As recent presidential executive orders target immigrant communities with promises of mass deportations and challenges to birthright citizenship, the Free Methodist Church in Southern California (FMCSC) is taking a clear stance. In a powerful pastoral letter, Superintendent Jon Sato calls the church to embrace its prophetic heritage and stand with those affected by these policies.
To Our Free Methodist Family in Southern California,
Superintendent Jon Sato
Years ago, our conference had a mission statement that contained the phrase “it’s good to belong.” Though we’ve officially moved on from that mission statement, its echo still resonates in our conference—sometimes spoken with warmth, sometimes with irony. As this new presidential administration uses dehumanizing rhetoric about mass deportations and treats human beings as mere statistics, we must wrestle deeply with what it truly means to belong.
The rhetoric and actions from the new administration, just a week into their leadership, are not just concerning—they are fundamentally at odds with the gospel of Jesus Christ. Their words and policies treat our neighbors, friends, and fellow believers as problems to be solved rather than people to be loved. To be extremely clear, we do not attach our allegiance to any presidential administration or political party. However, as your superintendent and as a follower of Christ, it is my duty to speak up in the face of such dehumanization.
While this new year started with hope, I find myself ending January in an unexpected place. I am beyond exhausted—not just from the physical and emotional demands of being a father to three young children or serving as your superintendent, but from the emotional weight of this season. The recent wildfires that threatened our communities, the lingering shadows of COVID, and now this new presidential administration—it all feels overwhelming. My defense mechanism is to become apathetic and numb. It feels like countless things flash across our screens demanding our attention, our emotional energy, our response. The temptation to scroll past, to disconnect, to protect ourselves from feeling any more pain is strong, at least for me. And here’s the hard truth I’ve had to face: my ability to choose whether or not to engage with these issues is my profound privilege.
“Where are you from?” When I reply “Los Angeles,” they follow up with, “No, where are you really from?” I might say “Glendale,” but that’s not what they’re asking. They want to know about my ethnic heritage, my family’s origin story. While these questions can feel othering, I recognize that my experience is vastly different from many in our communities. I don’t lie awake at night fearing deportation. I don’t worry that a routine traffic stop could separate me from my children. My privilege allows me to treat these questions of belonging as mere annoyances rather than existential threats. When discussions about mass deportations appear before me, I have the luxury of scrolling past. I can choose to “wait and see what happens.” I can decide whether or not to let these stories break my heart. But as followers of Christ, whose primary citizenship is in the Kingdom of God, we cannot afford this luxury of disengagement.
When the expert in the law asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” he wasn’t really asking about neighborhood boundaries—he was asking about belonging. Who belongs in his circle? Who can he safely ignore? Who counts as “one of us”? Jesus responded with the parable of the Good Samaritan, a story that radically redefines belonging. The Samaritan was someone society had deemed an outsider, and the moral wasn’t just about helping—it was about expanding our understanding of who belongs in our circles. When we echo that old phrase “it’s good to belong,” we must ask ourselves: Who do we mean? Do we only extend belonging to those who are safe, convenient, or legally recognized? Or do we, like the Samaritan, extend belonging to everyone in need, regardless of their status or documentation? Our primary belonging is to the kingdom of God, and that kingdom knows no borders.
To our pastors and church leaders: This is a moment that demands prophetic courage. The temptation to remain neutral, to try to please everyone, to avoid “political” issues is strong. But we are Free Methodists. Our heritage is one of bold opposition to injustice. B.T. Roberts and our founders did not seek to please everyone—they sought to please God by standing with the marginalized and oppressed. You carry this same mantle today.
Our Board of Bishops has provided guidance and resources on this issue.
Remember: We are Free Methodists. We have never been called to make everyone comfortable. We have been called to follow Jesus in radical love and courageous action. In this critical moment, I urge you to pray boldly, to preach the full gospel—including its implications for how we treat the stranger among us—and to create sanctuaries of belonging in your churches for those who are afraid. Our primary allegiance is to the Kingdom of God, not to any political party or human institution. When we truly understand that we belong first to God’s kingdom, it changes everything about how we extend belonging to others.
The resources provided by our denomination and partners give us concrete ways to help our communities navigate these challenging times. I urge you to familiarize yourself with these tools and share them widely. But most importantly, I urge you to embrace the discomfort of these times, to resist apathy, and to lead with the bold, prophetic courage that has always characterized our Free Methodist movement.
When Jesus concluded the parable, he asked, “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” The answer was simple: “The one who had mercy on him.” Then came the command that should shape all our discussions about belonging: “Go and do likewise.”
Let us “go and do likewise” with radical courage and fierce love. Because it truly should be good to belong—to God’s kingdom, to a movement that stands for justice, and to a community that chooses love.
In Christ’s courageous love,
Superintendent Jon Sato
