As Advent candles flicker to life in sanctuaries across Southern California, the traditional season of reflection and anticipation for Christmas is tinged with a deep sense of unease for many in the region’s immigrant faith communities. While Advent is meant to be a time of hope and spiritual preparation, for congregants like Mike, an Iranian asylum-seeker in West Los Angeles, it’s also a period marked by fear and uncertainty.
Mike’s story is emblematic of the challenges faced by many immigrants seeking solace in the United States. He fled Iran after secretly converting to Christianity, a decision that left him vulnerable to persecution in his homeland. “I kept this secret, my faith as a secret, for like 12 years,” he shared with NPR. Eighteen months ago, he arrived in Los Angeles, hoping to build a new life rooted in community and respect for his adopted country.
Yet, even in the supposed sanctuary of his church, Mike’s sense of security is fragile. A series of recent immigration enforcement actions in the area—including the June 2025 arrests of two men outside a church known for its large Iranian membership—have shaken his faith in the safety of public worship. “Even church is not safe because it’s a public place,” Mike said. “They can get there and catch you.”
The Department of Homeland Security has stated that enforcement actions at churches require secondary approval and are intended to be rare. Nonetheless, the anxiety is palpable within Mike’s congregation. Church leaders, wary of drawing unwanted attention, requested that their church’s name not be published. The pastor, who often invites Iranian parishioners to pray in Farsi during services, has noticed a marked decline in those willing to do so. “It’s part of the heartbreak of these days,” she explained. “They feel like they have to be apprehensive about it—not even wanting to speak in their own language here.” The pain is especially acute during Advent, a season she describes as a time to “give thanks for this God we have who wants to be with us.”
This climate of fear isn’t confined to one congregation. East of Los Angeles, at Baldwin Park United Methodist Church, the tension is just as real. In the center of the sanctuary stands a red tent, zipped and unassuming, but heavy with symbolism. For years, this church welcomed newly arrived immigrants, offering them a place to sleep as they searched for work and housing. Now, the tent remains as a reminder of both past hospitality and the present fears that many congregants carry.
Pastor Toña Rios, who leads the church, estimates that about 80% of her congregation are immigrants, and many lack legal status. The mood, she said, has shifted dramatically. “A lot of them say, ‘Don’t open the door. Just close the door,’” Rios recounted. The instinct to hide is strong, but she urges her flock to resist it, especially during Advent. Using the tent as a teaching tool, Rios invites her congregation to imagine themselves as those who offer shelter, not as those who turn others away. “It is very hard,” she acknowledged. “But Jesus is going to be born in our heart. That’s why we need to be prepared.”
The sense of vulnerability extends beyond immigration status. Royi Lopez, a longtime member of Baldwin Park United Methodist Church, is a U.S. citizen, but she feels targeted because of her Latina identity. Many of her family members are undocumented, and the fear for their safety is a constant companion. “What if on my way to church, they catch us?” Lopez wondered aloud. “On a daily basis, we’re scared of going to the school, to work, to church, to even the grocery store.”
For Lopez, the Advent season’s themes of waiting and welcome resonate on a deeply personal level. The biblical story of Mary and Joseph searching for shelter, turned away time and again, feels all too familiar. “Even though so many doors were closed, somebody opened a door,” she reflected. That motif of hospitality and hope is woven into the fabric of the church’s Advent observance.
Every Sunday during Advent, Baldwin Park United Methodist Church sings the hymn “All Earth is Hopeful.” Its lyrics, which speak of a world longing for liberation and justice, serve as both a balm and a rallying cry. The congregation sings about laboring to “see how God’s truth and justice set everybody free,” a vision that feels both urgent and elusive in the current climate.
According to NPR, the Department of Homeland Security’s official line is that church-based enforcement is rare and subject to higher scrutiny, yet the lived reality for many immigrants is that nowhere feels truly safe. The anxiety has led some parishioners to withdraw from communal activities, even refraining from praying in their native languages for fear of standing out. Church leaders, meanwhile, grapple with how to foster a spirit of welcome while also protecting their congregants.
Pastor Rios’s red tent stands as a silent witness to the shifting tides. Once a symbol of open doors and compassionate welcome, it now serves as a reminder of the fragility of sanctuary. Yet, she remains steadfast in her message: Advent is a time to prepare hearts for the birth of Jesus and to resist the temptation to shut out those in need, no matter how daunting the circumstances.
For many immigrant families, the fear extends beyond the walls of the church. Everyday activities—dropping children at school, shopping for groceries, or simply attending worship—carry the risk of exposure and, for some, the threat of detention or deportation. The emotional toll is significant, with anxiety coloring even the most ordinary routines.
Still, the central message of Advent—hope in the face of uncertainty—endures. Congregations like those in West Los Angeles and Baldwin Park continue to gather, to sing, and to pray, even as they navigate the complexities of their circumstances. Their resilience is a testament to the enduring power of faith and community, even when both are tested by forces beyond their control.
As the Advent season unfolds, the contrast between hope and fear remains stark. Yet, in the words sung each Sunday—“see how God’s truth and justice set everybody free”—there’s a reminder that the story of Christmas is, at its core, about the possibility of welcome and the promise of liberation. For Southern California’s immigrant congregations, that promise is more than a seasonal sentiment—it’s a daily act of courage and faith.
