This is Not The Way

A reflection on Alex Pretti, the cost of fear, and what it means to be known by our love

I’ve been wrestling with what to say—if anything at all—and whether saying something, especially on social media, makes any real difference. So, I guess in some way, this post is a reminder for myself. My guess is that you find the ICE activity in Minneapolis and elsewhere acceptable and good domestic policy, nothing that anything I do or don’t say is unlikely to change your mind. And of course, the beauty of the American experiment is that you have that right.

Yes, immigration is a complicated and important issue that needs to be addressed. And no—this is not the way to address it. Our political and governmental systems are past the point of handling it in a way that is productive, humane, or dignified. That may be where we are, but it is not where we should be. And Americans are paying the price.

I believe what is happening now is sinful. It makes God weep. This is not the way.

Yesterday, Alex Pretti paid that price.

Mr. Rogers famously told us that in times of trouble, we should “look for the helpers.” By all accounts, Alex Pretti was a helper. An American citizen. A nurse. Someone who showed up for others when they were vulnerable. On my best days, I hope I might be identified as a helper. I am fortunate to know many people who live this way, often quietly and without recognition.

A quick reading of the Gospels tells us that being a helper is not incidental to the Christian faith—it is one of its defining marks. Jesus says, “They will know you are my disciples by your love.” Love that shows up. Love that protects. Love that refuses to look away. A broad theme of the Bible is how nations are judged based upon how well they care for the widows, the orphans, and the foreigners in their midst.

The question before us is not whether immigration is difficult or complex—we already know that it is. The question is who we are becoming in the way we respond to it. When fear drives our policies, when force replaces dignity, and when helpers become casualties, something in our common life is deeply broken.

Following Jesus has never been about choosing the safest or most politically convenient path. It has always been about choosing love, even when it costs us something. Especially when it costs us something. If we are known for anything, may it be this: that we stood with the vulnerable, that we honored human dignity, and that we refused to accept cruelty as the price of order.

This is not the way. And we do not have to accept it as inevitable.