The human condition is made of mobility. By walking on our feet, getting out of the space we know, and exploring the world around us, we become human. Despite all our longing for safety and belonging, we need to move beyond.
Humans are like the Triune God — they truly exist when they go out of themselves.
Whether we have left our hometown to study or marry a little further away or migrated to find work abroad, we are people on the move. And it is the same with the Kingdom of God. It is an outward motion of God; it is a new reality coming to transform our world.
This is why people on the move — whether migrants, refugees, missionaries, exchange students, displaced people, pilgrims, tourists, or expats — manifest key aspects of the kingdom.
In the First Testament, God presents Himself as a gentle whisper. He also appears as the three visitors stopping by the tent of Abraham. Whether in Egypt or in Babylon, the biblical story is marked by displacement, deportation, pilgrimage, and migration. God and His people are on the move.
In the Gospel, Jesus is constantly on the move. He keeps visiting new villages and people. He gives us stories involving people on the move — like the Good Samaritan, the disciples of Emmaus, and the Prodigal Son. Once resurrected, He sends His disciples on mission, outside of their living environment.
The Triune God we worship is a God who exists through outward motion. Unlike the God of the Greek philosophers, who is the immobile first cause of everything, the Father of Jesus Christ is on the move — and allows Himself to be moved by His creature. While the devil may merely be, God exists. These are two fundamentally different modes of being. And humankind is called not merely to “be oneself,” as we hear too often, but to exist and exit, like God does. Thus, people on the move are particularly precious representations of our Triune God.
Unfortunately, in a world marked by xenophobia and fear, we look down upon nomads, migrants, strangers, and refugees. Pilgrims exist, but they are made almost invisible. Only those who move with economic power — such as tourists, expats, and global citizens — are celebrated. But it is the reach of their power that is praised, not their existence. As for the rest of the people on the move, we too often treat them as a problem to manage.
When we encounter a homeless person, a stranger, or a foreign migrant, we hardly recognize her human face. While this image of God tells us, “Do you recognize me?” we would not see our neighbor within her, nor the icon of our Creator. Rather, we see competitors and invaders who come to take over our world, our property, and our safety.
Yet, people on the move may not have power, but they have potential. They have the potential to reveal the presence of God — a loving Father who exists and exits. They have the potential to reveal His coming kingdom. Their displacement, their accepted fragility, their endurance, and their openness to uncertainties all illuminate the scandal of a moving God — a Creator able to empty Himself, step outside of His own power, and die for His children.
Recognizing the divine light within people on the move, especially those who are powerless, is vital to learning how to recognize the coming Kingdom of Heaven. Our bodies, families, nations, and the departed are not enough. The kingdom is not something static and predefined. It is unfolding itself beyond our social circles and comfort zones. It is a divine surprise under construction. And people on the move are a sacrament of this transforming revelation.
As Christians, we are called to become like the Good Samaritan. We do not have to abandon our lives and become static servants, trapped in service to strangers. We have to open our eyes, recognize the face of our neighbor, make a detour, take responsibility, and be creative. We need to transform our sight to recognize the infinite dignity of people on the move. We have to care with our own hands, and we have to make physical and economic efforts.
But we also have to carry on with our own lives. We are not called to take control over the lives of others — even migrants, refugees, and displaced people — under the pretext of taking care of them. Similarly, we do not have to become their slaves. We are called to be free brothers and sisters. We have to love them as ourselves — both equally. Once fraternal care and recognition are truly delivered, the Good Samaritan continues with his own business.
These are concrete and life-transforming steps, for us individually but also for our societies. And for the past two thousand years, these steps continue to have political, economic, and legal consequences.
In our churches, we cannot privatize access to sacraments, leadership, and mutual assistance for locals only. During our celebrations, giving true hospitality to different liturgical sensibilities — such as the famous Filipino joy — is not a sin. In our pastoral councils, granting synodal equality to exchange students, foreigners, or domestic helpers is not against canon law. While the Church needs rules and regulations, people on the move remain icons of God and of His transforming kingdom.
In our countries, while economic systems need to function to nurture our societies, they cannot prey on poor migrant workers and steal labor and value from them. As a society, securing fair wages and healthcare for all is a way to become like the Good Samaritan.
Although it is legitimate to establish national borders, nomadic people — whether continental or maritime — should continue to hold a right to move freely, even in central and Southeast Asia! We sin against the Gospel of Jesus Christ when we grant the right to mobility only to people with economic power.
But these steps toward people on the move — poor or rich — are also the steps of the kingdom, where power relations, fears, and hatred have less room. We are all people on the move — some more than others — but all unfolding what God wants for us. Together, when we recognize each other as brothers and sisters, able to share what we have temporarily received, when we recognize each other’s dignity, we receive the Kingdom of Heaven.
This is part of a mini-series unfolding various facets of the coming kingdom. Read parts one, two, and three here.
Reproduced with permission by Union of Catholic Asian News (UCA).
