Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Fr. Ben Riley
Every month, my priest support group gets together for some kind of activity. There are seven of us in the group, all young priests serving in parishes spread out over the state. Traveling from all corners of Arkansas, we try to get together in person once a month for fraternity, accountability, and support. We might cook a meal together, go for a hike, or, if the weather is nice, meet at the lake. It’s always a fun time, and I love getting together with my brother priests; they are my closest friends. But the best part about getting together once a month isn’t the fun we have—it’s the time we spend sharing the joys and struggles of ministry. Every time we meet, we all take turns sharing our latest successes and failures in priestly life, leaning on our brothers for guidance and support. Sometimes, what we have to share is very uplifting, and sometimes it’s tragic, but it’s always powerful to witness how the Holy Spirit guides us to minister to His people.
The last time my support group met, one of my brother priests shared something particularly difficult, and with his permission, I would like to share it with you. He was sitting in his office when the parish receptionist called his phone and told him a mother and her daughter were at the front desk and needed to speak with him. He knew the family very well, so he walked to the front office to greet them. But what he found was concerning. Both the woman and her teenage daughter were in tears. So he asked the obvious question: “What has happened?”
She said her husband had been arrested that morning by Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE. He was being deported after living in the U.S. peacefully for five years. Like I said, my friend knows the family well—he has had dinner at their house. He told us he has always been impressed by how faithfully they live out their Catholic faith. And now their family has been ripped apart. His wife will not see him for at least twenty years.
The Catechism does speak about a nation’s duty to protect its citizens by controlling its borders, absolutely, but in no way does deporting a nonviolent, law-abiding immigrant protect our nation.
In the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 25, Jesus tells us that at the Last Judgment, He will say to His chosen ones: “I was a stranger and you welcomed me… As often as you did it for one of my least brothers and sisters, you did it for me.” And to others, He will say: “As often as you neglected to do it to one of these least ones, you neglected to do it for me.”
Many of us are under the impression that people who want to migrate to the United States can easily do so by getting in line. But for most people, there really is no line, and anyone who has tried to navigate the system can tell you how bureaucratic, complex, inconsistent, and expensive it really is—and that’s for people who have the financial means, family connections, or highly skilled employment to even be considered.
But all those arguments aside, what Jesus is challenging us to do regarding immigration is to let Him share His heart and mind with us.
In today’s Gospel from Luke 6, we witness Jesus coming down with His disciples and standing before a great multitude—a scene that sets the stage for His radical proclamation of blessings and warnings. Jesus declares, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God,” and He continues with words of comfort for those who hunger and weep.
Jesus’ words make me think of that weeping mother and her daughter, who were beyond consolation after having their husband and father taken from them.
The debate over immigration too often becomes a matter of political rhetoric and fear. Yet Jesus’ words remind us that God’s kingdom is not reserved for those with power or wealth but is offered to every person. Just as the Gospel blesses those who are downcast, it calls us to open our hearts to immigrants—our brothers and sisters who, like the poor in spirit, often carry the weight of hardship and the hope for a better life.
We are all called to recognize that many of our neighbors are living in fear and uncertainty. Consider the one-third of our Catholic family who worship in Spanish across forty-three parishes in Arkansas. Their struggle to feel fully at home within our Church mirrors the broader plight of immigrants who have journeyed far from their homelands in search of dignity and safety.
In the spirit of today’s Gospel, let us not be indifferent. Instead, let us welcome them warmly, reflecting the compassion of Jesus.
You might feel that a single voice cannot change the complex systems that hinder true immigration reform. Yet, as Jesus teaches us in Luke, transformation begins with each one of us. When we open our hearts and challenge our own discomfort with those who are different, we start to build communities that mirror the inclusivity of God’s kingdom—a kingdom where there are no second-class citizens.
Jesus’ words in Luke also come with a stern warning: “Woe to you who are well fed now, for you shall hunger.” This caution reminds us that comfort and complacency can blind us to the needs of others. When we ignore the plight of the immigrant, we ignore the face of Christ Himself. Our Church must be a place where every person, regardless of language or origin, is embraced as a vital part of the Body of Christ.
My brothers and sisters, today, let us commit ourselves to being Christ for others. Let our Church be a haven and refuge where every immigrant feels seen, heard, and loved—a true reflection of the universal call of our faith.
May we follow the example of Jesus, to be a light in a world too often divided by fear. Let us transform our hearts, our Church, and our nation into a living testimony of God’s infinite love and mercy.