What does our faith say about Immigration Justice? (A reflection from Faith, Hope, & Love 2026)

Grace and peace to you from God our Creator, Christ our companion on the journey, and the Holy Spirit who crosses every boundary. Amen.

The Immigrant’s Creed

by Rev. Jose Luis Casal, General Presbyter of the Tres Rios Presbytery – PCUSA

I believe in Almighty God, who guided the people in exile and in exodus, the God of Joseph in Egypt and Daniel in Babylon, the god of foreigners and immigrants.

I believe in Jesus Christ, a displaced Galilean, who was born away from his people and his home, who fled his country with his parents when his life was in danger, and returning to his own country suffered the oppression of the tyrant Pontius Pilate, the servant of a foreign power, who then was persecuted, beaten, and finally tortured, accused and condemned to death unjustly. But on the third day, this scorned Jesus rose from the dead, not as a foreigner but to offer us citizenship in heaven.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, the eternal immigrant from God's kingdom among us, who speaks all languages, lives in all countries, and reunites all races.

I believe that the church is the secure home for the foreigner and for all believers who constitute it, who speak the same language and have the same purpose.

I believe that the Communion of the Saints begins when we accept the diversity of the saints. I believe in the forgiveness, which makes us all equal, and in the reconciliation, which identifies us more than does race, language or nationality.

I believe that in the Resurrection God will unite us as one people in which all are distinct and all are alike at the same time. Beyond this world, I believe in Life Eternal in which no one will be an immigrant but all will be citizens of God's kingdom, which will never end. Amen.

After reading that together, I would like to pose a question to y’all: what if migration is not at the edges of our faith? What is it at its very core?

Over the course of today, we are going to dive into the issues of immigration, LGBTQIA+, and racial justice.

We often treat immigration, race, and questions of gender and sexual identity as separate issues.

But the truth of the matter is that these issues very often intersect—we all have multiple identities.

The Immigrant’s Creed reminds us that issues of justice are not side conversations but something deeper.

They are places where God is already at work.

In the creed, we read, “I believe in Almighty God, who guided the people in exile and in exodus, the God of Joseph in Egypt and Daniel in Babylon, the god of foreigners and immigrants.”

From the very beginning, God’s people have been on the move.

Abraham leaves his home.

Israel wanders for 40 years in the wilderness.

The Holy Family flees Herod’s violence and goes to Egypt.

Over and over again, God shows up when life is unsettled, when God’s children are uncertain.

And it’s particularly important for us to remember that—because many people today are living with that same anxiety.

Some cross borders looking for safety from violence or oppression; others are looking for economic opportunity.

Some are navigating systems that treat them as invisible, less than, or worse: disposable.

Some carry racial, cultural, or sexual identities that put them on the margins of society.

Their stories are different, but their experience is very similar: they are struggling to find a place where that can feel fully at home.

And the creed says: that is exactly where God is.

Not just in sanctuary.

But in movement. In vulnerability. In all the in-between spaces.

In the creed, we read, “I believe in Jesus Christ, a displaced Galilean, who was born away from his people and his home, who fled his country with his parents when his life was in danger, and returning to his own country suffered the oppression of the tyrant Pontius Pilate, the servant of a foreign power…”

Jesus is not a distant figure—he is Emanuel, God with us.

He is born away from home.

As a child, he becomes a refugee, fleeing violence with his parents.

He grows up in a place far from family and friends—a place where he is a stranger.

Jesus knows what it is to be labeled as a stranger.

He knows what it is like to be dismissed as a foreigner.

He knows what it is like to be an outsider and misunderstood.

And when we begin to see that clearly, something shifts.

Because the people our world pushes aside—immigrants, LGBTQIA+ folx, and racial minorities—are not strangers to Jesus’ story.

They understand it because they live it.

Not because their experiences are identical.

But because they share something fundamental: the experience of being told, “you are an outsider—you don’t belong.”

And the gospel speaks directly to that.

Nowhere in the gospel does it say, “you must earn your belonging.”

Nowhere does it say, “you must conform to be accepted.”

The gospel says: you are a beloved child of God.

Called by name.

And claimed as God’s own.

The creed continues, “I believe in the Holy Spirit, the eternal immigrant from God's kingdom among us, who speaks all languages, lives in all countries, and reunites all races.”

At Pentecost, the Spirit didn’t erase difference.

People didn’t suddenly speak one language.

No, the Spirit met each person where they were—and created understanding across differences.

That is God’s vision of community.

Not uniformity.

Not sameness.

But connection.

And that matters for us, because we live in a world that often responds to differences with fear.

Fear of the immigrant.

Fear of different cultures and languages.

Fear of those whose identities challenge our assumptions.

But fear builds walls and creates boundaries.

In contrast, the Spirit builds relationships.

The Spirit encourages us to think differently—to think more broadly.

The Spirit says: God is not confined to one language, one nation, one race, one identity.

Our God is a God of motion.

Our God moves freely.

Our God is not confined to a box.

The categories we assign to ourselves do not apply to God.

That realization frees us to expand our vision—to see the image of God in each and every one of our human siblings.

And, with that clarity, we can finally understand that we all belong.

The creed says, “I believe that the church is the secure home for the foreigner and for all believers who constitute it, who speak the same language and have the same purpose.”

What a beautiful encapsulation of our theology of welcoming the stranger.

But it is also a challenging one.

Because it requires us to take a hard look at ourselves.

Is the church truly a home for all?

Or is it only for a home for those who are like us—who feel familiar?

We must ask ourselves who feels fully seen, heard, and appreciated here?

Who might feel like they have to hide part of themselves in order to belong?

These are not easy questions—but they are faithful ones.

Because the church does not create belonging—God does.

And we, as God’s church, are called to reflect God’s unconditional love and create that sense of belonging.

And when we fall short, when we fail to adequately reflect that love and create that welcome, we return again to grace.

The creed says, “I believe in the forgiveness, which makes us all equal, and in the reconciliation, which identifies us more than does race, language or nationality”

Our worth is not determined by our immigration status.

Our worth is not determined by our race.

Our worth is not determined by our sexual orientation or gender identity.

Our worth is wrapped up in God’s grace.

A grace that we cannot earn.

A grace that has nothing to do with who we are, what we do, or even what we believe.

That grace has everything to do with God.

We receive grace because that is the nature of God.

And the miracle of that grace is that it transforms us.

The creed closes with “I believe that, in the Resurrection, God will unite us as one people in which all are distinct and all are alike at the same time. Beyond this world, I believe in Life Eternal in which no one will be an immigrant but all will be citizens of God's kingdom, which will never end.”

Resurrection is not just something that happens at the end of time.

Resurrection is new creation—it is something God is always doing.

Bringing life out of loss.

Hope out of hardship.

Community out of division.

For immigrants, resurrection can look like building a new life in a new place.

For those who have been marginalized because of race or identity, it can look like reclaiming dignity and voice.

For the church, it can look like becoming more fully what God has called it to be.

A place of welcome.

A place of justice.

A place of love.

So what does this mean for us?

It means that faith is not about standing still.

It is about moving with God.

Moving toward those who are pushed aside.

Moving beyond the boundaries that divide us.

Moving into relationships that reflect God’s unconditional love.

Because our God is a God in motion.

Therefore, our call as the people God is to also be in motion—to journey with our siblings on the margins.

To be people who trust that, wherever there is struggle, God is present.

Wherever there are differences that divide, there is an opportunity for the Spirit to do her work.

And wherever there is a longing to belong, Jesus is already there, waiting for us to recognize his presence.

In the stranger.

In the neighbor.

In one another.

Amen.