The Immigrant Story

In 1974, I discovered Lawndale Christian Reformed Church because I followed my brother Freddie, who tried to prevent me the opportunity of playing basketball. The church housed a multi-purpose gym for over fifty years prior to my knowledge. In 1981, I joined Lawndale as a member while Iwas attending college. I became acutely aware that I had joined an immigrant church that had a different history, a different way of looking at the world, and a different view of God at work in the world. I did not know how much the Christian Reformed Church would influence my own perspective and the work I am doing today.

This immigrant church showed me that God’s grace is more amazing than I could even imagine and that his grace is the best way of making a difference in the world, rather than fear or despair. This immigrant church taught me that every person has been stamped with the image of God and is worthy of protection and promise if given the chance. This immigrant church became the place where racial segregation was not the norm, but people who loved and fought for each other’s dignity.

Speaking of church, I pastored in a Grand Rapids immigrant community where Latino parents today are afraid to take their children to school because ICE agents might have surprise raids, scooping them up, and they will never see them again. I live among immigrants who take care of the children of elite families, and who slaughter the livestock that appears in the grocery stores and on family tables. Both of these immigrant stories matter by demonstrating we all came from somewhere else and desperately need to hear each other’s stories. Can we make the time to do such a thing?