In the weeks after ICE killed Lorenzo Salgado Araujo, dozens of Houstonians began planning an event to honor his life: A procession from his church, the Immaculate Heart of Mary in the East End, to the site of his death for a prayer vigil. Groups that normally serve faithfully in their own corners suddenly found themselves working side by side.
We gathered to reject the violence, and to proclaim that every human being bears the image of God. We gathered because the sanctity of life and the dignity of immigrants are not only political slogans—they are Gospel convictions.
In the face of open, increasingly violent persecution of our brothers and sisters, faith leaders — and all people of faith — must do more. How can we profess our belief in a God of mercy and justice and stay mute while men, women, and children are being imprisoned, dehumanized, and killed by our government?
On July 25, we processed to the place where Lorenzo’s body had once lain lifeless. Just weeks later, that same ground had become the site of a massive vigil, filled with prayers, candles, and hundreds gathered to honor his memory. This is the site where ICE agents — federally trained immigration enforcement officers — killed an innocent man on his way to work. Now, it’s the site where his son, Ronaldo, gently laid a wooden cross he had carried through the streets for over a mile beside a photograph of the man that had given him life.
In that moment, nothing else seemed to matter. All of the emails. The planning meetings. The logistics. The endless lists. The water bottles. The chairs. The speakers. They all pointed to the most important act we could do.
Being present. Standing with a grieving family. Honoring a beloved father. Proclaiming that his life mattered because he was beloved by God.
That was the pearl of great price Jesus speaks of in the parables (Matthew 13:45–46). That was the treasure. Showing up. Love made visible.
When I looked around that night, I did not see people who agreed about everything. I saw ordinary people, young and old, clergy and lay people, immigrants, citizens, people born here and people born somewhere else.
Different races.
Different traditions.
Different languages.
Different politics.
Bound together not because we were identical.
Bound together because Christ had gathered us.
A community choosing courage instead of fear.
Neighbors choosing trust instead of suspicion.
Churches deciding that the Gospel belongs not only inside these walls but also on the street corners where people are grieving.
–Rev. Hannah E. Atkins Romero, Rector, Trinity Episcopal Church, Co-Founder Migration With Dignity Coalition.