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.