Opinion
Image of Rosa Sabido taking sanctuary in the United Methodist Church while facing deportation, July 19, 2017, Mancos, Col. Credit: Reuters/Lucy Nicholson.
As we enter a second Donald Trump presidency, the stakes could not be higher for undocumented people and asylum seekers in this country. Having promised mass deportations to a degree never attempted in the United States, President-elect Trump’s new border czar, Tom Homan, has signaled that the administration’s cruelty will begin in my backyard — Chicago. What he might not be counting on is organized resistance from labor, faith, and immigration leaders that will attempt to thwart these plans.
During his first term, President Donald Trump and Vice President Mike Pence visit the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial in Washington, D.C. REUTERS/Yuri Gripas
The juxtaposition is hard to ignore: President-elect Donald Trump, who launched his political career by questioning — without evidence — the citizenship of our country’s first Black president, will take his second oath of office on the day we remember and honor Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., this country’s greatest champion for civil and human rights. Though I hope and pray Trump’s second term will follow the moral vision we honor every year on King’s birthday, I fear the dream King cast for America is much more akin to Trump’s nightmare.
Jimmy Carter greets a young Nepali boy with the customary namaste gesture during the Carter Center’s observation of Nepal’s constituent assembly elections in November 2013. (Photo courtesy of The Carter Center)
Since his death, Carter’s remarkable life and numerous accomplishments have been rightly celebrated, including the Camp David Accords, a historic nuclear weapons treaty, major environmental protection legislation, the release of political prisoners, the near-eradication of the Guinea worm, aid in conducting free and fair elections in dozens of countries around the world, and decades of volunteer service with Habitat for Humanity. But despite this impressive legacy, what most inspires me about Carter was how he applied his faith to the messiness of politics, both during his time in the White House and in his many years after — a model that we desperately need today in our increasingly polarized and vitriolic politics.
Credit: Behnam Norouzi/Unsplash.
Awareness months, weeks, and days are the kind of thing that often feel manufactured to get us to buy things: It’s Black History Month in February, so buy anti-racist books or something; it’s Stress Awareness Month in April, so invest in yourself and sign up for a mindfulness meditation class; May 6-12 is National Nurses Week, so buy some stuff and send it to a local hospital. These are all fine things to do, but is that all there is to this? Are awareness months just an excuse to throw some money at a cause? Is it just a convenient hook for journalists to write an article about a certain cause or group of people?
The waning full moon over the city center in Germany's Cologne is transformed into a festive sea of lights in the run-up to Christmas. Image: IMAGO/Marc John via Reuters Connect
I want to draw a careful distinction between saying that God can use an earthly event like an election to accomplish God’s purposes in the world and the claim that God — not the majority of American citizens who voted in the election this past November — chose Trump to become president.
A FEMA worker attends a claim by a local resident after being affected by floods following the passing of Hurricane Helene, in Marion, N.C., U.S., Oct. 5, 2024. Credit: Reuters/Eduardo Munoz.
On Nov. 19, Federal Emergency Management Agency Administrator Deanne Criswell sat before legislators on Capitol Hill and defended the agency from accusations that it responded slowly to hurricanes in the southeastern United States and skipped homes with President-elect Donald Trump signs on their property.
Earlier in November, Criswell said in a statement that a FEMA employee who had told relief workers in Florida to skip houses with signs supporting Trump had been fired. (Other employees later returned to those homes to offer the opportunity to apply for aid, Criswell testified.) This revelation came at a time when conspiracy theories about hurricanes were rampant.
A person stands near the Washington Monument in Washington, D.C., U.S., December 2, 2024. REUTERS/Benoit Tessier TPX IMAGES OF THE DAY
Friends and colleagues have mentioned how the news alert ping of each new nomination can often leave them feeling frozen with dread or just wanting to unplug from the news altogether. I can relate. But I want to offer a better way forward that’s rooted in my values as a Christian — a way to engage that doesn’t leave me feeling trapped in anxiety or resignation.
A prison employee reads letters from inmates to their sons at San Quentin state prison in San Quentin, California June 8, 2012. An annual Fathers' Day event, "Get On The Bus" brings children in California to visit their fathers in prison. Sixty percent of parents in state prison report being held over 100 miles (161 km) from their children. Regular prison visits lower rates of recidivism for the parent, and make the child better emotionally adjusted and less likely to become delinquent, according to The Center for Restorative Justice Works, the non-profit organization that runs the "Get on the Bus" program. Picture taken June 8, 2012. Credit: Reuters/Lucy Nicholson.
As a Christian, I spend a lot of time meditating on what it means to love those who have been incarcerated. These people are a specific group Jesus names in Matthew 25:36-40, saying that when we visit people in prison, we’re visiting him. Throughout the Bible, God demonstrates a concern for the marginalized. When Christians meditate on what it means to love our neighbor (Matthew 22:37-39), we shouldn’t only think of those who live next door to us, but also those who are imprisoned. But with literal walls and bars separating the incarcerated population from the rest of society, what does it actually mean to love your incarcerated neighbor?
Picture of family holding hands around a table. Credit: Unsplash.
I always travel home for the holidays. No matter what the challenges — overbooked trains, cross-country road trips through winter snowstorms, a carpool with strangers from college, or crowded airports with angsty TSA agents — I always find a way.
I make this journey because, growing up, these autumnal gatherings were always a source of great joy. I was fortunate to grow up in a home whose greatest holiday struggles were finding enough chairs to seat every beloved guest and sliding in the finicky table extensions to accommodate the full spread of food. We played games, watched football, took long naps, and awoke to the miracle of more food.
For myself and others, these rituals continue today, but the holidays have evolved into an increasingly tense time.
Tony Campolo (1935-2024). Graphic by Betsy Shirley/Sojourners
Looking back now, a quarter century later, I see how Tony Campolo’s life shaped my own. When the political operatives of the New Right partnered with Jerry Falwell and other Southern Baptists to use Christian faith to rally a reactionary political movement in the 1970s, Tony understood what was happening.
Getty images / Unsplash
We are in for a difficult four years as a country. During the first four years of Donald Trump’s administration, I did not hesitate to call him a fascist, and looking ahead to his next four years, I am so worried about vulnerable people in this country. I am worried about immigrants. I am worried about queer people and trans kids. I am worried, yes, but I know that even in the most difficult time, miracles are possible.
President-elect Donald Trump and President Joe Biden during a meeting in the Oval Office of the White House on Nov. 13, 2024. Credit: Al Drago / POOL via CNP/INSTARimages.com via Reuters Connect
As a person of faith, I am deeply concerned about what the outcome of this election means, especially for those who will be most vulnerable to threats of mass deportations, retaliation against perceived political enemies, and other actions planned by the incoming administration. Yet we must not follow the example set by the president-elect and his followers: We can and should acknowledge the recent election results as legitimate, even if we are pained by them. I am hopeful that we can use this moment to break the fever of election denialism and rebuild trust in our election system — a shift that will be critical for future elections. Equally critical will be our commitment to advance justice and peace, a commitment that requires us to roundly reject the siren songs of violence, conspiracy theory, and anti-democratic methods.
A person holds a sign reading "We are the sun of Florida, stop the law SB 1718" during a Solidarity Rally to condemn Florida Governor Ron DeSantis' attacks on immigrants through legislation such as SB 1718, outside City Hall in Los Angeles, Calif., June 28, 2023. Reuters/Mike Blake.
During the presidential debate in September, then-Republican candidate and now President-elect Donald J. Trump propagated a Facebook rumor that Haitian immigrants in Ohio were stealing neighbors’ pets and eating them. While the rumor has since been debunked, anti-immigrant rhetoric like this makes it easier for lawmakers to drum up support for laws such as Florida’s SB 1718, a law that is meant to address illegal immigration.
When Florida’s Republican governor, Ron DeSantis, signed SB 1718 last year, he declared it “the strongest legislation against illegal immigration anywhere in the country.” When the bill was first proposed, it included some particularly cruel policies that would discourage immigrants from seeking access to basic services such as rides to church or medical care.
A wildfire impacts several forests in the area on Sunday morning in New York State on Nov. 10, 2024. Photo by Kyle Mazza/NurPhoto via Reuters Connect
The next four years will be a climate train wreck. Trump and his ilk will dismantle as many policies and regulations as they can. Autocrats and newly influential far-right parties the world over will be emboldened to “drill baby, drill.” More parts of the world will burn, flood, and turn into desert. Refugees — who are treated with God’s passionate care in the Hebrew Bible — will be scorned, vilified, detained, and deported at borders and in global northern countries around the world. It will be painful. And yet, based on the patterns already in place, the world will do its best to look away.
A flag is left at an event held by Democratic presidential nominee U.S. Vice President Kamala Harris on Nov. 6, 2024. REUTERS/Daniel Cole
I’ll admit I struggle to face the reality that many in our country — roughly 51 percent of the popular vote, according to current estimates — are feeling some combination of elation, pride, and excitement that their chosen candidate has won. Even in my pain and grief, I know that as a follower of Jesus, I am called to pray for the incoming Trump administration and the people who voted for it. I’m committed to doing that work, but I confess: It feels hard right now.
Image of a person's hand in a pool filled with turtles. Credit: Unsplash/Diana Light.
My 8-year-old came downstairs with tears in his eyes after learning the news today.
“What will happen to the turtles?” he cried. He has been haunted by Trump’s words at the Republican National Convention, as he shouted “Drill, baby, drill!”
A phone shows a map of the Electoral College during the 2020 election. Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash
Many of us have been working hard for months to shore up the freedom to vote for all citizens. We have knocked on doors, made calls to strangers, signed petitions, watched the news, created content, and equipped leaders on civic engagement strategies, hoping we will get the opportunity to rest after Election Day. For months, we have given our energy, sweat, and tears to ensure our communities are informed and equipped for this election. It seems like it will never end. But here’s the good part: We don’t have to wait until it’s over to get some rest.
Artists curated by Paints Institute, paint murals on the boarded up windows of St. John's Church as a work of art activism for racial justice at Black Lives Matter Plaza in Washington, U.S., September 5, 2020. Credit: Reuters/Cheriss May.
In the summer of 2020, I was scrolling through Twitter (now called X) when I saw a video of young protesters gathering near the house of the Chicago Mayor at that time, Lori Lightfoot. They were protesting her heel turn away from the progressive policies on which she had run. In the background of the video the doors of my church, Grace Church of Logan Square, were firmly closed. To have our doors closed to brave and bold young people fighting for justice was not the witness that my church wanted to bear. So, I called several of my leaders and our partner congregation, St. Luke’s Lutheran, and our protest support group was born.
Peruvian theologian and Dominican priest Gustavo Gutierrez speaks during a news conference in downtown Rome on Feb. 25, 2014. REUTERS/Max Rossi
Gutierrez had systematized a living, collaborative, community movement in his ground-breaking work, A Theology of Liberation, published in 1971 in Spanish and two years later in English. Over decades, clerics and community leaders, men and women, across cultures, identities, and denominations, all had contributed, in the smallest way, to the construction of this new way of thinking about — and acting toward — God and God’s glorious creation.
Texas delegates hold "mass deportation now" signs at the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee, Wisc., on July 17, 2024. REUTERS/Evelyn Hockstein
“Fascist” isn’t a word I ever use lightly. It’s not a word that resonates with most Americans, and I’ve worried using that word will only further polarize our deeply divided nation. But Trump’s escalating rhetoric, especially over the past few months, calls for moral clarity: It is time to state emphatically that Trump’s rhetoric is increasingly and dangerously fascist. Since we know that this kind of language creates a permission structure to justify and incite violence, Christians of all stripes must condemn language that crosses that line.