Being Better Neighbors in a Time of Marginalization

The late Eugene Peterson translated John 1:14 as, “The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.” That imagery is striking - Jesus, the Son of God, leaving His heavenly majesty to live among humanity, embedded Himself in the struggle, the pain, and the everyday lives of the people He came to redeem.  If Jesus did this, what does it mean for us to follow His example in today’s world?

I first read the book Encounter God In The City, by Randy White in Grad school.  I recently picked it up again as I considered how best I can serve my community during these tough times we are living in the States, in particular, the city of Lynn, where I work and reside.  White challenges readers to consider what it means to truly live out the Gospel in the places where people experience struggle, arguing that transformation - both personal and communal - does not happen at a distance. He notes that “we will not be able to commit ourselves to the transformation of the city if we have not experienced some of its pain.” ¹ Transformation can only truthfully happen when we engage deeply, enter into spaces of pain, and when we commit to understanding the lives of those who are marginalized.

But what does this mean for us today, especially in a political climate marked by mass deportations, increased hostility toward immigrants, and the widening gap between the privileged and the vulnerable?  How do we, as people of faith, become better neighbors to those who are struggling?

I was two years old when I immigrated to the United States from Guatemala City, in Central America.  My education was entirely obtained here, therefore I quickly learned English and assimilated into the culture.  I was, and still am what Cuban-American Dr. Rubén G. Rumbaut, professor of sociology at the University of California, coined the 1.5 generation immigrants. His assessment of those who arrive to the United States in early childhood “are pre-school children who retain virtually no memory of their country of birth, were too young to go to school to learn or read or write in the parental language in the home country (and typically learn English without an accent), and are almost entirely socialized here.” ²

Despite having the luxury of knowing the language and being educated in the United States, growing up as a 1.5-generation immigrant, I knew what it meant to struggle.  I knew what it was to live in communities with high rates of poverty and low income.  As our family gained more financial stability, we found ourselves moving away instead of moving toward - or in our case staying. For many, success often means moving out - out of the neighborhoods where one grew up, out of spaces of struggle, and moving into places of comfort.  Now I want to make something very clear - There is nothing inherently wrong with seeking better opportunities, but White challenges us to ask ourselves: What does it mean to live among those who are suffering?

My parents worked tirelessly to provide a better life for my siblings and I.  I will forever be grateful for that.  Gracias, Viejos.  Myself, as an adult, have moved out of urban communities into more affluent ones, to provide an even better life for my children also.  But I'll be honest, my friends.  I have wrestled with the tension of my privilege.   I’ve lived in the space between struggle and opportunity.  I remember what it was like to lack resources, to feel the weight of uncertainty, and to push forward despite the odds.  Yet, through hard work and doors opening at the right time, I’ve moved forward in life.  But with that progress comes a deep awareness - knowing that while I’ve been given opportunities, many still face the same struggles I once closely experienced.  It’s a constant pull between gratitude and responsibility.  A constant pull between privilege and the call to stand with those still fighting their way up.

Have you ever wrestled with your own privilege? Have you found yourself torn between gratitude for your blessings and grief for the injustices around you?

We have to also consider that privilege goes even further than just where you live or what you have accumulated in your lifetime.  White reminds us that “our ethnic appearance is the first piece of information people take in when they meet us.” ³ This reality affects everything - from how we are perceived, to the opportunities we are given.  As a light-skinned Hispanic - Latino, I recognize that my experience differs from my Black brothers and sisters.

Additionally, I also recognize the privilege I have as someone with documents.  While I have faced struggles as an immigrant, I have not had to live with the daily fear of deportation, family separation, or being denied basic rights due to my status - especially with the climate of our current administration.  Many of my undocumented friends and neighbors in the city of Lynn do not have that same security.  Their lives are marked by uncertainty, vulnerability, and systemic barriers that make it difficult to thrive.

My friends, if we ignore these differences, we fail to see people the way God sees them, with all their history, with all their pain, and with all their beauty. To be a better neighbor means to acknowledge the disparities and be intentional about standing alongside those who face discrimination and hardship. 

John 1:14 “The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.” How is it that Jesus, the son of God, who was living in majesty and glory, could move into Earth, a neighborhood marred with sin?  Living and doing life together with those not as privileged as us allows us to better understand how the Gospel brings about resolutions, in communities where there seems to be none.

Jesus did not remain distant.  He moved into the neighborhood.  In a time where so many are being pushed to the margins through deportations, systemic racism, and economic inequality, how can we, as the Church, embody His love in tangible ways?

It may not mean physically moving, but it does mean shifting our posture.  It means standing with the oppressed, amplifying their voices, and committing ourselves to the kind of justice that reflects the heart of God.  So, my final question to you is, how will you move into the neighborhood? 

¹ Randy White, Encounter God in the City: Onramps to Personal and Community Transformation (Downers Grove, Ill: IVP Books, 2006), 97.

² Ruben G. Rumbaut, “Ages, Life Stages, and Generational Cohorts: Decomposing the Immigrant First and Second Generations in the United States,” International Migration Review 38, no. 3 (September 2004): 1160–1205.

³ Ibid., 104.