February 4, 2026

I’M A STRANGER HERE MYSELF:

A Theology of Immigration: “None of us have a permanent residence here in this world,” the Reverend Dan Groody says. (Jay Caspian Kang, February 3, 2026, The New Yorker)

These thoughts and the current battle over immigration brought me to the work of the Reverend Dan Groody, a Catholic priest and a professor of theology at Notre Dame, who spent years working in Latin America. In 2009, Groody published a paper titled “Crossing the Divide: Foundations of a Theology of Migration and Refugees,” in which he grappled with Imago Dei, the idea found throughout the Bible that human beings are created in the image and likeness of God. “On the surface it may seem basic to ground a theology of migration on imago Dei, but the term is often ignored in public discourse,” Groody writes. “Defining the migrant and refugee first and foremost in terms of imago Dei roots such persons in the world very differently than if they are principally defined as social and political problems or as illegal aliens; the theological terms include a set of moral demands as well. Without adequate consideration of the humanity of the migrant, it is impossible to construct just policies ordered to the common good and to the benefit of society’s weakest members.”

Last week, I talked with the activist Wayne Hsiung about some of the practical assets—physical infrastructure, collective belief—that religious communities bring to progressive activism. The point Hsiung made was that we cannot actually build movements without institutional support, which, at least in this country, still has to come from faith. My conversation with Groody was more philosophical, focussed on how we think, in the most foundational way, about other people, and how essential this is to political change. The transcript below has been edited for length and clarity.

the Reverend Dan Groody: I knew instinctively, as a pastor, that something of God was interwoven in their stories. And as I began to look even more closely to the Scriptures and other places, I recognized that Jesus himself was a migrant. Jesus himself was a refugee. In fact, I use this almost as the organizing understanding of God, who migrated to our human race, who in turn reconciled us to God, so that we can migrate back to our homeland and become naturalized citizens again in God’s kingdom, if you will. So there’s a way in which migration frames and can frame the whole understanding of the Scriptures from beginning to end. We come from God. We’re called to return to God. Migration is a metaphor that can be used to understand what it means to be human in this world. If that be the case, none of us are fixed or stayed and none of us have a permanent residence here in this world.

CROSSING THE DIVIDE: FOUNDATIONS OF A THEOLOGY OF MIGRATION AND REFUGEES (DANIEL G. GROODY, C.S.C., 2009, Theological Studies)

In the book of Genesis we are introduced to a central truth that human beings are created in the image and likeness of God (Gen 1:26–27; 5:1–3; 9:6; 1 Cor 11:7; Jas 3:9). This is not just another label but a way of speaking profoundly about human nature. Defining all human beings in terms of imago Dei provides a very different starting point for the discourse on migration and creates a very different trajectory for the discussion. Imago Dei names the personal and relational nature of human existence and the mystery that human life cannot be understood apart from of the mystery of God.

Lisa Sowle Cahill notes that the image of God is “the primary Christian category or symbol of interpretation of personal value.”21 “[This] symbol,” Mary Catherine Hilkert adds, “grounds further claims to human rights” and “gives rise to justice.”22 One reason why it is better to speak in terms of irregular migration rather than “illegal aliens” is that the word alien is dehumanizing and obfuscates the imago Dei in those who are forcibly uprooted. On the surface it may seem basic to ground a theology of migration on imago Dei, but the term is often ignored in public discourse. Defining the migrant and refugee first and foremost in terms of imago Dei roots such persons in the world very differently than if they are principally defined as social and political problems or as illegal aliens; the theological terms include a set of moral demands as well. Without adequate consideration of the humanity of the migrant, it is impossible to construct just policies ordered to the common good and to the benefit of society’s weakest members. The fact that in our current global economy it is easier for a coffee bean to cross borders than those who cultivate it raises serious questions about how our economy is structured and ordered.

DEPROGRAMMING THE CULT:

Plastic surgeons ditch gender ideology (Benjamin Ryan, 4 Feb 2026, UnHerd)

On Tuesday, the American Society of Plastic Surgeons came out in opposition to providing gender-transition surgeries to minors. The recommendation, the first of its kind from a mainstream medical association, was published in a nine-page policy statement that marks a watershed moment in these debates. It’s part of a broader rethink among many experts, a reminder that science can trump ideology when investigators follow time-tested, evidence-based processes.

THE GREATEST PUNCH LINE IN HUMAN HISTORY?:

Russell Kirk’s Tragic Sense of Life : Far from unthinkingly celebrating an illusory “golden age,” conservatism at its best always recognizes the tragic sense of life. (Miles Smith IV, 2/03/26, Law & Liberty)

Conservatives, Kirk knew, had to live with tragedy more than golden ages, and it was that knowledge of tragedy that made someone truly conservative. MAGA seems too blinded by acquisitiveness and economic neo-mercantilism to be aware that this moment, too, will come to an end, most likely with tragedy rather than a golden age. In the foreword to the seventh edition of his opus The Conservative Mind, Kirk warned that modern humanity, “enslaved by our readily gratified lusts, reduced to fatuity by our own ingenious toys,” ignored to its peril “the mene, mene, tekel, upharsin upon our wall.” Kirk understood that, paradoxically, only a conservatism aware that it too will inevitably fail might stand a chance of lasting through the ages.

Since the American Revolution, conservatives in the United States have embraced the inevitability, or at least probability, of tragedy both in their literature and politics. The nineteenth century golden age of American literature, interestingly enough, was predicated on tragedy. Melville in Moby Dick posited that “all men tragically great are made so through a certain morbidness. Be sure of this, O young ambition, all mortal greatness is but disease.” The very idea of greatness, in Melville’s literary economy, was a disease.

Tragedy and tragic figures, in fact, marked American literature more than golden ages or heroes did. Hester Prynn and Dimsdale, Captain Ahab, Billy Budd, Poe’s Roderick Usher, Kate Chopin’s Edna Pontellier, Edith Wharton’s Lily Bart, Ethan Frome, Jay Gatbsy, Faulkner’s Quintin Compson, Llewelyn Moss of No Country for Old Men, and others inform the American literary psyche and have historically affected how Americans understood their place in the world. Seventeenth century Puritan New Englanders, no strangers to the effect of letters both sacred and secular on their political order, spurred themselves to action by hanging over their heads the fear that they would serve as a tragic lesson in civil and moral disobedience. John Winthrop’s “City on a Hill” did not portray the Massachusetts Bay Colony as a golden city on a hill, prosperous and well, and a beacon to the world’s hopeless, but a Christian commonwealth whose failures would be placed on a pillar for all the world to see. That politics and society might be tragic did not mean that life was not without levity. Mid-twentieth-century science fiction luminary Philip K. Dick quipped that “It really seems to me that in the midst of great tragedy, there is always the horrible possibility that something terribly funny will happen.” American composer Steve Allen smilingly suggested that “humor is tragedy plus time.”

“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”