Remember That You Were Strangers

Today's Reading

Read Deuteronomy 10:17-19: "For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who is not partial and takes no bribe. He executes justice for the fatherless and the widow, and loves the sojourner, giving him food and clothing. Love the sojourner, therefore, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt."

Then read Exodus 22:21: "You shall not wrong a sojourner or oppress him, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt."

Reflection

The immigration debate in the modern world is dominated by economics, security, and national identity. Scripture does not ignore these concerns, as we will see later in this plan. But it begins somewhere else entirely. It begins with memory.

Deuteronomy 10 contains one of the most remarkable theological statements in the Old Testament. It moves from the highest possible description of God — "God of gods and Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God" — directly to God's concern for the most powerless members of society: the fatherless, the widow, and the sojourner. There is no transition, no apology, no explanation of why the Almighty cares about migrants. The text simply presents it as part of who God is. The God who rules the cosmos loves the foreigner, and gives him food and clothing.

Then comes the command, rooted in experience: "Love the sojourner, therefore, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt." This is not an appeal to abstract justice. It is an appeal to memory. Israel knows what it is like to be foreign, vulnerable, exploited, and powerless. They know the taste of slavery and the terror of displacement. And God says: that memory is not just your history. It is your moral obligation.

Exodus 22:21 makes the same point with sharper brevity: "You shall not wrong a sojourner or oppress him, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt." The word "oppress" (lahatz) is the same word used for Pharaoh's oppression of the Israelites. God is saying: do not become the thing you fled. Do not reproduce the cruelty that was done to you.

Tim Keller drew out the full implications: "The Biblical command to love the stranger is not merely a suggestion for nice people. It is rooted in Israel's own experience of being strangers in Egypt, and it carries the full weight of divine law." This is not optional kindness. It is law. It carries the same authority as "You shall not murder" and "You shall not steal." God places the treatment of foreigners at the center of Israel's covenant obligations, not at the periphery.

Bonhoeffer recognized that the New Testament church transcends national boundaries in a way that makes these commands even more urgent: "The church of Jesus Christ is not a national community like the old Israel, but a community of believers without political or national ties." Christians cannot simply default to national loyalty when thinking about immigration. Our primary identity is not citizen but church member — part of a community that includes every tribe, tongue, and nation.

This does not settle every question about immigration policy. But it establishes the starting point. Before we ask "What should the law say?" we must ask "Who are we?" And Scripture's answer is: we are a people who were once strangers, loved by a God who loves strangers, and commanded to extend that same love to the strangers among us.

Going Deeper

Think about a time when you were the outsider — new in a community, unfamiliar with the language or the customs, uncertain whether you would be accepted. How were you treated? Did anyone go out of their way to welcome you? Now consider: who in your community right now might feel the way you felt then? What would it look like to love them as God has loved you?