncretistic Catholicism. And whenever you feel fearful, ‘Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus’” (Phil. 4:7-8). To those who see the world in black and white, this isn’t an adequate answer, but that’s where I reside, in tension.
Now, there is one scriptural teaching that Hugo needs no reminder of; in fact, he may be way ahead of us: “He made his home . . . like a stranger in a foreign country. . .. For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God” (Heb. 11:10). But, for us, because life in America is so comfortable, we live as if this is our destination. May we, like Hugo, “admit[] that [we] are aliens and strangers on earth” (v. 13). Let us then live and serve the Lord accordingly all the while “longing for a better country—a heavenly one” (v. 16).
Hugo was always attentive whenever I taught. His pastor was counting on him to step up to leadership and he seemed excited about the opportunity. So, I prayed for him, calling upon the Lord to prepare Hugo for fruitful labor that would bring true hope in Christ to those who live with fear in his community.
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