A Church for the Stranger: Biblical Mandates for the Church’s Role in Immigration
This content was originally posted on the National Association of Evangelical’s website and is part of their fall 2025 magazine, which we will be highlighting on our Telling a Better Story blog. Read the original blog post, written by Adrian Hinkle, here.
There is a profound tension in the power of the unnamed. As we reflect on our most beloved biblical stories, we’re often drawn to the legendary figures who make up the epic narrative arcs in Scripture. Characters such as Abraham, Joshua, David, Jeremiah and Paul quickly come to mind as noteworthy in our studies. However, a slower reading reveals an entire thread of characters woven through these same accounts that, if we allow, pull us deeply into the story and force us to ask a different set of questions. On the surface, we see the main characters, who walk mightily in their faith (albeit imperfectly). However, deeper into these accounts, we find the unnamed — those who, because of their background, race or gender, are deemed unnecessary to record.
Yet, it is through these characters that a different narrative emerges. The redemptive story of Scripture was never presented as exclusive to the powerful or pious. Instead, we find a counter-cultural message of a God who works through his chosen people, not for their sake alone, but to extend grace to the forgotten and the foreigner — the nameless stranger.
Pushing further, our theology of salvation history and the redeeming work of the Holy Spirit provoke us to continually evaluate ourselves and our churches on how we choose to convey God’s truth. We must ask whether we have patterned our teaching on what comes easily or the hard work of truthfully exegeting the biblical text for its full message. Furthermore, have we considered that the way we teach is just as important as what we teach? Do our actions in reaching out to the stranger speak the same message of mercy we preach from our pulpits?
At the heart of an evangelical understanding of immigration is missiology — the theology of mission. It is fundamental to the Missio Dei — a Latin term meaning mission of God or sending of God. It underlines the importance of our collective response to immigration within the context of mission. Israel’s call was never insular. Through the Abrahamic and Mosaic covenants, God forged a people to live distinctively — not to exclude, but to witness to the nations.
The biblical mandate of welcoming the stranger is easily identified in the laws’ commands, such as, “Do not mistreat or oppress a foreigner” (Exodus 22:21) and “Love them [the stranger] as yourself…” (Leviticus 19:33–34). We see a God who defends the alien and marginalized in texts such as Deuteronomy 10:18–19, and this same hospitality to the stranger is extended in the New Testament and early Church in texts such as Galatians 3:28, Acts 10, Romans 12:13, and Hebrews 13:2.
Israel’s motivation for caring for the stranger is embedded in their history of being foreigners themselves. Stories such as Abraham’s sojourn to foreign lands (Genesis 12), Jacob’s family immigration to Egypt due to famine (Genesis 46–48), the wilderness excursions, and even the conquest of Canaan serve as the backdrop of Israel’s memory to care for the foreigner. It is in this context that we also find characters such as Ruth, the Moabite (a “stranger”), who finds herself welcomed in Israel and becomes part of Jesus’ lineage.
However, it is those who are unnamed who give us some of the most potent examples of the importance of caring for the stranger. It was the “stranger” who often cared most for Israel. Intricately woven alongside the stories of the epic leaders of our faith are stories of voiceless, unnamed characters who move on behalf of Israel and are unmistakably used by God to act on behalf of Israel. They protect, guide, comfort and care for a nation called to carry out the Missio Dei.
These extraordinary individuals are included in God’s redemptive history as they act out of compassion and faith. Accounts such as Pharaoh’s daughter, who rescues a foreign baby from death to raise as her own (Exodus 2:5–10). While unnamed, she is pivotal in the deliverance of Israel. The widow at Zarephath provides food and shelter for Elijah (1 Kings 17:8–16). Despite having almost nothing, she offers hospitality. The Egyptian servant of the Amalekite is left behind to die but is cared for by David’s men. In return, he provides vital intelligence that helps David recover his people and possessions (1 Samuel 30:11–15). Similarly, the four lepers at the Gate of Samaria discover the flight of the Aramean army. They inform the city, saving it from starvation during a siege (2 Kings 7:3–11).
In the New Testament, we find accounts such as the woman at the well, who is responsible for an untold number of Samaritans who come to faith because of her testimony (John 4:39–42). The woman who anoints Jesus is unnamed in Luke’s account but praised for her extravagant love and hospitality, to which Jesus states her story will be told wherever the gospel is preached (Luke 7:36–50). Jesus heals an unnamed man possessed by demons. In response, the man begs to go with him, but Jesus insists he go home and tell his friends. This man becomes a witness to the Decapolis, a predominantly Gentile region (Mark 5:18–20). Among those scattered by persecution, unnamed people go to Antioch and begin preaching to the Gentiles, marking a pivotal shift for the Gentile inclusion into the Church and leading to the founding of the first “Christian” community (Acts 11:19–21).
Unnamed, but not unremarkable. Not only does Scripture record clear instructions to care for the stranger, but it includes numerous examples of strangers used by God to carry out the same mission of caring for those different from themselves, strangers. From these accounts, we find a clear message that Israel is exclusive to God, but God is not exclusive to Israel. God moves through ordinary individuals to protect and carry out his redemption plan.
There is a demanding but vital journey ahead as the Church seeks to engage thoughtfully and creatively in dialogue and discernment around how to best care for immigrants and contribute to meaningful solutions. Yet, this challenge must not dishearten us to settle for what is easy — caring only for those who are convenient to love — for in that decision, we create a false doctrine of “us” and “them” — of the worthy and unworthy.
It is our responsibility to insist on mercy extended to even the most difficult. When we shift our focus to anything else, we turn away from fulfilling our obligations by creating a “stranger” that does not exist. This hermeneutical construct keeps us from fully engaging in the command. Many of us find ourselves with a limited capacity to understand the expectation as we seek to define, “Who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10:29). We prefer to encase the command in a new law that narrows the definition of neighbor rather than walking in full obedience of loving without boundaries.
Identifying a problem yet neglecting to act upon information attained enables harm to persist. Passivity is not neutral; it is destructive. The gifts of the Holy Spirit are not for the performance of the Church but to bring hope to the overlooked and healing to the broken. Our insistence to extend hope to the “stranger” is part of our calling to preach the full gospel message that redemption is extended to all people.
No stranger is undeserving of courageous hospitality and mercy. It is a recognition that in serving the unnamed, we reach beyond ourselves and find a placement in the calling to see the unseen and hear the cry of the voiceless. Perhaps it positions us to hear the words of Christ differently, “‘I was hungry and you gave me food … I was a stranger and you welcomed me … as you did it to the least of these my brothers, you did to me’” (Matthew 25:35–40).
The call of believers and the Church is love without limitation — because it is within this embodiment of sacrificial love that we find the power of the gospel message. Withholding when we have the capacity to share is cowardly, discriminatory and falls short of the biblical mandate. It’s a false gospel stripped of hope and truth.
