The season of Lent has only just begun. But as a recipient of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, I feel as though I entered the Lenten season several months ago. Under the guise of protecting the border from “criminal aliens,” the Trump administration has militarized the border, sought to end birthright citizenship, and halted humanitarian programs—all acts of hostility toward migrants, refugees, and asylum seekers. Next on the chopping block may be DACA, which could lead to the termination of work authorization and reprieve from deportation for hundreds of thousands of people like me. In the meantime, the suspense and uncertainty leaves DREAMers wandering, like Jesus, in the wilderness.
Like most people of immigrant origin, I have been tested and tried by the sociopolitical environment of the last several weeks, trying to remind myself that “the Lord is my light and my salvation; whom should I fear?” (Psalm 27:1). There is, however, much to fear. The Trump administration’s recent approaches to deportations have instilled inimical fear. Over the last several weeks, we have seen innocent U.S. citizens unlawfully and mistakenly detained, simply for speaking Spanish.
Additionally, just last week, Mahmoud Khalil, a U.S. permanent resident who holds a green card and is married to a U.S. citizen, was taken by two ICE agents in civilian clothing at an apartment building owned by Columbia University. Khalil is now at risk of losing his permanent residency and being deported. The arrest is cause for concern for any college or university faculty, staff, and administrator committed to the safety and well-being of their immigrant-origin students on their campus.
In this Sunday’s second reading, St. Paul reminds the Philippians that their true citizenship is in heaven; imitate me, he says, and trust in the Lord. This passage spiritualizes citizenship, encouraging Christians to focus on the eschatological Reino de Dios. During these forty days and forty nights, the emphasis on the heavenly kingdom serves a purpose, i.e., to shift one’s focus from earthly distractions and temptations. For flesh-and-blood migrants, especially undocumented migrants, this spiritualized citizenship can be quite discouraging. For DREAMers in particular, this idea of citizenship reminds them of their life in limbo, with their feet firmly planted in the United States, the only home many of them have ever known, and with an emergency bag containing copies of important documents just in case the agents of deportation come their way.
This week’s psalm offers us, however, much-needed hope, reminding us that the Kingdom of God exists here on Earth. “I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living” (Psalm 27:13). During this season of Lent, in addition to fasting, praying, and almsgiving, we can consider advocating for issues of justice, of which immigrant justice and reform is but one example, thereby ushering forth “a more just and humane world.”
In Evangelii gaudium, Pope Francis writes, “The Gospel is about the kingdom of God; it is about loving God who reigns in our world. To the extent that he reigns within us, the life of society will be a setting for universal fraternity, justice, peace, and dignity.” The Transfiguration reveals not only Jesus’ identity; it also reveals that living in the kingdom of God requires a commitment to a life of fraternity, justice, peace, and dignity.
Just as Jesus reveals glimpses of himself in the Transfiguration, he also reveals himself in el rostro del inmigrante, the face of the migrant. During this Lenten season, the face of the migrant is an invitation to encounter Jesus and to encounter migrants in new and profound ways. A contemplative gaze on the face of the migrant Jesus reminds us of the suffering migrants in our midst and of the gifts, talents, and contributions migrants offer their host communities. More importantly, it calls us to see the humanity of the migrant and to be aware of and to address the formations and relations of inequality that dehumanize our brothers and sisters. This contemplative gaze reminds us that hope always prevails over fear. This hope is rooted in the promise that God gives to Abram, and like the countless stars in the sky upon which Abram gazes, this hope illuminates our path forward.
