The voice speaking through my phone carried me to the side of a brother in the faith. He is Cuban, black and seeking U.S. citizenship. He called to ask a sad question that reflects our times: “How can I protect myself from police intervention?”

His question provoked tears as I reflected on the curse of classifying people by the color of their skin. I was born in Puerto Rico where people’s skin tones reflect the palate of possibilities.

Growing up, I had three great friends—Juan Sostre, Daniel Vega and Nelson Túa. We loved wrestling, and that brought us together. Daniel looks Asian, Juan is black and Nelson is white with brown hair.

She’s known as Emma. She’s the mother of James, her older son, and Robert, his younger brother. She’s from Guatemala. Her hometown is beautiful, with lots of coffee trees. The weather is great. The lakes and the mountains look like heaven.

Paradise is one thing, but reality is another.

The pastors on the front lines of Fellowship Southwest’s Immigrant Relief Ministry do not labor alone. Their strongest allies—their spouses—support, encourage and fortify them as they fight hunger, depravation, exploitation, injustice and vulnerability all along the U.S.-Mexico border.

These women’s tenacity, commitment and passion is unparalleled. They willingly sacrifice most of their time and effort for their ministries. Their success can only be measured by their loyalty to God.

For months, we have told you about their husbands. This week, the spouses speak.

“I don't care if you die.” The U.S. government repeats this message to immigrants every day, reinforcing it over and over. Policies flip, and explanations flop. But one message remains consistent. “I don’t care if you die.”

For our God of truth, facts matter. And the government’s callous disregard for immigrant life is a matter of factual record. Last week, an immigrant named Carlos Ernesto Escobar Mejía died of COVID-19 in an Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention center. That is a fact.

COVID-19 has transformed Fellowship Southwest’s immigrant relief ministries all along the U.S.-Mexico border. Among the pastors who guide the effort, some are reinventing their ministries, others have identified new service opportunities, and still others have suffered losses and obstacles that put their work at risk.

Yet they demonstrate resiliency only achieved through God’s grace and mercy. The pandemic has delivered more work, but more opportunities. It has created more challenges, but more paths for God to bless them and their ministries.

Immigrants in South America are the "most vulnerable among the vulnerable" on the continent, especially in the wake of COVID-19, reported Loida Carriel, the Latin American and Caribbean regional advocacy advisor for Tearfund, a Christian nonprofit that focuses on ending poverty.

"Even with the stay-at-home orders, they are exposing themselves on the streets, trying to sell whatever they can to survive," Carriel said. "Without a home, without food and with physical strain, they are an easy grip for the effects of Covid-19."

One of our collaborators called from Matamoros, Mexico. Prompted by COVID-19, desperation is starting to sink into refugee camps on the border. Some immigrants are leaving the camps, others are moving to shelters, but not many are taking buses to Mexico's southern border to return to their home countries. Worst, some are thinking about sending their children to enter the United States unaccompanied.

Undocumented immigrants are flooding food pantries and benevolence centers during the COVID-19 pandemic. They are desperate, afraid, distrustful of everyone and lonely. They feel they have no hope for them. They are one of the most vulnerable people in America right now.

That's Kevin Pranoto's experience in Dallas.

Pranoto is executive director of Mission Oak Cliff, a community ministry of Cliff Temple Baptist Church that provides food and clothes to the homeless. Over the past two weeks, he has witnessed a surge in the number of people seeking assistance, the majority of them immigrants.

Caring for the stranger is an essential part of Christian ethics.

In fact, Job—the most righteous person of his time—considered welcoming the stranger crucial to his integrity. “But no stranger had to spend the night in the street, for my door was always open to the traveler,” he said (Job 31:32). Jesus took the same position when he said, "For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me" (Matthew 25:35).

We can't distance ourselves from the experience of being a foreigner, since we are foreigners on this earth. The common heart of love and hospitality we share with our Lord should guide us to welcome our neighbor. We should see Christ in the stranger. That is the summary of Matthew 25:35. We should see ourselves in the stranger. That is the main message of Philippians 2:3-5.

How do you contain passion? How can you decide to stop doing what you love to avoid risking your health and life? How do you stop helping others when that is what you love and what your faith pushes you to do?

Do you judge yourself if you put yourself in danger? Do you judge yourself if you protect yourself?

It was a warm Thursday morning. Pastor Rogelio Pérez and I just crossed the United States-Mexico border accompanied by three brothers and sisters in Christ. We were carrying food, clothes and hygiene products. Our objective was clear—distribute these supplies to immigrants waiting in Mexico to enter the United States. Almost immediately, a man recognized Pastor Pérez from the multitude. He hugged the pastor and joined the group on our mission to help the needy.

He stood out from the rest of the refugees. He was different. Others were coming to see what they could get from Rogelio. Who can judge them? They are totally dependent on our giveaways for survival. Still, this man wasn't thinking about himself. He was thinking about those around him who needed more help.

Imagine your parents decided to immigrate to another country when you were a kid. They immigrated to protect you. It was a choice made out of love. The circumstances in your country of origin were so desperate your parents decided it wasn't unreasonable to risk the travel to come to the United States. They didn't inquire of your willingness to relocate. You were just brought to the United States.

Eventually, your parents relocated. You started attending school in the United States. You learned English. You made a lot of friends. You grew up with them. You learned the Pledge of Allegiance. You grew up in a community with shared values and customs that you adopted. You never returned to your country of origin.