Editors’ note: September 15–October 15 is National Hispanic Heritage Month. The Companion honors the contributions of Latino pastors and churches in our fellowship, which help shape the multiethnic mosaic ministry that is the Covenant Church. (A version of this post originally appeared in the Freedom Friday email from Love Mercy Do Justice.)
As I reflect on the wonder of God’s creation, I am drawn to the monarch butterfly, a symbol that represents Dreamers, like me. I am my Peruvian parents’ fulfillment of the “American Dream.” Yet I didn’t know it would be a long 32-year journey to receive my wings of migration and experience open borders without a barrier to re-entry.
As a formerly undocumented Deferred Action Childhood Arrival (DACA) recipient, I am grateful to be part of our Covenant familia, who during my ministerial license interview empowered me and my calling to be a pastora. From helping in church plants to being a bridge as a Dreamer in non-faith-based spaces, I take joy in these parts of my journey. Though my status changed this year when I became a citizen, I made a promise to remain with my undocumented immigrant community. I asked the Lord to open a way to help me do that, which he did unexpectedly. I came across Immigrant Connection through the referral of Alma Ruth, the founder of Practice Mercy, a wonderful ministry at the border in McAllen, Texas.
Currently, with the blessing of Rev. Linda Williams from Salem Covenant Church in Washington Depot, Connecticut, I’m happily part of Immigrant Connection NYC. We are a team that serves immigrants with high-quality and low-cost immigration legal services. I serve as the assistant site director, helping connect our immigrant families with Department of Justice legal representatives to assist them in their immigration cases. I am also able to partner with churches to help raise awareness about the resources our team offers. I appreciate and take each call or meeting as an opportunity to be a ministry of presence. When God does open the door to minister to a fellow undocumented leader, I experience these as kairos moments.
They also serve as the Holy Spirit’s reminder of my healing, which is like my dear comadre soul sista, the bleeding woman in the Gospels (Matthew 9:20-22; Mark 5:25-34; Luke 8:43-48). Though I did not have a physical ailment like her, my undocumented status had me on the margins of society, even in Christian circles. But I saw this story differently when I read Hermanas, in which my dear friend Noemi Vega Quiñones wrote, “Maybe years of being treated as a nobody made her think she was a nobody. But Jesus wants her to be seen. And heard. Jesus helped her see the truth of who she really was.”
Reading this specific story, with this perspective, was my confirmation to be courageous and come out of the shadows and stand boldly with my story. I’m forever grateful, as that was the missing piece I needed in my spiritual formation to be a wounded healer in my community. Now I can offer hope in the midst of the lack of immigration reform and the agony and pain of not seeing loved ones after they go to be with the Lord. Now I can pastorally validate the grief and stand side by side with my undocumented sisters and brothers in Christ, in mutuality, saying “I see you. I hear you. I am with you en la lucha (in the struggle).”
