The last time the Rev. Emma Lozano’s church moved services online, a pandemic was sweeping through the congregation.
This time, the Chicago pastor says a different threat is putting her community at risk — with no end in sight.
“Then, what we were waiting for was the vaccine — the vacuna, we called it, la medicina,” Lozano says. “Now we’re all wondering, what is the medicine? What is the vaccine for this? How long is it going to take?”
Moving Spanish services back online, she says, was a painful decision Lincoln United Methodist Church’s leadership reached shortly before President Donald Trump returned to power.
“We knew we would be a target. So why would we just be like sitting ducks and waiting for them?” she says. “We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do. And we are obligated to take care of each other.”
With threats of mass deportation looming, the church’s decision in early January was a telling example of a growing fear in immigrant communities: Spaces previously seen as safe might not be any longer. Indeed, days later officials rescinded a policy that previously limited ICE agents from conducting arrests in churches.
“Criminals will no longer be able to hide in America’s schools and churches to avoid arrest,” then-Acting Homeland Security Secretary Benjamine Huffman said in a statement at the time. “The Trump Administration will not tie the hands of our brave law enforcement, and instead trusts them to use common sense.”
A coalition of Christian and Jewish organizations filed a lawsuit last week asking a federal judge to block the policy change, arguing it infringes on their religious freedom and violates the Constitution. Officials haven’t responded to that lawsuit. But in a similar suit filed by a coalition of Quaker groups, the Justice Department argued in a court filing that a judge shouldn’t block the policy change based on hypothetical future harms.
So far, as legal challenges continue, the new policy remains in place — leaving some church leaders scrambling to help their congregations feel safe.
There haven’t been any reports of ICE raids inside houses of worship since the administration announced its new policy. But a recent arrest outside a church in suburban Atlanta was cited in last week’s lawsuit as a foreboding example of what many congregations fear.
We knew we would be a target. So why would we just be like sitting ducks and waiting for them?
Rev. Emma Lozano, pastor of Lincoln United Methodist Church in Chicago, on her congregation’s decision to move Spanish services online
At some churches, attendance has dropped off. Others have seen their faithful even more committed to showing up.
In the battle to protect her community, Lozano doesn’t see the recent shift to online services as a retreat. Quite the opposite. It’s one of many ways Lozano says she and others are ready to fight.
“We look at it like a boxer, you know. We’re hanging in there,” says Lozano, a longtime immigrant rights advocate. “We’re going to go all the rounds, all the way.”
This much is clear: Even with years of experience, Lozano and other religious leaders tell CNN the current climate is unlike anything they’ve faced before.
A Portland pastor vows his church will be a sanctuary
As Lozano’s Spanish services moved online, a church pastor in Oregon was sending a very different message.
“We are a sanctuary church. … If you’re afraid of being deported by hateful and unjust laws — let’s call them what they are — you are welcome to come find that safe space,” the Rev. W.J. Mark Knutson said in a January service at Portland’s Augustana Lutheran Church, prompting cheers from the crowd.
During President Trump’s first term, public announcements of immigrants moving into churches were a prominent part of the early days of his presidency. It was the beginning of a new chapter in what’s known as the Sanctuary Movement, an effort that began in the 1980s with congregations across the US sheltering Central American immigrants facing deportation.
But so far, under Trump 2.0, even announcements like Knutson’s have been rare.
Knutson says speaking out is more important than ever. “If people of faith don’t take a stand now,” he says, “who is?”
If people of faith don’t take a stand now, who is?
Rev. W.J. Mark Knutson, pastor of Augustana Lutheran Church in Portland, Oregon
The Portland pastor told CNN he’s already spoken with numerous immigrants who say they may need to seek protection in his church’s walls. Even longtime church members with legal immigration statuses are worried, he says.
“My immigrant members from other lands, they’re still shaken, even if they have green cards or citizenship now. We have a woman from Japan, 40 years married to her husband, but she never became a citizen. Now suddenly she’s afraid. This is insidious.”
Knutson says he made a point of publicly reiterating Augustana’s stance as a sanctuary church at a service honoring Martin Luther King Jr. days after Trump took office. The church has housed migrants in sanctuary before, he says, and would take that step again.
“If there were a mass action in Portland, we’d have hundreds of people coming to the church knowing that it’s a safe place. And we would not allow ICE (to enter). But we would also call every local news station around and surround ICE with people and the news. And if it gets ugly, it’s going to be recorded. And that should really upset people all around the country,” he says. “So we’re ready to make that stand.”
Lozano’s church in Chicago was among the congregations that have served as an immigrant sanctuary in the past. But an immigrant who took shelter there for years during Trump’s previous administration now says she’d rather pray with Lozano from home.
“Not even that holy space feels safe,” Francisca Lino told The Chicago Tribune last month.
She’s preaching to an empty church, but sees signs of hope
As a Spanish service begins at Lincoln United Methodist Church, rows of wooden seats and black folding chairs are empty.
It’s a much more somber scene than you’d typically see inside this Chicago church on a Sunday afternoon. The families with children who’d normally be praying together aren’t here. Neither is the food they’d share after the service. Tinny music is piping in through pipes from a laptop speaker rather than being performed live.
But Lozano sings along as she taps out the beat on a drum. And on the computer screen in front of her, the pastor sees a hopeful sign. Some 20 families are watching from home via Zoom — the largest turnout since Spanish services moved online last month. Lozano hopes more will keep joining. She’s working on sorting through technical difficulties that have made it hard for some to connect.
As she starts the day’s sermon, Lozano tells her online audience that she wants them to listen closely. The fear in the community is palpable. And Lozano says she’s feeling it, too. The church and its pastors, she says, have been targeted repeatedly by white supremacists. That, and the Trump administration’s threatened mass deportations, are weighing heavily on her.
But Lozano keeps thinking about the coronavirus pandemic, and the long-awaited vaccine. These days, she’s come to the realization that her community needs to turn to a different sort of medicine.
“We need to heal from the fear with a medicine of courage,” she says. “We need to fight hate with love and stand in solidarity.”
One way to do that, she says, is to join a nationwide economic boycott planned for February 28. On social media, some have billed the upcoming “blackout” as a protest against corporations that ended or scaled back their diversity, equity and inclusion programs. Lozano tells her congregation it’s a chance for the community to show its power and speak out about what’s happening.
“Remember, a man can’t block the sun with his finger,” she says. “We can’t let the racist white supremacists paralyze us with fear to tell the truth.”
It’s hard to preach in a nearly empty church. But Lozano says her church is doing what’s best for the community it serves. And she knows she’s standing exactly where she needs to be. Too often, she tells CNN, people are twisting the words of scripture.
“The commandment clearly says ‘love they neighbor as thyself.’ It doesn’t say ‘are you harboring illegals in your church?’ … We’re supposed to provide the sacraments for all the people and followers of Christ,” Lozano says. “And that’s what we’re going to continue to do.”
We’ve been here before. We’re going to survive.
Emma Lozano, pastor of Lincoln United Methodist Church in Chicago
The pastor also says she finds solace in how her city has responded to ICE.
“This ‘mass deportation’ has basically fallen short because we are so prepared,” she says. “Yes, there have been people deported…and we’re hurting from that. But we’ve been here before. We’re going to survive.”
He leads Spanish services at a church where he once took refuge
Francisco Aguirre looks out at the packed pews.
He sees hundreds of supportive faces looking back at him from inside Augustana Lutheran Church in Portland. Some are immigrants. Many are not. And Aguirre sees the faces of people who aren’t there, too. He’s also the executive director of an immigrant advocacy organization, and whenever he preaches at the church, Aguirre knows he’s also speaking for others whose voices need to be heard.
“I hear them crying, telling me their stories — what they wish would happen in this country, you know,” he says. “So when I stand up there, I express their feelings, not just my feelings, because I also cry with them.”
Aguirre now leads Spanish services at the church and tries to offer guidance to immigrant members searching for answers. A decade ago, he was in a different position, living inside the building for more than two months as he sought sanctuary.
Though he’s taken on a leadership role in the congregation that once sheltered him, Aguirre is still fighting his immigration case. He hopes a court hearing in December will finally give him a chance to win the asylum he’s been seeking, decades after he came to the US from El Salvador. But his future, too, is uncertain.
“I’m undocumented and unafraid, but I will continue organizing in peace, even if tomorrow they deport me, and I pay with my life,” Aguirre tells the congregation during the Martin Luther King Jr. service.
I will continue organizing in peace, even if tomorrow they deport me, and I pay with my life.
Francisco Aguirre, who formerly sought sanctuary at Augustana Lutheran Church and now leads Spanish services there
The many conversations he’s had since Trump returned to power are on his mind. As he speaks, his voice cracks with emotion, and tears begin to flow.
“I will stand with my people, because you are my people, and I will fight for you in the love of God. I will fight for my family and your family, and I know you stand with me, because this is my country, too,” he says. “And I love you all. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Let’s be in church and in peace.”
A megachurch pastor says churches won’t be targeted
At his megachurch in California, the Rev. Sam Rodriguez says he’s been trying to reassure Spanish-speaking members that their congregation and others won’t be targeted. Rumors and misinformation about what’s happening, he says, have gotten out of hand.
“Rest assured, I have received assurances from those in authority that raids will not occur in churches. Good, God-fearing families who have been here for decades are not the primary target,” Rodriguez told his congregation recently, according to a copy of his remarks he shared with CNN. “The focus remains on removing the criminal element that seeks to harm our communities.”
Rodriguez leads New Season, a church with locations in Sacramento and outside Los Angeles. He’s also president of the National Hispanic Christian Leadership Conference, and in the past he’s advised Trump and other US presidents.
Rodriguez says at first, he, too, was concerned about ICE’s new policy.
“Initially when I read it, I had concerns, and I did my due diligence, and I spoke to those that know. And my concerns have been addressed,” Rodriguez says. “There is no intention of raiding churches. None. Zero.”
The evangelical pastor says he can’t reveal which authorities eased his concerns, but he says he stands by what he’s told his congregation – and other evangelical leaders who’ve been coming to him with questions.
There is no intention of raiding churches. None. Zero.
Rev. Samuel Rodriguez, president of the National Hispanic Christian Leadership Conference
Rodriguez says he supports Trump’s efforts to crack down on criminals in the immigrant population. And he says he’s spoken with other church leaders who share his views.
The pastor says once the president puts a stop to illegal immigration, he’s “cautiously optimistic” that he can work with Trump and Congress to come up with longer-term solutions that help immigrant families who’ve been in the country for years.
“I hope and pray this administration will deport every single criminal in our community,” he says.
His church members are still praying in person, even after ICE arrested someone outside
It’s been weeks since an ICE arrest outside a church in Tucker, Georgia, drew national attention.
“Is it an isolated case or the start of a trend?” Christianity Today asked in a headline describing the arrest of 38-year-old Wilson Rogelio Velasquez Cruz.
Luis Ortiz, pastor of the Fuente de Vida Pentecostal church, says the impacts are still weighing heavily on his congregation.
“Literally what happened was outside the church,” Ortiz says. “But the harm is not just outside the church, but also inside, for the church and its parishioners.”
Velasquez, one of the young church’s founders, drove an hour from home three times a week to attend services, Ortiz says. According to Ortiz, Velasquez wore a monitor, had a work permit and had been checking in regularly with ICE since crossing the border about two years ago. The day ICE agents took him into custody, he’d been sitting in the third row of the church with his wife and three children when his phone started to ring and the monitor he was wearing started to sound. ICE agents detained him when he stepped outside to answer the call, according to CNN affiliate WSB.
In interviews with local media after the arrest, Ortiz said it was “inexplicable” to see someone detained who appeared to have everything in order. And it was devastating, he said, “to see the fear and tears” on the faces of his congregation afterward.
But he says there’s never been any doubt that they will keep meeting in person.
“We are not going to close the church. We are not going to change our plans. We are not going to stop going to church,” Ortiz says. “We are people of faith who love God, and we are going to keep praying for this country. I think that the house of God, the church, is the best place for us all to meet.”
We are not going to stop going to church. We are people of faith who love God, and we are going to keep praying for this country.
Rev. Luis Ortiz, pastor of Fuente de Vida church in Tucker, Georgia
No one has stopped attending services at Fuente de Vida since Velasquez’s arrest, Ortiz says
And inside the Stewart Detention Center in South Georgia, where Velasquez is detained and facing possible deportation, he isn’t just passing the time preparing to fight his immigration case. He’s started preaching regularly to about 40 detainees.
“If they can’t come to church,” Ortiz says, “the church will come to them.”
