Welcoming The Stranger

In keeping with my goal this week to try to demonstrate better ways to think and converse about some of the hot-button issues in our current, contentious culture (good alliteration, right?), I'm going to steer us toward the topic of immigration. 

Inside the Statue of Liberty, there is a bronze plaque with the words of a poem by Emma Lazarus that reads: 

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" 

In the waning days of the 19th century, my great-grandfather saw that statue from the deck of a tiny cargo ship crammed with over two thousand refugees from Europe.  He was from Austria, spoke little English, had little money, and yet clung to a dream of a better life.  

I exist because Josef Bloder made an exodus to a new world.  And the beauty of America is that we all "come from away," as it is a nation of immigrants, arguably the most diverse country on the planet.  

Yet, we seem to have lost something along the way through all of the debates over immigration.  We've lost the ability to see the humanity in those who have the same kind of dream my great-grandfather had.  

The late Catholic activist Dorothy Day once wrote: 

“A custom existed among the first generations of Christians, when faith was a bright fire that warmed more than those who kept it burning. In every house then a room was kept ready for any stranger who might ask for shelter; it was even called ‘the stranger’s room.’ Not because these people thought they could trace something of someone they loved in the stranger who used it, not because the man or woman to whom they gave shelter reminded them of Christ, but because—plain and simple and stupendous fact—he or she was Christ.”

Her words recall a forgotten truth at the heart of Christian discipleship: hospitality is not charity; it is sacrament. To welcome the stranger is to welcome Christ Himself. Jesus said plainly, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me” (Matthew 25:35). 

This was not a metaphor—it was a radical redefinition of neighborliness. The early church took Jesus at His word, transforming their homes into sanctuaries of grace, warmth, and protection for those who had nowhere else to go.

Yet in our modern culture, we have drifted far from this vision. Fear and suspicion have taken root where love and compassion once flourished. Immigrants and refugees—men, women, and children made in God’s image—are often spoken of not as neighbors, but as threats. 

In many circles, “foreigner” has become synonymous with “other.” This “othering” of human beings is not only un-Christlike; it is anti-Christ in spirit, denying the very incarnation of God’s love that sees Christ in every person.

Scripture calls us to a different way: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it” (Hebrews 13:2). Paul echoes the same spirit when he reminds us, “You are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people” (Ephesians 2:19). In Christ, there are no borders that divide hearts, only bridges that unite them.

To live this truth is to resist the currents of fear and embrace the radical welcome of Jesus—the one who made room for outcasts and outsiders alike. It means opening our hearts, homes, and communities to those whom the world rejects. 

We can, as followers of Jesus, be filled with compassion for those seeking a better life, even as we realize the need to fix our broken immigration system.  Those two things can be held together.  

May we learn to see Christ in the eyes of every stranger, and let our love burn bright enough to warm those who have been left in the cold.  May we learn what it means to hold in tension our love for others with the need for better and more just laws for us all.  And may the law of love be in every heart as we do.  

Prayer:
Loving God, open our hearts to welcome those we do not understand. Help us see Your image in every face, and give us the courage to practice the hospitality of Christ in a world that fears difference. Amen.

Reflection Questions:

1. Who in my community might feel like a “foreigner” or outsider, and how could I extend welcome to them?

2. What fears or assumptions keep me from seeing Christ in others?

3. How might I make space—literally or figuratively—for “the stranger’s room” in my own life?