“We have to follow the law. Romans 13 is clear.”
I’ve heard this argument countless times in discussions about immigration policy. Christians who would never dream of treating immigrants with personal cruelty nevertheless defend harsh enforcement policies by appealing to Paul’s command to submit to governing authorities. The logic seems airtight: God established governments, governments make laws, therefore Christians must support strict immigration enforcement. Case closed.
But what if we’re reading Romans 13 in isolation from the rest of Scripture’s witness? What if Paul’s instruction to the Roman Christians needs to be held in tension with Jesus’ own teaching about how we will be judged?
Consider Matthew 25:31-46, where Jesus describes the final judgment. In this passage, the criteria for entering the kingdom has nothing to do with doctrinal precision or religious observance. Instead, Christ identifies himself with “the least of these” and judges the nations based on how they treated the hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, and imprisoned.
And notice what else Jesus includes in his list: strangers.
The Stranger at the Gate
In Matthew 25:35, Jesus says: “I was a stranger and you invited me in.” The Greek word here is xenos, which can mean stranger, foreigner, or alien. It’s the same root we see in “xenophobia.” Jesus is talking about people from outside your community, outside your tribe, outside your nation.
This isn’t a minor detail in the parable. The judgment hinges on it. Those who enter the kingdom are those who welcomed the stranger. Those who are cast out are those who didn’t. Jesus makes the stakes crystal clear: how you treat the foreigner is how you treat Christ himself.
Now, before we go further, let me be clear about what I’m not saying. I’m not claiming that you can follow Jesus and support open borders without any restrictions whatsoever. I’m not suggesting that nations have no right to manage immigration. I’m not pretending that immigration policy is simple or that there are easy answers to complex questions about security, resources, and integration.
But I am saying this: Christians cannot use Romans 13 as a blank check to endorse policies that treat immigrants with cruelty, fear, or contempt. We cannot read Paul’s instruction about governing authorities as permission to ignore Jesus’ identification with the stranger. We cannot claim to follow Jesus while harboring hatred toward immigrants in our hearts.
Reading Romans 13 in Context
The problem with how Romans 13 gets used in immigration debates is that it’s almost always ripped from its context. As I’ve written before, Paul’s instruction to the Roman Christians needs to be understood within its historical situation.
Paul was writing to a church in tension. Jews had been expelled from Rome under Claudius in AD 49, returning only after his death in AD 54. The church was navigating reunification between Jewish and Gentile believers. Political unrest was brewing. Paul needed to prevent the Christians from becoming known as troublemakers or rebels, which would wreck their witness and hinder the gospel mission.
His point in Romans 13:1-7 wasn’t to provide a comprehensive theology of church-state relations for all time. He was addressing a specific pastoral need: keep your heads down, pay your taxes, don’t give the authorities reason to crack down on the church. Paul knew that the early Christian movement would be suspect enough without adding accusations of sedition and rebellion.
But notice what comes immediately before Romans 13. In Romans 12:9-21, Paul commands:
“Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection… Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality to strangers… Bless those who persecute you… Live in harmony with one another… If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all… Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
And notice what comes immediately after Romans 13:1-7. In Romans 13:8-10, Paul writes:
“Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. For the commandments… are summed up in this word: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore love is the fulfilling of the law.”
Do you see the pattern? Paul sandwiches his instruction about government between two passages emphasizing love, hospitality, and refusing to do harm. The command to submit to authorities isn’t an excuse to abandon love and compassion. It’s a strategic move to protect the church’s witness while it continues to practice radical love.
Romans 13 doesn’t give us permission to support policies that harm immigrants. It reminds us that even as we navigate complex political realities, our primary calling remains unchanged: love your neighbor, show hospitality to strangers, overcome evil with good.
The Collision Course
Here’s where Romans 13 and Matthew 25 collide in our current immigration debates.
Many Christians invoke Romans 13 to justify supporting strict enforcement: “We must respect the law. These people broke the law. Christians are commanded to submit to government authority.” This sounds pious and biblically grounded.
But then we turn to Matthew 25, and Jesus says the nations will be judged based on whether they welcomed the stranger. Not whether they maintained proper border security. Not whether they enforced immigration statutes. Whether they welcomed the stranger.
So which is it? Do we enforce the law or welcome the stranger? Do we follow Romans 13 or Matthew 25?
The answer is: both. But we need to think more carefully about what each passage is actually saying.
What Romans 13 Doesn’t Say
First, let’s be clear about what Romans 13 is NOT saying:
Romans 13 does not say that all laws are just. Paul himself was imprisoned multiple times for violating Roman law by preaching the gospel. He appealed to Caesar while claiming a higher allegiance to Christ. The apostles in Acts 5:29 famously declared, “We must obey God rather than human authority.”
Romans 13 does not say Christians should never critique or challenge unjust laws. The prophetic tradition throughout Scripture involves calling out injustice, even when it’s legal. Slavery was legal. Segregation was legal. The Holocaust was carried out under the law. Legality does not equal morality.
Romans 13 does not say Christians should have no compassion for those who break laws. We serve a Savior who violated purity codes by touching lepers, violated Sabbath laws by healing on the Sabbath, and was himself executed as a lawbreaker. Jesus consistently elevated human need above legal correctness.
Romans 13 does not say governments have no obligation to justice or that Christians shouldn’t advocate for just policies. Paul’s command to submit to authority is not a command to abandon our prophetic voice or our call to seek justice for the oppressed.
What Romans 13 DOES say is that Christians should not be characterized by rebellion, lawlessness, or social chaos. We should pay our taxes. We should be known as people who contribute to the common good, not as troublemakers seeking to overthrow the social order. We should be strategic about not unnecessarily antagonizing authorities when it would damage our witness.
But obeying this command doesn’t mean we endorse every law or every enforcement priority. It doesn’t mean we stop advocating for the vulnerable. And it certainly doesn’t mean we justify cruelty toward immigrants in the name of “law and order.”
What Matthew 25 Does Say
Now let’s look at what Matthew 25 IS saying.
In this judgment scene, Jesus makes several crucial points:
First, Christ identifies with the vulnerable. “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matt 25:40). When we encounter someone who is hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, imprisoned, or a stranger, we encounter Christ himself. This is not metaphorical. Jesus is making a profound theological claim about his presence with and in the suffering.
Second, the criteria for judgment is concrete action, not doctrinal belief. Notice that Jesus doesn’t ask about the righteous’ theology. He doesn’t ask if they had correct beliefs about justification or the Trinity. He asks what they DID. Did you feed the hungry? Give drink to the thirsty? Welcome the stranger?
Third, both groups are surprised by the verdict. The righteous didn’t realize they were serving Christ. The condemned didn’t realize they were rejecting him. This suggests that our attitudes toward the vulnerable often operate below our conscious awareness. We can have orthodox theology while harboring hearts that turn away from the suffering.
Fourth, this is about nations, not just individuals. Matthew 25:32 says “all the nations will be gathered before him.” This is corporate judgment. Yes, it applies to how we as individuals treat immigrants. But it also applies to how we as a society, through our policies and systems, treat vulnerable populations.
“But Jesus Only Meant Christians, Right?”
Before we go further, I need to address a significant objection to how I’m reading Matthew 25.
Some scholars and commentators argue that when Jesus says “the least of these my brothers” in Matthew 25:40, he’s specifically talking about fellow Christians, not all vulnerable people. According to this reading, the judgment of the nations is based on how they treated Christian missionaries and disciples, not how they treated the poor and strangers in general.
This interpretation has some support. Matthew does use “brothers” elsewhere to refer to Jesus’ disciples (Matt 12:48-50; 28:10). And in a world where Christians faced persecution, it would make sense for Jesus to warn the nations about how they treat his followers.
But I find this narrow reading unconvincing for several reasons.
First, the logic of the passage breaks down. If this is only about how nations treat Christians, then the righteous would need to have encountered Christians to help them. But the passage makes clear that those who are welcomed into the kingdom didn’t know they were serving Christ. They say, “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you?” (Matt 25:37). This suggests they weren’t consciously helping Christians—they were simply helping people in need.
If Jesus is only talking about treatment of known Christians, then the surprise makes no sense. But if he’s talking about how we treat any vulnerable person, the surprise makes perfect sense: you were serving me without realizing it, because I am present in all who suffer.
Second, the list is too concrete and universal. Jesus mentions hunger, thirst, being a stranger, nakedness, sickness, and imprisonment. These aren’t specifically “Christian” conditions. They’re universal human experiences of vulnerability. Yes, Christians might experience these things through persecution. But so do millions of people who’ve never heard of Christianity.
Are we really to believe that the nations will be judged solely on their treatment of a relatively small number of Christian missionaries, while their treatment of the vast majority of suffering humanity is irrelevant? That reading makes the criteria for judgment absurdly narrow.
Third, the context is about universal judgment. Matthew 25:32 says “all the nations will be gathered before him.” This is cosmic, comprehensive judgment. If the criteria is just “did you help my missionary followers,” then most nations throughout history would be judged on something they had no opportunity to do. They never encountered Christians at all.
But if the criteria is “did you show compassion to the vulnerable,” then every nation in every era has had the opportunity to respond. This makes the judgment genuinely universal rather than dependent on the historical accident of encountering Christian witnesses.
Fourth, the phrase “least of these” matters more than “my brothers.” Yes, Jesus says “my brothers.” But he also says “the least of these.” This phrase echoes throughout Scripture as a reference to the most vulnerable members of society—the poor, the oppressed, the powerless. It’s not a technical term for “Christian disciples.”
When we read “the least of these my brothers” we should hear: these vulnerable people are my family. Christ is claiming kinship with all who suffer, not establishing an exclusive in-group of Christians who deserve compassion while others don’t.
Fifth, this contradicts Jesus’ other teaching. In the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37), Jesus defines “neighbor” as anyone in need, regardless of ethnic or religious identity. When asked “who is my neighbor?” Jesus tells a story where the hero is a religious outsider who helps a suffering stranger.
If we read Matthew 25 as being only about Christians helping Christians, we directly contradict Jesus’ teaching that our neighbor is anyone in need. We can’t have it both ways.
Sixth, the broader biblical witness is clear. Throughout Scripture, God’s people are judged on their treatment of vulnerable populations: widows, orphans, the poor, and strangers. The prophets consistently condemn Israel for oppressing these groups. The Levitical laws commanded hospitality to foreigners. This isn’t about treatment of fellow Israelites only—it’s about how God’s people relate to all vulnerable people.
Deuteronomy 10:18-19 says: “He executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing. You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”
Zechariah 7:9-10 declares: “Thus says the LORD of hosts: Render true judgments, show kindness and mercy to one another; do not oppress the widow, the orphan, the stranger, or the poor.”
These texts aren’t about special treatment for fellow believers. They’re about how God’s people treat all vulnerable people. Matthew 25 stands firmly in this tradition.
Seventh, the New Testament expands rather than narrows moral obligation. One of the central moves of the New Testament is to expand the scope of who counts as “neighbor.” Jesus breaks down barriers between Jew and Gentile, clean and unclean, insider and outsider. Paul declares that in Christ “there is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female” (Gal 3:28).
Reading Matthew 25 as narrowing our concern only to fellow Christians moves in exactly the opposite direction. It would be taking the expansive, boundary-breaking message of Jesus and making it exclusive again.
The charitable reading: Now, I can grant that Matthew 25 might have special application to how Christians treat persecuted believers. That’s a legitimate dimension of the text. In a context where Christians faced persecution, Jesus’ warning that nations will be judged on their treatment of his followers would be powerful and relevant.
But that doesn’t exhaust the passage’s meaning. The more natural, more consistent, and more theologically rich reading is that Christ identifies with all who suffer. When we encounter anyone who is hungry, thirsty, a stranger, naked, sick, or imprisoned, we encounter Christ.
To limit this only to Christians helping Christians is to miss the radical scandal of the Incarnation. God didn’t just become human—he became a vulnerable human. He was born in a stable, became a refugee fleeing to Egypt, lived as an itinerant preacher without a home, was unjustly arrested and executed. Christ didn’t just identify with powerful Christians spreading the gospel. He identified with all who suffer.
The practical test: Here’s a simple test for which reading makes more sense. Imagine Jesus telling this parable to a group of Christians today. He describes the judgment and says nations will be evaluated based on their treatment of “the least of these my brothers”—the hungry, thirsty, strangers, naked, sick, and imprisoned.
Now, what would the Christians hearing this naturally understand? Would they think: “Oh, he’s only talking about how we treat fellow Christians”? Or would they understand: “Christ is present in all who suffer, and our treatment of any vulnerable person is our treatment of Christ himself”?
I think most Christians, upon hearing this passage, would instinctively understand the broader reading. They’d recognize Jesus’ radical identification with the suffering. The narrow reading—limiting this only to Christians—feels like a later attempt to soften the passage’s demands by restricting its scope.
Why this matters for immigration: This interpretive debate has huge implications for immigration ethics. If Matthew 25 is only about Christians helping Christians, then it doesn’t really speak to how we treat immigrants in general. We could limit our concern to persecuted Christian refugees while ignoring or even opposing other immigrants.
But if Matthew 25 is about Christ’s identification with all vulnerable people, then it directly confronts how Christians think about immigration. The stranger at the border isn’t just a policy problem to be managed—they’re a person in whom Christ is present. Our response to them is our response to Christ.
This doesn’t mean Christians must support open borders or oppose all immigration enforcement. But it does mean we can’t treat immigrants with contempt, fear, or cruelty. It means our default posture must be compassion and welcome, even as we wrestle with complex policy questions.
The narrow reading of Matthew 25 lets us off the hook. The broader reading confronts us with Christ in the stranger. And I think that broader reading is what Jesus intended.
A Both/And Framework
So how do we hold Romans 13 and Matthew 25 together?
We need a both/and framework that acknowledges both the reality of government authority AND the primacy of Christ’s identification with the stranger.
Here’s what this looks like in practice:
1. We Can Acknowledge That Immigration Law Exists While Questioning Whether It’s Just
Romans 13 reminds us that governments have authority. Fine. Immigration laws exist. People who enter the country without authorization have broken those laws. This is factually true.
But acknowledging reality doesn’t mean endorsing it. Christians should be the first to ask: Are these laws just? Do they reflect God’s heart for the vulnerable? Do they align with biblical principles of compassion and hospitality? Or do they primarily serve fear, economic anxiety, or racial prejudice disguised as concern for “the rule of law”?
We can say “immigration laws exist” while also saying “these particular laws may be unjust and need to be changed.” These aren’t contradictory positions.
2. We Can Support Some Level of Border Management While Opposing Cruel Enforcement
There’s a difference between saying “nations can have borders” and saying “any enforcement tactic is justified.” Even if you believe in the legitimacy of immigration control, you can still oppose family separation. You can still oppose detention camps with inhumane conditions. You can still oppose mass deportations that tear apart communities.
The question isn’t whether we have laws. The question is what kind of laws we have and how we enforce them. A Christian framework would insist on enforcement mechanisms that preserve human dignity, keep families together when possible, and provide due process protections.
3. We Can Distinguish Between Personal Posture and Policy Positions
This is crucial. Your heart toward immigrants should not depend on your policy views. Even if you believe in strict border security, you can still:
- Welcome immigrants in your community with open arms
- Oppose rhetoric that dehumanizes or demonizes immigrants
- Support ministries that serve immigrant populations
- Advocate for humane treatment of those in detention
- Resist the fear and anger that often characterize anti-immigrant sentiment
You can believe in legal immigration while treating every human being you encounter with the dignity befitting someone made in God’s image. The problem isn’t that some Christians support stricter enforcement. The problem is when Christians weaponize Romans 13 to justify hatred, cruelty, or indifference toward immigrants.
4. We Can Prioritize Gospel Witness Over Political Victory
Romans 13 was about protecting the church’s witness. Paul didn’t want Christians known as rebels. He wanted them known as people of love and peace who contributed to society.
Today, when the American church is increasingly known for its harsh stance toward immigrants, we should ask: what kind of witness are we bearing? When Latino immigrants hear Christians invoke the Bible to justify deportations, what gospel are we preaching?
Our political positions may vary, but our witness should be consistent: we are people who welcome the stranger because Christ himself was a stranger who welcomes us.
The Uncomfortable Implications
If we take both Romans 13 and Matthew 25 seriously, we arrive at some uncomfortable implications:
We cannot use “they broke the law” as a conversation-ender. Yes, some immigrants entered without authorization. That’s a legal violation. But it doesn’t absolve Christians of our responsibility to treat them with compassion, to advocate for just policies, and to recognize Christ’s presence in the stranger.
We cannot outsource our Christian ethics to the state. When Christians say “I personally feel bad for immigrants, but the government has to enforce the law,” they’re trying to have it both ways. You can’t wash your hands of responsibility by appealing to government authority. That’s exactly what Romans 13 DOESN’T say.
We have to get comfortable with complexity and tension. There are no easy answers here. Immigration policy involves real tradeoffs between competing goods. But complexity doesn’t excuse us from doing the hard work of thinking biblically about these issues.
We might have to choose between what’s legal and what’s right. I’m not necessarily advocating civil disobedience (though that’s a whole other conversation). But we should at least recognize that there may be times when the government’s immigration priorities conflict with our call to welcome the stranger. In those moments, our allegiance to Christ must take precedence.
Where Do We Go From Here?
So what does Christian immigration ethics look like when we hold Romans 13 and Matthew 25 in tension?
It starts with our hearts. Before we debate policy, we need to examine our posture toward immigrants. When you think about immigration, what emotions arise? Fear? Anger? Resentment? Or compassion? Curiosity? Welcome?
As I wrote in my previous post, you can’t follow Jesus and hate immigrants. Full stop. If your heart harbors contempt for immigrants, no amount of policy sophistication will make that right. Matthew 25 confronts us with Christ present in the stranger, and our response to that presence will be the basis of our judgment.
From there, we can start having more nuanced conversations about policy. We can acknowledge the complexity while insisting on human dignity. We can support some level of immigration enforcement while demanding humane treatment. We can debate the details while maintaining compassion for the people involved.
But we have to start with our hearts. We have to start by recognizing that when we encounter the immigrant, we encounter Christ.
The Biblical Witness Is Clear
The thread running through Scripture is unmistakable. From the Levitical laws commanding hospitality to strangers, to the prophets condemning those who oppress the foreigner, to Jesus identifying with the stranger in Matthew 25, to the apostles calling the church to show hospitality, the biblical witness is clear.
God has a heart for the vulnerable. God identifies with the stranger. God’s people are called to welcome the foreigner.
This doesn’t settle every policy question. It doesn’t tell us exactly how many immigrants should be admitted or how borders should be managed. But it does establish the framework within which Christians should think about these issues.
We can respect government authority (Romans 13) while prioritizing Christ’s identification with the stranger (Matthew 25). We can acknowledge the complexity of immigration policy while insisting on compassion and human dignity. We can have policy disagreements while sharing a common posture of welcome.
What we cannot do is use Romans 13 as a theological escape hatch to avoid the demands of Matthew 25. We cannot appeal to government authority to justify turning away from Christ present in the stranger.
The law may say one thing. But Jesus says another. And when push comes to shove, Christians follow Jesus.
A Final Word
I know this is uncomfortable. I know it complicates the tidy categories many of us use to make sense of immigration debates. I know it challenges some deeply held assumptions about law, order, and national sovereignty.
But the gospel has always been uncomfortable. It has always challenged our assumptions. It has always called us to see the world differently.
Jesus met a Samaritan woman at a well—someone his culture regarded as ethnically and religiously inferior. He healed a Roman centurion’s servant—an enemy occupier. He praised the faith of a Canaanite woman—a pagan outsider. He told a parable where a Samaritan was the hero and the religious professionals were the villains.
Again and again, Jesus crossed boundaries, welcomed outsiders, and identified with the stranger. He didn’t do this by ignoring the law. He did it by fulfilling the law’s deepest purpose: love God, love neighbor.
So when it comes to immigration, let’s stop pretending Romans 13 gives us permission to ignore Matthew 25. Let’s stop using “respect for law” as a shield against the demands of hospitality. Let’s stop outsourcing our Christian ethics to the state.
Instead, let’s ask the harder questions: How do we welcome the stranger while navigating complex political realities? How do we show compassion while respecting legitimate concerns? How do we bear witness to Christ’s kingdom in the midst of difficult policy choices?
These questions don’t have simple answers. But they’re the right questions. They’re the questions that take both Romans 13 and Matthew 25 seriously. They’re the questions that refuse to let us off the hook.
Because at the end of the day, we won’t be judged by whether we maintained proper border security. We’ll be judged by whether we welcomed the stranger.
And the stranger, Jesus says, is Christ himself.