Immigration: Who is shaping our response?

I’ve been reflecting on a moment in Luke 7. A woman comes to Jesus with an alabaster jar of costly perfume. She breaks it and pours it all at His feet. The disciples complain about the “waste,” but she holds nothing back. She doesn’t compartmentalise Jesus; He is everything.

That story has been on my mind as the UK wrestles with a heated immigration debate once again.

Every week brings new proposals, new slogans, and, more worryingly, new ways Christian language and symbols are being pulled into the argument. Crosses appear on placards at anti-immigration rallies. Some politicians appeal to “Christian Britain” to justify harder borders. Meanwhile many believers feel politically homeless, unsure which “side” they’re supposed to take.

Resisting compartmentalisation

This is precisely the moment when disciples of Jesus must resist compartmentalisation. We love Jesus. We pray, serve, worship, give Him our Sundays and quiet times. But our political instincts, the way we think and talk about society and justice, often run on autopilot, untouched by the identity we claim in Him.

When Christian language is used to divide, when Scripture becomes shorthand for exclusion, or when immigrants, many of whom are fleeing war, persecution, or deep poverty, are spoken of as problems rather than people, we need to pause and ask: Who is shaping our response? Our tribe, or our Teacher?

Undivided devotion

The woman with the alabaster jar shows us what undivided devotion looks like. Jesus asks for our whole selves, and this includes the way we think about borders, asylum, and national identity.

As Justin Giboney of the AND Campaign puts it, Christian political engagement must begin not with party, ideology, or tribe, but with formation. With discipleship. With letting Jesus shape the whole of us, including the way we vote, speak, and love our neighbour; so we don’t become foot soldiers for a political tribe, but faithful citizens of the Kingdom of God.

You may feel the tension. You love Jesus, you care about people, but when it comes to politics you don’t know where you fit. Politics is not meant to give us our identity. There isn’t a "Christian party" waiting out there. No policy platform captures the Kingdom of God.

In the UK, we’re seeing Christian language and symbols pulled into political battles, sometimes used to divide rather than heal. National symbols may fly alongside banners declaring “Christ is King,” while Christian language is used to fuel exclusion rather than compassion. But Jesus is not our mascot, He is our Lord.

And in the current immigration debate, or in the way faith-school admissions have sometimes disadvantaged certain communities, we are reminded that the church isn’t insulated from society’s blind spots. These debates highlight why Christian engagement can’t be about scouting out the "Christian side" or choosing a culture-war tribe to defend.

Politics as discipleship looks like holding justice and mercy together, not choosing between them. It means remembering that our political "opponent" is our neighbour, who bears God’s image. It also means refusing to reduce vulnerable people to talking points or symbols in a national argument.

Right now, our public square desperately needs Christians who approach immigration not as a battlefield but as a place to practise mercy, truth, and neighbour-love. And it means recognising that Jesus Himself was once a refugee child carried across borders for safety.

'What's in your hand?'

The idea of faith shaping your public life might feel daunting. You may think, "I don’t have much to bring… I’m barely holding things together." You might be a single parent striving to care for your family, or someone carrying weights no one else sees. You may feel certain God can’t use you because you have no time, no platform, no energy for anything public.

But Scripture asks a simple question: What’s in your hand? The widow had only a handful of flour. The boy had five loaves and two fish. Moses held a staff. The woman with the alabaster jar brought what she carried in her hands. Jesus received it, honoured it, and promised her act would be remembered wherever the gospel is proclaimed, not because she held influence, but because she offered what she had.

The kingdom has always belonged to people like her and like you. If you feel exhausted or overlooked, unsure whether you have anything meaningful to offer, know this: what you already carry is enough for Jesus.

And sometimes what’s in your hand is simply a prayer for those in authority and quiet acts of mercy. In a moment where the UK is wrestling with immigration, belonging and welcome, these small and faithful acts matter more than we realise. That too is politics as discipleship. That too is Kingdom work.

We don’t enter the public square to find our identity. We enter as disciples, already formed by Jesus, bringing whatever we have, trusting He will use it for His glory.