Gena Ruocco Thomas holds a masters in international development from Eastern University and has written two books, A Smoldering Wick: Igniting Missions Work with Sustainable Practices and Separated by the Border: A birth mother, a foster mother, and a migrant child's 3,000-mile journey. She works as a program coordinator for World Relief.
I walked up the stairs that jutted out from the curvy, busy cobblestone street of mountainous Futani, Italy, landing on the narrow platform that served as the entryway of my late great-grandmother’s small concrete home. Inside, the house was completely empty, yet my heart was full. In a moment I never thought would happen, I saw the land, entered the home, walked the street, marveled at the arched doorway, and conversed with relatives, connecting my American life to my Italian ancestors.
Seeds carry the essence of their soil with them wherever they go. Our futures follow the trajectory our past set out, and our world is what it presently is because of it.
“It is evident that migration has played a pivotal role throughout the years in shaping the world as we know it today,” said Sue Le Mesurier, senior policy officer of migration for the Spanish Red Cross. Migration has fashioned our foods, music, families, economies, languages, behaviors, faith, land, and memories. In 2019, nearly 7.4 million Americans moved from one US state to another, while the number of international migrants reached 272 million.
Migration plays a critical role in promoting human flourishing, as different cultures bring varying perspectives on all aspects of life, from the trivial (like how to make the best cup of coffee) to the life-changing (like how my perception of America was unknowingly exceptionalistic). In my own migrations to Italy, Honduras, and Mexico, I learned to mother, cook, visit, grocery shop, welcome, worship, teach, speak, and befriend more fully. These cultures added layers, enhancing my pre-existing layers of white American culture.
Economic flourishing increases because of migration. According to the International Monetary Fund (IMF), migrating workers of differing skill areas bring benefits across sectors to their new home countries: “. . . The gains are broadly shared by the population. It may therefore be well-worth shouldering the short-term costs to help integrate these new workers.” In its 2016 study, “Impact of Migration,” the IMF found that migration results in higher GDP per capita for recipient countries. Additionally, remittances (private money sent by immigrants back to their home countries) are “among the most tangible links between migration and development.” In 2018, the US received $6.7 billion in remittances and sent $68.5 billion. Beyond remittances, immigration is responsible for 25 percent of all entrepreneurs in the US. Economically and culturally, can you imagine an America without companies such as Apple, Amazon, eBay, and Google?
Yet aspects of human flourishing that come from migration are often resisted. The power-holding culture can be hostile to how migration brings changes. Laila Lalami, Moroccan American novelist, writes, “Immigrants are expected, over an undefined period, to become like other Americans, a process metaphorically described as a melting pot. But what this means, in practice, remains unsettled. . . . It should be clear by now that assimilation is primarily about power.”
When we look at the book of Daniel, we recognize this right away. Daniel was immediately given an assimilated name, Belteshazzar, when he began working for the Babylonian king. Daniel had to be cunning in his approach not to assimilate, as the guard in charge of him was afraid of King Nebuchadnezzar’s power (Dan. 1:10). That fear was not unmerited, as Daniel’s fellow Israelites, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, are later thrown into a fiery furnace for their refusal to spiritually assimilate. The Israelites here embody Christ’s wisdom of learning to be as innocent as doves and as shrewd as snakes. And we learn from them. Our spiritual flourishing increases as we hear their stories, passed down from different generations and flowing through an array of cultures.
Migration brings new opportunities—culturally, economically, and spiritually. But those come often at great cost: assimilation, family separation, loss of identity and connections to languages, lands, and people. We should acknowledge and lament the personal and cultural cost of migration. When we choose to lament together, we learn to see our migrating neighbors as whole human beings. We learn to actually love the sojourner (Deut. 10:19), weep with those who weep (Rom. 12:15), and help others get ahead (Phil. 2:4). When those who have never migrated learn to lament with those who have, confession follows: we confess for the ways we’ve expected unjust assimilation. We confess for the ways we’ve perpetuated stereotypes. We confess for the ways we’ve benefitted from denigrating migrants. Lament and confession make room for a deeper flourishing many Christians have yet to experience.
Because of the Great Migration, when 6 million African Americans migrated from the South to the North and the West during the twentieth century, opportunities that didn’t exist before were created. God-given talent that was always there blossomed, as seen in jazz music, novels, memoirs, and art from this time. Yet flourishing was also truncated. Injustice was exposed in new ways, as certain dominant forces resisted the influx of sojourners.
Migration has a way of pinpointing our cultural myths as they rub against other cultural narratives. If we are perceptive and intentional, this awareness will shed light on our cultural idols, and give us a mirror to see how much our cultural identity shapes our faith. “We will each express our faith differently because of our cultural narratives,” says Dr. Michelle Ami Reyes in her book Becoming All Things.
When we look at Acts 8, we see that the Ethiopian eunuch who had come to Jerusalem to worship (Acts 8:27) is baptized by Philip, which begins the history of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church. Philip, led by the Spirit, shatters previously held, culturally exclusive traditions that suggested the eunuch should not have been allowed to be baptized. Spiritual inclusion comes by way of an outsider looking in and sincerely questioning, “What would keep me from being baptized?” (Acts 8:36, CEB) How often are our cultural myths acting as faith barriers keeping us from experiencing God afresh? Migration can filter our faith in ways we didn’t know it needed to be filtered.
My family history taught me how language, food, and culture create more nuanced perspectives on everyday life. Hearing the good, the bad, and the ugly of immigrating to the United States taught me that the dominating voices on immigration aren’t always accurate, even when they come from the President or the pulpit. My Honduran friends showed me the exquisite taste of a freshly made flour tortilla with eggs, refried beans, and avocado. They demonstrated that family is more important than schedules, and hanging out shouldn’t require a heads up. In northern Mexico, I learned that communal mothering leads to unexpected flourishing, and that God is still present when the rains don’t come. My Ethiopian American friend taught me to stop calling actual people and people groups “the least of these,” prompting a pivotal change in my missiology.
Migration shapes and molds the world as we know it; and if we allow it, it will shape, mold, and broaden our own flourishing. Whether we’ve migrated or not, migration disciples us into more full and aware human beings. We more closely resemble the kingdom of God not only when we welcome the changing landscape migration brings, but when we allow ourselves to be changed for the better by that landscape: to be ushered into new cultures, to see the injustice of assimilation, to step down from our cultural pedestals, to stand for the equality of all people.
I walked up the stairs that jutted out from the curvy, busy cobblestone street of mountainous Futani, Italy, landing on the narrow platform that served as the entryway of my late great-grandmother’s small concrete home. Inside, the house was completely empty, yet my heart was full. In a moment I never thought would happen, I saw the land, entered the home, walked the street, marveled at the arched doorway, and conversed with relatives, connecting my American life to my Italian ancestors.
Migration plays a critical role in promoting human flourishing, as different cultures bring varying perspectives on all aspects of life
Seeds carry the essence of their soil with them wherever they go. Our futures follow the trajectory our past set out, and our world is what it presently is because of it.
“It is evident that migration has played a pivotal role throughout the years in shaping the world as we know it today,” said Sue Le Mesurier, senior policy officer of migration for the Spanish Red Cross. Migration has fashioned our foods, music, families, economies, languages, behaviors, faith, land, and memories. In 2019, nearly 7.4 million Americans moved from one US state to another, while the number of international migrants reached 272 million.
Migration plays a critical role in promoting human flourishing, as different cultures bring varying perspectives on all aspects of life, from the trivial (like how to make the best cup of coffee) to the life-changing (like how my perception of America was unknowingly exceptionalistic). In my own migrations to Italy, Honduras, and Mexico, I learned to mother, cook, visit, grocery shop, welcome, worship, teach, speak, and befriend more fully. These cultures added layers, enhancing my pre-existing layers of white American culture.
Aspects of human flourishing that come from migration are often resisted
Economic flourishing increases because of migration. According to the International Monetary Fund (IMF), migrating workers of differing skill areas bring benefits across sectors to their new home countries: “. . . The gains are broadly shared by the population. It may therefore be well-worth shouldering the short-term costs to help integrate these new workers.” In its 2016 study, “Impact of Migration,” the IMF found that migration results in higher GDP per capita for recipient countries. Additionally, remittances (private money sent by immigrants back to their home countries) are “among the most tangible links between migration and development.” In 2018, the US received $6.7 billion in remittances and sent $68.5 billion. Beyond remittances, immigration is responsible for 25 percent of all entrepreneurs in the US. Economically and culturally, can you imagine an America without companies such as Apple, Amazon, eBay, and Google?
Yet aspects of human flourishing that come from migration are often resisted. The power-holding culture can be hostile to how migration brings changes. Laila Lalami, Moroccan American novelist, writes, “Immigrants are expected, over an undefined period, to become like other Americans, a process metaphorically described as a melting pot. But what this means, in practice, remains unsettled. . . . It should be clear by now that assimilation is primarily about power.”
When we look at the book of Daniel, we recognize this right away. Daniel was immediately given an assimilated name, Belteshazzar, when he began working for the Babylonian king. Daniel had to be cunning in his approach not to assimilate, as the guard in charge of him was afraid of King Nebuchadnezzar’s power (Dan. 1:10). That fear was not unmerited, as Daniel’s fellow Israelites, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, are later thrown into a fiery furnace for their refusal to spiritually assimilate. The Israelites here embody Christ’s wisdom of learning to be as innocent as doves and as shrewd as snakes. And we learn from them. Our spiritual flourishing increases as we hear their stories, passed down from different generations and flowing through an array of cultures.
Migration can filter our faith in ways we didn’t know it needed to be filtered
Migration brings new opportunities—culturally, economically, and spiritually. But those come often at great cost: assimilation, family separation, loss of identity and connections to languages, lands, and people. We should acknowledge and lament the personal and cultural cost of migration. When we choose to lament together, we learn to see our migrating neighbors as whole human beings. We learn to actually love the sojourner (Deut. 10:19), weep with those who weep (Rom. 12:15), and help others get ahead (Phil. 2:4). When those who have never migrated learn to lament with those who have, confession follows: we confess for the ways we’ve expected unjust assimilation. We confess for the ways we’ve perpetuated stereotypes. We confess for the ways we’ve benefitted from denigrating migrants. Lament and confession make room for a deeper flourishing many Christians have yet to experience.
Because of the Great Migration, when 6 million African Americans migrated from the South to the North and the West during the twentieth century, opportunities that didn’t exist before were created. God-given talent that was always there blossomed, as seen in jazz music, novels, memoirs, and art from this time. Yet flourishing was also truncated. Injustice was exposed in new ways, as certain dominant forces resisted the influx of sojourners.
Migration has a way of pinpointing our cultural myths as they rub against other cultural narratives. If we are perceptive and intentional, this awareness will shed light on our cultural idols, and give us a mirror to see how much our cultural identity shapes our faith. “We will each express our faith differently because of our cultural narratives,” says Dr. Michelle Ami Reyes in her book Becoming All Things.
Migration shapes and molds the world as we know it; and if we allow it, it will shape, mold, and broaden our own flourishing
When we look at Acts 8, we see that the Ethiopian eunuch who had come to Jerusalem to worship (Acts 8:27) is baptized by Philip, which begins the history of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church. Philip, led by the Spirit, shatters previously held, culturally exclusive traditions that suggested the eunuch should not have been allowed to be baptized. Spiritual inclusion comes by way of an outsider looking in and sincerely questioning, “What would keep me from being baptized?” (Acts 8:36, CEB) How often are our cultural myths acting as faith barriers keeping us from experiencing God afresh? Migration can filter our faith in ways we didn’t know it needed to be filtered.
My family history taught me how language, food, and culture create more nuanced perspectives on everyday life. Hearing the good, the bad, and the ugly of immigrating to the United States taught me that the dominating voices on immigration aren’t always accurate, even when they come from the President or the pulpit. My Honduran friends showed me the exquisite taste of a freshly made flour tortilla with eggs, refried beans, and avocado. They demonstrated that family is more important than schedules, and hanging out shouldn’t require a heads up. In northern Mexico, I learned that communal mothering leads to unexpected flourishing, and that God is still present when the rains don’t come. My Ethiopian American friend taught me to stop calling actual people and people groups “the least of these,” prompting a pivotal change in my missiology.
Migration shapes and molds the world as we know it; and if we allow it, it will shape, mold, and broaden our own flourishing. Whether we’ve migrated or not, migration disciples us into more full and aware human beings. We more closely resemble the kingdom of God not only when we welcome the changing landscape migration brings, but when we allow ourselves to be changed for the better by that landscape: to be ushered into new cultures, to see the injustice of assimilation, to step down from our cultural pedestals, to stand for the equality of all people.
Migration plays a critical role in promoting human flourishing, as different cultures bring varying perspectives on all aspects of life
Aspects of human flourishing that come from migration are often resisted
Migration can filter our faith in ways we didn’t know it needed to be filtered
Migration shapes and molds the world as we know it; and if we allow it, it will shape, mold, and broaden our own flourishing
Michael Frazier is an award-winning poet & educator living in central Japan. He graduated from NYU, where he was the 2017 poet commencement speaker & a co-champion of CUPSI. He's performed at Nuyorican Poets Café, Lincoln Center, Gallatin Arts Festival, & other venues. His poems appear, or are forthcoming, in Poetry Daily, The Offing, Cream City Review, RHINO, Visible Poetry Project, & elsewhere. He also volunteers as a Youth Leader at a small cafe in Kanazawa City that’s on fire for Christ, and he’s working on poetry collection(s) about oyakodon, his hilarious mother, and being black in Japan. He’s uber passionate about anime, bubble tea, and, most importantly, the power of Christ to change lives. He also facilitates a biweekly zoom poetry book club open to the public. Message @fraziermichael or visit fraziermichael.com to join!
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Wait
Awake at 2 a.m. because the harvest moon
in my window. A voice in my head accusing me:
Wasn’t Japan only supposed to be a gap year?
How about graduate school? Or teaching kids who look
like you, who also grew up on free & reduced lunch?
Aren’t black male teachers a scarcity in America?
Who are you helping? How are you serving
the least of these? The problem, my mother said,
is that you think you there for that job, but
you ain’t. There’s a reason He called you there,
you just gotta wait on Him to reveal it. Something in me
knew this. I bookmarked
the program that would hire me as a teacher in Japan
when I was ten, but didn’t expect to be lured into staying
by red maples above moss-covered gardens, shooting stars
over Mt. Haku, black thunder chocolate
after soaking in the hot springs, the joy of learning a language
full of cute onomatopoeia & no way
to be called a racial slur. So I prayed,
fasted, waited, as ginkgos surrendered
their gold to wind & rain, & sidewalks piled
with snow. I made a pros & cons list. I told God my dreams.
I waited for an answer. But no earthquake. No fire. But
new prayers: God, what do You want me to do? I asked
the sky, as icicles from the eave of my apartment dripped
on my forehead. I closed my eyes & could smell
the first plum blossoms opening. Who to serve, I thought,
as I read to children at the library,
as I cleared plastic trash & cherry blossom petals
from along the river, as I collected yen
for the Junior Red Cross.
I tried finding ways to be useful. I sat in church
& thought where was I most needed,
as a child fell across my foot & howled, another spilt
a glass of green tea, another ran
up to the pastor, while she was preaching,
to pull on her pants leg, & the spirit within me stood up,
with a wooden spoon, like my mother. That day, I realized
I was so focused on who I thought
I was supposed to help, I couldn’t see the need in front of me.
So I started a Sunday school. We grew from five
to fifteen kids outside playing tag, plucking
pink azaleas from bushes. We pounded mochi, fried bananas,
children gathered around me as I covertly converted water into wine
with red food coloring dye. Pastor pulled me aside and said,
You’re an answered prayer. Outside church, my community grew
like the tomato & morning glory vines
that climbed up my apartment building. Weeknight taco rice
& Catan parties. Karaoke at 2am. Weekends in Tokyo
with my students, eating convenience store junk, reminiscing
about Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo & other anime that made us nostalgic.
I think of all of this while playing basketball, practicing my free throws. I see
all of their faces, & think how much I love them
& want to be in their lives forever in this life
& the next. I hear the Holy Spirit—clear as rain on glass—say, None of them
know me. None of them know Jesus. Then the ball rolling
across the court. Me crying into the lower half of my shirt. Again,
If you love them, you need to share what you’ve been given. I felt called
like the bess to the hanging wisteria. I decided to stay
for the inevitable harvest. I don’t know what next year will bring.
I don’t know why God bid me to write poems
but called me to a country where nearly no one can understand my poems.
I don’t know why he’s planted love in my heart for a culture
that’s so starkly different from my own. I don’t know when I’ll go home.
I don’t even know where home is anymore. All I know is that I share
the Gospel & people believe & their lives are transformed.
I pray & people say it’s their first time praying
but they feel different, changed. As I do this, as I pursue this
singular calling, I feel the seeds sown into my life
crack open
& flower.
Matt Elsberry is president and chief strategy officer for Livful. He started his career at an NGO, helping to grow it from 3 countries to 80 countries in six years. Through this, he realized NGOs can sometimes cause more harm than good. Matt then became VP of organization development for a regional conglomerate in Asia for five years, hoping to inspire businesses to adopt a long-term view of caring for communities, and founded the Kingdom Entrepreneurship Academy with Indonesian partners. Matt asks, "What if NGOs didn't have to be the only ones with a license on nobility? Couldn't the perception of business be challenged if the maximization of impact was trumpeted above the maximization of profit? What kind of company could be created?" He joined LivFul to create this new type of company.
As a young boy growing up in Nigeria, Hogan Bassey was tired of battling mosquitoes and malaria. At ten years old, a determined Hogan mixed up a home brew of household chemicals in the family bathtub in hopes of stopping mosquitoes and malaria for good. Although his homemade concoction fell short, Hogan never gave up his dream of helping people escape the discomfort and deadly diseases that come from insect bites. Not long after graduating from the University of Georgia, Hogan founded LivFul, Inc., a company that pioneers health innovations to help people live free, live well, and live full regardless of their context. He serves as the company’s chief access officer.
Marcos Canales, originally from Costa Rica, has pastored in the Latina community of the greater Los Angeles area and worked with nonprofits in youth development, mentoring, and immigration advocacy for more than a decade. Currently, Marcos is pastor of La Fuente Ministries, a bilingual, intercultural, and intergenerational congregation of Pasadena First Church of the Nazarene. He has also been a leading strategist for the Center for the Study of Hispanic Church and Community (Centro Latino) at Fuller Theological Seminary and an adjunct professor at various theological institutions. He received his MDiv from Fuller, and he loves to integrate Christian discipleship, social justice, and Latina theology. He is married to Andrea, a therapist, and they are raising their son, Elias, in Pasadena, CA.
As a second-generation Latina, Rosa Cándida Ramírez spends her time at the intersection of immigration and worship. As a bi-vocational pastora, Rosa is the associate pastor of spiritual formation of La Fuente Ministries, an intercultural, intergenerational, and bilingual ministry in Pasadena, CA. Rosa is also part of the legal team of the Immigration Resource Center of San Gabriel Valley, where she serves as a Department of Justice-accredited representative, helping to provide quality low-cost immigration legal services for the community.
In this personal, lively conversation, Michelle Reyes talks with Alma Ruth about her work serving vulnerable migrants at the US-Mexico border. Alma shares why she feels called to this ministry, despite the hardship and challenges. The two have become friends and partners in this important work, as Alma welcomes immigrants new to the US and Michelle’s church receives and supports them.
Michelle Reyes (PhD) is the Co-Executive Director of Pax and the Vice President of the Asian American Christian Collaborative. She is also the Scholar-in-Residence at Hope Community Church, a minority-led multicultural church in East Austin, Texas, where her husband, Aaron, serves as lead pastor. Michelle's work on faith and culture has been featured in Christianity Today, The Gospel Coalition, Missio Alliance, Faithfully Magazine and more. Her forthcoming book on cross-cultural relationships is called Becoming All Things: How Small Changes Lead to Lasting Connections Across Cultures (Zondervan; April 27, 2021). Follow Michelle on Twitter and Instagram.
Alma Ruth is the founder and president of the Practice Mercy Foundation, which serves extremely vulnerable women and children along the Mexico-Texas border. She has been in global cross-cultural missionary service since 1990. After serving in and out of Cuba in 1993-98, she developed holistic missional initiatives for Mexican seminary students from 1998 to 2008. Alma invites people of faith to extend mercy and compassion toward asylum seekers and international communities in the complex region of the Rio Grande Valley along the
Jean Nangwala is a singer, speaker, creator and survivor-advocate. She was born and raised in Lusaka, Zambia. Her passion for social justice stems from her personal experience of injustice and witnessing the same inequality across the globe.
I believe in Almighty God,
who guided the people in exile and in exodus,
the God of Joseph in Egypt and Daniel in Babylon,
the God of foreigners and immigrants.
I believe in Jesus Christ,
a displaced Galilean,
who was born away from his people and his home,
who fled his country with his parents when his life was in danger,
and returning to his own country suffered the oppression
of the tyrant Pontius Pilate, the servant of a foreign power,
who then was persecuted, beaten, and finally tortured,
accused and condemned to death unjustly.
But on the third day, this scorned Jesus rose from the dead,
not as a foreigner but to offer us citizenship in heaven.
I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the eternal immigrant from God’s kingdom among us,
who speaks all languages, lives in all countries,
and reunites all races.
I believe that the church is the secure home
for the foreigner and for all believers who constitute it,
who speak the same language and have the same purpose.
I believe that the communion of the saints begins
when we accept the diversity of the saints.
I believe in the forgiveness of sin, which makes us all equal,
and in reconciliation, which identifies us more
than does race, language, or nationality.
I believe that in the resurrection
God will unite us as one people
in which all are distinct
and all are alike at the same time.
Beyond this world, I believe in life eternal
in which no one will be an immigrant
but all will be citizens of God’s kingdom,
which will never end. Amen.
Reprinted by permission from the Book of Common Worship, © 2018 Westminster John Knox Press. All rights reserved.
