On July 4, 2025, President Trump signed the “Big, Beautiful Bill” into law, which increased funding for ICE by $75 billion. With newfound money to hire recruits and build for-profit concentration camps for immigrants, there seems to be nothing standing between this administration and the deportation of millions of people.
On the first day Trump took office, the “sensitive locations” ICE memo that placed limitations on entering houses of worship was rescinded. The move, aimed at a vanishingly small number of people actually shielded by sanctuary congregations, had a chilling effect on congregational activism. Yet Trump’s decision to target them on day one highlights that even symbolic acts of defiance would be punished and underscores the profound moral effect such actions carry.
If there was ever a time for people of faith to stand with their immigrant siblings, it is now—and that calls for an expansion of the sanctuary movement. When the original sanctuary movement took root in the 1980s, it did so from a place of compassion: Central American refugees were dying crossing the border, and the Reagan administration was denying asylum claims from those fleeing U.S.-backed dictatorships. The movement’s solution was to provide sanctuary to asylum seekers so that they might speak about the conditions in their home country. It’s hard to argue with its success. Their work directly led to the American Baptist Churches v. Thornburgh case, which ended the threat of presidents picking and choosing which countries to favor on asylum claims. In addition, they inspired cities such as Chicago, Los Angeles, and New York to adopt official sanctuary ordinances. Perhaps their greatest achievement, however, was the profound way that they challenged the Reagan administration through moral argument.
If there is one thing that the Trump administration has shown clearly in these past seven months, it is that the United States’ laws are malleable. Where the 14th amendment promises due process without any regard for citizenship, the Trump administration disagrees and has deported many undocumented immigrants without trial. Longstanding tradition has rendered courts the limiter of executive authority, but about one-third of rulings by judges are ignored by the Trump administration. The Supreme Court too has striven to interpret the law such that executive power is without limit.
The Christian relationship to the law is complicated. Paul instructs his followers to follow the law, but that obeisance has limits. With the stated goal of causing confusion as to legality, it might be impossible to simply follow the law even if one wanted to. Nevertheless, when the state’s law conflicts with God’s, God’s law must win our loyalty. That sets up a prominent role for conscience, as our individual and communal discernment strives to determine whether the present moment conflicts with God’s law.
Such deliberation takes time, but the problem with the present moment is that it is filled with instances of moral injury, a term that the Moral Injury Project at Syracuse University defines as “the damage done to one’s conscience or moral compass when that person perpetrates, witnesses, or fails to prevent acts that transgress one’s own moral beliefs, values, or ethical codes of conduct.” The state wishes to make all who witness its barbarism complicit in it. That is why it seeks to make its immigration enforcement actions highly visible. In watching and doing nothing, we have a share—whether we like it or not—in the perpetuation of heinous acts.
Even those who wish to resist suffer from moral injury. Think of the countless immigration lawyers who must fill out forms with newly prejudiced language. The law forces those who wish to resist to use the language of the state. In my book, Sanctuary and Subjectivity, I highlight the imperfect nature of sanctuary movements, which have historically relied on white activists and erased the agency of recipients of sanctuary. Good intentions often go awry and do much damage.
Still, now is the time to act. Our actions in this world will rarely be perfect, but those actions are necessary if we are to live into God’s dream for us, which Jesus called the Kingdom of God. That vision for what life could be like does not include the use of Bible verses to recruit people into ICE, masked agents abducting neighbors, or for-profit concentration camps.
It is this dream for what we could be that is worth fighting for, even if it conflicts with the law. Right now, participating in the sanctuary movement has substantial risks. Activists could receive a felony charge of harboring, which comes with the threat of a substantial prison sentence. In addition, there has been a growing appetite for threatening the 501c3 status of organizations that support this kind of work.
While the risks are certainly high, the risks for Christians to not engage with this work are even higher. In Matthew 25, one of the most iconic teachings in Scripture, Jesus does not merely love or gesture to the poor, sick, imprisoned, or generally vulnerable; Jesus instead identifies with them to the extent that whatever is done for them and to them is done to Christ. There are many questions that Christians must ponder, but one that is at the beating heart of our moment is this: would you let Jesus get deported?
The answer is unlikely to be yes or no without qualification, even if we would like to be the kind of people who could answer such a question simply. Many will likely answer yes or no depending on if it costs their freedom. At the end of the day, how and whether we bother to answer that question is of exceeding significance for American Christians.
When people ask me, as a sanctuary activist and scholar, whether the strategy is legal, I generally respond with a proud and confident, “Maybe.” The fact is, we likely won’t be sure of its status until a Supreme Court case is decided. However, I think this misses the point. Sanctuary is not a legal strategy; it is a moral one.
Legally, there is no difference between ICE agents entering a church and entering a McDonalds, but your average American feels quite differently about the two contexts. Houses of worship continue to enjoy great privilege in our society, and I would hazard a guess that most Americans would feel a little queasy about seeing armed ICE agents enter one to arrest someone.
Over the centuries, American Christianity has gathered immense privilege—wealth ossified in the buildings and bank accounts of churches along with special privileges borne of religious hegemony. Sanctuary is all about leveraging that privilege to make a stand against brutal policies like this administration has enacted.
Much of sanctuary is symbolic. Alone, it has no chance at prevailing, but much of what we value in this world is also symbolic—wealth, love, and joy, to name a few. To be sure, we are not guaranteed that such a strategy will ultimately be successful. Rather, we can know only that it is faithful. Faithful for a time of rising hate and state-sponsored terror. Faithful for a country that is slipping toward fascism. Faithful for this very moment.
When I was visiting Palestine and Israel in 2018, there was a curious stone plinth in the Holy Sepulcher that you can bless things on. This was where tradition states that Jesus’ body was prepared for burial by Joseph of Arimathea, and like many things in that part of the world, there is often a line. I blessed a stole on it and a couple of olivewood crosses, but there was one person who took it a step further. She laid her whole body on the stone, much to the chagrin of my fellow pilgrims, but she refused to get up. I think of her often, her insistence that she would not get up until she was blessed. An offering so complete, of her whole person.
That is my vision for what the church could be—that we could offer our whole selves to God through action on behalf of immigrants and asylum seekers. As U.S. Christians, we are often asked to offer a part of ourselves here and a part of ourselves there, some to the state and some to God, but it seems to me that in times of great injustice, we must choose.
There is a law that is above the law of this country. Laws can be or become unjust. Recall that in Nazi Germany, it was legal to commit genocide. Now consider that today, it is a felony harboring charge if you dare oppose this regime deporting families, but it’s patriotism to deport those who are undocumented and deny asylum seekers access to this country. Laws change, but there is a higher law. It is to that law that we must make sure we are obedient. We have to offer our whole selves, and we must deny Caesar the one thing that is demanded in every time of great injustice—our consent, our complicity, our ignorance.
Rev. Dr. Michael Woolf is a sanctuary activist, scholar, and pastor. He serves as senior minister of Lake Street Church of Evanston, a sanctuary congregation, and is the author of Sanctuary and Subjectivity, a book that explores whiteness and sanctuary movements through a theological lens.
Photo by Karl Fredrickson on Unsplash