In Stockton, a Lutheran pastor who has thrown open his church to migrant families now carries his U.S. passport everywhere he goes, not for border crossings but as a quiet piece of armor. Reverend Nelson Rabell‑González leads a bilingual, mixed‑status congregation that serves families across San Joaquin County, and that little blue booklet has become a neighborhood symbol of how federal immigration decisions are bleeding into daily routines. It is a kind of pocket sermon, a citizen keeping proof of status handy so his neighbors can exhale, at least a little.
Rabell‑González leads Iglesia Luterana Santa María Peregrina in Stockton and also serves part time at Saron Lutheran in Escalon. He told CBS Sacramento that “I always have my passport with me when I travel,” using the line to underline how routine racial profiling feels for people of color. In February he traveled to Washington as a guest of Rep. Josh Harder, a high‑profile invitation that Harder’s office framed as part of the pastor’s long track record on immigrant advocacy, noting his work with both Spanish‑ and English‑speaking congregations.
For parishioners, the church’s open‑door stance feels less like a slogan and more like a survival plan. “With my mother‑in‑law also not having her papers, and being here legally, it does concern me,” parishioner Marissa Hall told CBS Sacramento, voicing a fear that runs through many mixed‑status households. Attendance has slumped as those worries grow; Rabell told KCRA that some services have drawn fewer than a fifth of the usual worshipers. In response, the church has leaned into livestreamed services and “know your rights” workshops to reach people who are too nervous to show up in person.
Courts Have Limited Raids, but Worry Persists
Federal courts have put some guardrails around immigration enforcement at houses of worship this year, though the protections are narrow and still being tested. As reported by Bloomberg Law, a U.S. district judge issued a preliminary injunction in February that curbs warrantless immigration enforcement inside certain churches and within roughly 100 feet of their entrances, unless there are emergency circumstances or sign‑off from supervisors. The specifics are laid out in a publicly available court document. Plaintiffs include member churches from several Lutheran synods and allied denominations, and legal experts quoted in that coverage say the rulings give some congregations breathing room without fully easing community anxiety.
How the Church Is Responding
Rabell has tried to meet that anxiety where people actually are. He has shifted key services online, organized legal clinics with immigration attorneys, and kept a visible presence at community events, KCRA reported. The congregation’s recent activism, and the pastor’s pledge to protect migrants “no matter the cost,” has drawn broader regional attention, including reporting in the Los Angeles Times, which traces how the church has been counseling members on rights and preparedness since policy shifts last year.
For Rabell, the passport sits at the intersection of the practical and the symbolic. In a February conversation reflected in a local faith blog, he described carrying the document as “a shield,” a way to call out the absurdity that citizens of color often feel pressed to prove they belong. Patheos and other outlets picked up that image after his trip to Washington, where the passport became part of his visible message during State of the Union week.
As legal battles grind on and policy guidance continues to shift, Rabell says he will keep the church doors open and the passport close. The little things, he suggests, matter: a passport in a pocket, an unlocked sanctuary door, a lawyer at a folding table for a Saturday workshop. For now, that is how he tries to protect dignity and keep families connected while the bigger fights play out in courtrooms and in Washington.
