Searching for Jesus at the Border
By Jeff Stukey, June 2024
In May 2024, our lives were quietly but irrevocably changed during a three-day border immersion experience in El Paso, Texas. We joined a group led by Abara, a faith-based organization devoted to cultivating deeper compassion for migrants. The experience was born from a mix of spiritual prompting, frustration with polarizing rhetoric, and a growing ache to see firsthand what was really happening at the U.S.–Mexico border.
Our curiosity was first sparked by a Christianity Today article about Sami DiPasquale, the director of Abara. His vision for “border encounters” invites people into close proximity with migrants and those serving them—not to promote political solutions, but to promote open hearts. The idea sat with us until, overwhelmed by a string of uncharitable conversations about immigration, we knew we had to act. By what felt like providence, we were able to join a group from Phoenix that had just enough space for two more.​
The days that followed were emotionally overwhelming, theologically reshaping, and spiritually clarifying. We weren’t there to debate policy. We were there, quite literally, searching for Jesus at the border. I had to know, “Does Jesus love immigrants, all immigrants, regardless of their status?”
We heard from immigration lawyers about the tangled and outdated laws that often leave asylum seekers in limbo. We learned about ethical volunteering and dignified storytelling—how to support migrants without reinforcing savior narratives. We listened to Border Patrol agents who affirmed the need for secure borders, but also expressed the need for human compassion.
One powerful session addressed the root causes of migration: violence, poverty, persecution. We heard the harrowing story of a Honduran mother who fled north after gangs murdered both her sons for unpaid extortion fees. We were confronted with images of families braving the Darien Gap and riding “La Bestia”—a freight train called “The Beast”—just to reach a sliver of hope.
The theology of migration became a central theme. From the command in Leviticus to love the foreigner as ourselves to Jesus’ words in Matthew 25—“I was a stranger and you welcomed me”—the message was consistent and undeniable. Migrants are not a problem to be solved. They are neighbors to be loved.
A pivotal moment came when we crossed the border into Juárez (in Mexico), one of the most dangerous cities in the world, to visit a shelter. There, in a moment of childlike joy, I connected with a six-year-old girl in a red dress through fist bumps and table drumming. At the same time, Margaret sat across from a grieving mother who had recently lost her son. As she showed Margaret his photo tucked into her phone case, we communicated our sorrow wordlessly. Her pain etched itself onto our hearts. Immigration was no longer a political talking point. It had a face and a pain we could feel. They say that it often takes proximity to dispel stereotypes. It was certainly true for us.
Afterward, we debriefed with Rosy, the shelter coordinator. She shared how, in response to a surge of migrants in 2018, she had persuaded several churches in Juárez to open their doors, assuring them it would only be for a few months. Six years later, many of those churches were still serving migrants—despite experiencing the loss of members, strained finances, and deep personal cost to the pastors and their families. As Rosy spoke, tears welled up in her eyes. She carried the weight of having asked so much of them, yet also bore witness to their faithfulness. Her story confronted us with a sobering question: if our own churches in the U.S. faced a similar crisis, would we make the same kind of sacrificial choice to welcome the stranger? Would we risk losing members because we were caring for the “least of these?”
We also met Michael DeBruhl, a former high-ranking Border Patrol official turned shelter director. Once tasked with national security, Michael spent his days welcoming migrants with food, water, clothes, medical care, and help finding their U.S. sponsors. His reversal was profound: from enforcing man’s law to living out God’s law. If anyone understands the risks, it’s him—yet he chose the path of compassion.
Michael also challenged common misconceptions. The border is not “being overrun.” Most immigrants are not criminals. El Paso, which has the highest number of Border Patrol encounters, yet is also one of the safest large cities in America. And the drug trade? Over 90% of fentanyl enters through legal ports of entry—mostly carried by U.S. citizens.
Before our trip, we had heard many complaints about “open borders.” The big takeaway from our trip to the border wasn’t “open borders.” It was “open hearts.”
When we returned from El Paso, I had in mind that I would return to the border and be involved in ministry to immigrants there. God had other plans for us. We gave a presentation to our Sunday School class about our trip. At the end of the presentation, I mentioned that we wanted to get to know our Hispanic neighbors. A lady in our class raised her hand and mentioned that she was the librarian at an elementary school which was 90% Hispanic.
So, we began volunteering at her school in August 2024. It changed our lives. The school has adopted us. For the 2024/2025 school year, we helped gather over 60 volunteers and raised over $20,000 for the school. It has been an incredible experience. It turns out the border was only twenty minutes away!
In the fall of 2024, we attended a conference hosted by Border Perspective in McAllen, Texas. We have also partnered with a contact in Salina, Kansas, a city about 90 miles from where we live in Wichita, to meet the needs of immigrants in that city. Most significantly, we launched Ambassadors of Dignity to honor the God-given value of every person—especially our immigrant neighbors.
We went to the border with questions. We returned with stories, convictions, and a deeper sense of calling. We found Jesus—not only in Scripture, but in the eyes of the child in red, the tears of a grieving mother, the compassion of Rosy, the passion of Sami, and the commitment of Michael. They were not just examples of goodness. They were manifestations of Jesus washing the feet of the weary at the border.
This is our backstory. This is where the journey began. In June 2024, I was a retired, bored, Baby Boomer. I’m still a Boomer. However, I am now semi-retired and I am certainly not bored anymore!