STOCKTON, Calif. — Before leading his Stockton-based church in a hymn, the Rev. Nelson Rabell-González pumped his right fist.
“The fear will not beat us,” he said in Spanish. Then, the congregation of several dozen at Iglesia Luterana Santa María Peregrina began to sing.
The pastor was more direct later in his sermon: “The whole church is standing up to fight for you, the migrant community,” he said, “because Christ was also a migrant.”
Rabell-González continued, raising his voice. Jesus and his parents received hospitality in Egypt when they fled there. So, his church would also offer support to its parishioners — many of which are undocumented.
“Cueste lo que cueste,” he said at the Feb. 2 service. No matter the cost.
That promise of protection is much harder to provide now that Donald Trump has returned to the White House. Before then, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement officials largely avoided arrests at or near places of worship as policy.
In January, the Trump administration rescinded that guidance, prompting nationwide fear that churches, temples, synagogues and other centers could be targets of immigration enforcement. So far, there have not been widespread reports of arrests at those religious sites across the country. Multiple faith-based groups have filed lawsuits against the new order in recent weeks.
During Trump’s first term, Rabell-González vowed to provide a safe haven for undocumented immigrants in the event of ICE enforcement near the Lodi church where he was a pastor. Now, he faces another choice: Speak out or lie low?
For Rabell-González, the answer is easy. To create a sanctuary in the current environment, he is organizing events to educate his members on their rights if they are approached by federal officials. He also forcefully supports immigrants at his services, saying that doing the opposite would go against the wishes of his followers and God.
“Long live the immigrant people,” the pastor called out during the midday service.
“Long live,” parishioners responded.
‘Immigrants have rights’
The congregation was observing Día de la Candelaria, or the celebration of the presentation of Jesus at a temple in Jerusalem.
The Sunday service began with a dance group performing to beating drums in an aisle between rows of chairs. Parishioners brought small baby Jesus figurines for the pastor to bless during the middle of the service. At times, Rabell-González, 52, cradled one of a Black baby Jesus.
Born in Puerto Rico to a lawyer and a political activist, Rabell-González identifies as Afro-Latino. Growing up, he saw Haitians, Dominicans and Black Puerto Ricans treated differently because of the color of their skin and their nationality. He calls himself a proponent of Black Lives Matter, immigrants and LGBTQ+ rights.
A pride flag supporting LGBTQ+ people hung near the altar of the church. The congregation doesn’t have a permanent home, instead renting a modest brick church along a busy road near University of the Pacific.
At the service, when he asked parishioners if they had any prayers of their own, the conversation returned to immigration.
Rabell-González presides over what he calls “a migrant church.” More than half of the parishioners are undocumented or who have family members with different immigration statuses, according to the pastor. His Spanish services are uncommon for the church’s denomination. Only 1% of parishioners in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Americaidentify as Hispanic, according to the Pew Research Center.
Even so, some Latinos don’t share the pastor’s views. Both native born and undocumented immigrants support Trump and his calls for cracking down on people unlawfully entering the country.
But those sentiments weren’t shared during the recent service.
“We ask God for our immigrant community to maintain its faith, to remain strong and to always be blessed and united,” one person said in response to the pastor’s prayer request. Another wanted prayers: “For all the people who are in detentions and those who have been deported.”
Before the roughly hourlong service ended, Rabell-González called up Kelvin Rosado-Rivera, an immigration attorney the pastor invited to inform the parishioners about their rights.
Rosado-Rivera advised them that they don’t have to talk if they are approached by federal authorities and don’t need to open their doors for immigration officials unless they have a proper warrant.
Joaquin Hernandez, 48, was born in Mexico. He raised his hand and asked about his rights inside a vehicle. Hernandez had recently seen a video on social media, which showed a person being pulled over by law enforcement.
“Is it the same as if I was in my home?”
Rosado-Rivera said there was a difference when inside a vehicle. If an officer pulled Hernandez over, he would need to provide his license and registration.
But, the attorney added, Hernandez would not need to answer any questions about what country he is from.
Hernandez sat next to his wife Maria De la Cruz, 57, who is also from Mexico. Both are undocumented and met in the U.S. after moving to the country in the 1990s. Hernandez takes care of horses on a ranch after years working in the fields. De la Cruz has worked in farms and factories.
Parishioners asked Rosado-Rivera questions about how to react if they or their family were confronted. Some were afraid of encounters with ICE and sought advice on what to do legally if that happens. These are concerns the attorney has heard since Trump has returned to office.
“When people ask me what the first message is that I would give — it’s that all the immigrants have rights,” he said.
‘More with the community’
The celebration continued after the service ended. Many stayed to eat homemade tamales in a dining room area of the church as Rabell-González went table to table holding hats and T-shirts with “BORDER PATROL” and “ICE” to familiarize members with attire worn by immigration officials.
“I know you guys recognize this, but I’m just going around reminding people,” he said to Daniel and Alyda Arroyo.
The couple joined the church after Trump was re-elected in November. They were looking for a place where they could live out their faith more openly through activism and social justice.
“We wanted to be more with the community, with the migrant community,” said Daniel, 28, who was born in the U.S. His parents became citizens after immigrating from Mexico.
Alyda, 28, was also born here. She said the pastor’s outspokenness about issues, including immigration, has made her feel more empowered to stand up for her own views.
“You can tell the pastor has a heart for the congregation,” she said. “He conveys that he’s willing to do what he can to make sure that they are safe and protected.”
Hernandez joked with Rabell-González as the pastor walked by his table with the Border Patrol hat: “I’ll trade you, father,” he said, before offering his own sombrero and laughing. Hernandez met Rabell-González in 2018 at a gathering related to farmworker activism and has followed him ever since. He and De la Cruz traveled about a half hour to attend the recent service.
The Mexican couple said they feel less fear now about deportation than they did 15 years ago, when removals were particularly high under President Barack Obama. Their children are adults now and have started their own lives.
The couple is building a house in Mexico, and Hernandez said they may want to return one day to where he grew up.
“My homeland is asking for me,” said Hernandez, who hasn’t been back since 1996. “It’s been so many years.”
De la Cruz said she can’t fully escape the thought of immigration officials when she leaves the house. But she hasn’t stopped going out to the church or grocery store. Her daughters plead with her to stay home more.
Hernandez doesn’t have an issue with the Trump administration going after undocumented people who are criminals, but he said it shouldn’t go after hard working people who are merely trying to make a living.
“That is where they are doing bad,” he said. As for the policy change about churches, he added, “It’s not just. Because they don’t respect the house of God anymore.”
Rabell-González remained in the dining room, sitting with a few parishioners, more than three hours after the service started. They talked about ways to protest the Trump administration’s policies and said it was important to plan for “the worst.”
Educating people on their rights needed to continue, Rabell-González said. If immigration officers show up at the church, he plans to encourage members to videotape and demand those rights are respected.
The pastor wants them to remain vigilant. But not be paralyzed by fear.
