Compassion vs. Policy: Rethinking the Church's Role in Migrant Care

“Do you have a quarter I could borrow?” I asked the gas station attendant.

“No,” he replied.

“Really? I just need twenty-five cents,” I countered, scooping up pennies from the change dish.

“Sorry, no.”

“Can I just have the gas can?” I asked desperately. “I’m just trying to get back to my truck that’s in the middle of the highway.”

“I can’t just give it to you.”

I sighed, put the pennies back, and walked out of the gas station.

I wasn’t asking for much. I was in an unfortunate situation, and a little help would have gone a long way. But the gas station attendant had his own reasons, maybe store policy, or personal concerns. I couldn’t demand that he take on my problem as his own. That moment, small as it was, speaks to a larger issue: how do we balance compassion with reality?

Pope Francis recently wrote a letter to the U.S. bishops on migration. I appreciate the Holy Father’s desire to guide theological discussion on this often-divisive issue. In his letter, he references several biblical connections to support his perspective on welcoming migrants. He cites the Exodus, the Holy Family’s flight into Egypt, and the Parable of the Good Samaritan. These passages emphasize the dignity of the vulnerable, a key Christian principle.

However, Pope Francis' approach incorporates themes from liberation theology, a framework that often applies biblical narratives to political and economic struggles. While well-intended, this interpretation risks overlooking important theological distinctions that matter when forming national policy.

For example, the story of Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt is primarily a foreshadowing of Christ, not a model for government action. Jesus, unlike Moses, was not a political figure liberating His people from Roman rule. He came to free mankind from sin, not from earthly oppression. Similarly, while the Holy Family fled persecution, they remained within the Roman Empire, moving from one province to another. They did not cross into a foreign land with different laws and systems.

The Good Samaritan parable presents another crucial point: charity is a personal obligation, not a government mandate. The Samaritan himself chose to help the beaten man. He wasn’t compelled by law to do so. The Church sometimes preaches social justice in a way that blurs the line between voluntary virtue and state-enforced policy, as though all laypeople are called to the same radical poverty as religious orders. Radical poverty is not a universal obligation.

Jesus was once asked to take a political stance on taxes:

"Teacher, we know that you are a man of integrity. You aren’t swayed by others, because you pay no attention to who they are; but you teach the way of God in accordance with the truth. Is it right to pay the imperial tax to Caesar or not?"

But Jesus saw through their trap. He asked for a denarius and said:

"Whose image is this? And whose inscription?"

"Caesar’s," they replied.

Then Jesus answered, “Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.” (Mark 12:14-17)

Here, Jesus acknowledges that while we owe ultimate allegiance to God, we also live in a world with political realities. Compassion should never be abandoned, but it must be ordered. St. Augustine called Ordo Amoris, the right ordering of love.

I am grateful to Pope Francis for calling us to open our hearts to the poor and vulnerable. And while my gas station story pales in comparison to the struggles of many migrants, it illustrates an important truth: we cannot demand others bear burdens that threaten their own livelihood. As individual Christians, we are called to personally help the unfortunate, migrant, homeless, and strandoned we encounter. We should help them carry their cross. But national policy needs to be looked at with a different lens. America is great, but we cannot carry the weight of the world. Nor should we be asked to.

Jesus has already taken the weight of the world upon Himself. He did not come to be the political or economic savior that Judas and others expected, but to offer Himself in the Bread and Wine that nourish our souls. That is the salvation the world truly needs. And we, as living tabernacles, are called to partake in the feeding of both body and soul. Ultimately, Pope Francis' letter speaks more to what the Church is called to do than what the government should enact, and while the  Church has done a great job welcoming migrants, it remains vital for national policies to consider both compassion and practical realities.