When Sanctuary Shatters: Can the Church Protect Those Who Hide in Fear

 

Illustration by Kume Pather

Pay no attention to what you hear in the news, this is the reality for many:

Veronica clutched her daughter’s hand tighter as they walked down the cracked sidewalk. The sun had barely risen, casting a dull orange glow over the neighborhood, but she felt no warmth. The air was thick with fear, an invisible fog that had settled over their community in recent days.

“¿Mami, por qué caminas tan rápido?” Sofia’s small voice broke through Veronica’s racing thoughts.

She forced a smile. “No quiero que llegues tarde, mi amor.”

That was a lie. She wasn’t concerned about being late; her thoughts were dominated by the shadows lurking on the streets, the sirens that had become a constant soundtrack, the black SUVs that had been circling their neighborhood.

It hadn’t always been like this. Not long ago, she found comfort in knowing that some places like the church, school, the hospital were a sanctuary, protected by law. Places where families like hers could breathe. But now, with the new changes in immigration enforcement policies, stripping away those protections, nowhere was safe.

First, it was the hospital two blocks from their apartment. An immigrant father had taken his daughter in for a fever and never came home. Then came the school arrest, ICE agents waiting at the entrance, questioning parents, and detaining those who couldn’t produce the right documentation.

And then, the unthinkable.

It was at Mass last Sunday. Veronica was kneeling, Sofia at her side, when the church doors burst open. ICE enforcement officers with their bulletproof vests and weapons shattering the sacred peace as if they were conducting a drug raid. The cries of children, the gasps of abuelas, the prayers turning to desperate pleas, Veronica would never forget it.

Father Antonio had stepped forward, shaking but firm. “This is the house of God.”

The lead ICE agent barely glanced at him, replying, “Not anymore.” The cold dismissal evoked events of 1933 Germany.

They handcuffed and dragged away two congregants. One had been living in the U.S. for decades, and one was a deacon who led bible study. The other, a mother, just like Veronica, clutching her son’s hand as they pulled her away.

The government had stripped away the last protections, leaving families like Veronica’s exposed. Where faith once provided refuge, even the altar now felt unsafe. As they reached the school doors, María knelt in front of Sofia and smoothed her curly hair. “Vas a estar bien, ¿sí?”

Sofia hesitated. “Mami… ¿Dios nos está mirando?”

Veronica swallowed the lump in her throat. She had always believed their faith made them strong, that it was the thread weaving their community together. But today, standing in the cold morning air, she wondered if faith alone was enough.

Still, she refused to let fear win.

She kissed Sofia’s forehead. “Sí, mi amor. Siempre.”

While Veronica’s story is fictitious, the fear and uncertainty it depicts echo the lived experiences of countless Latino families today. In response to this, the church needs to do more.

The Church as a Place of Protection

   (Photo by Joe Raedle Getty Images)

For centuries, churches have been sanctuaries places where the weary find rest, the persecuted find shelter, and the broken find healing. But now, in cities like Charlotte, NC the very people who seek refuge in churches are no longer protected. Aimee Yeager, a representative with the Western North Carolina Conference of the United Methodist Church said, “Places of worship are places where ICE should not be able to conduct enforcement actions without a judicial warrant.”

In neighborhoods with large Latino populations, the presence of immigration officers has transformed daily life. Parents are afraid to take their children to school, workers hesitate before stepping outside their homes, and families are retreating into their homes, afraid to venture out. María, a Mexican immigrant who has lived in the U.S. for over 30 years, spoke of the fear in her community: “I avoid crowded places because ICE focuses there” (Sánchez-Vallejo, 2025). These are people of faith, people who contribute to their communities, yet they are being targeted relentlessly.

Standing Firm in Faith

 (Catholic Church in Houston, photo by James Ramos/Herald)

Scriptures remind us, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble” (Psalm 46:1). Across the country, faith communities are refusing to be paralyzed by fear. They are turning to God, standing together, and proclaiming that His house will remain a place of protection.

In Chicago, Pastor Marvin del Ríos of Starting Point Baptist Church has transformed his church into a beacon of hope, providing tangible support and legal aid. “We are not helping criminals,” he said, “but protecting the persecuted.” Over the past 18 months, his church has provided refuge to 70 people, and 17 are currently in his care. Like the good shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine to find the one lost sheep (Luke 15:4), these pastors are putting their faith into action, refusing to turn away those in need.

The Church Must Not Be Silent

(Photo by Alissa Tuttle Special to Detroit Catholic)

The Christian faith calls for its followers to be a light in the darkness, to defend the oppressed, and to stand with the stranger. As Jesus Himself said, “I was a stranger, and you welcomed me” (Matthew 25:35). This is the Church's calling; this is their moment to act.

Amidst escalating immigration enforcement, let us remember that no policy, no law, no government can separate us from the love of Christ (Romans 8:38-39). Let us stand together, unwavering in faith, and remind the world that the Church is not a place of fear but of love, mercy, and refuge.

For those who are afraid, we say: Do not fear, for God is with you (Isaiah 41:10). For those who are weary, we say: Come to the Lord, and He will give you rest (Matthew 11:28). And for those who seek justice, we say: Stand firm, for the Lord is your defender (Exodus 14:14).

In the face of fear, let our faith be the sanctuary others seek; let our actions be the refuge they find.

 

Reference: 

Sánchez-Vallejo, M. A. (2025, January 29). El miedo a la deportación se extiende entre los inmigrantes de chicago: “Estamos Encerrados en casa.” El País.