For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat

When people ask how his work supporting migrants began, Pastor Victor Lampón Leon says he knows the story sounds a bit fantastical. Fifteen years ago, Lampón  was coming home from work in Mexico City, when a train passed nearby. He noticed a large group of people, riding not from the safety of a passenger car, but dangerously perched on top of the moving train — a common sight across Mexico.

“Right then, God spoke to me and told me that I was going to work with migrants,” says Lampón.

But at that time, he didn’t know what really helping them looked like.

He found out that the train he’d seen made a stop in the nearby municipality of Tultitlán. So, he, his wife Rocio Valencia Islas and some members of their church collected food, water and clothes and brought them to hand out to migrants near the train station. One of the first groups they met had come from El Salvador and included an older man who kept asking them for shoes.

“We gave him food, we gave him water, we gave him the shoes that he wanted,” says Lampón.

“And the man said to us, ‘You saw me naked, and you gave me something to wear. You saw me hungry, and you gave me something to eat. You saw me thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. This is what the Bible says.’”

Since that day, Lampón has never doubted his calling.

Today, he and his wife lead a church that revolves around providing respite, attention and care to migrants passing through Ecatepec, a town just outside of Mexico City. MCC has provided support to the ministry, La Mano de Dios en Apoyo al Migrante or Hand of God in Support of Migrants, for the past three years.

The space they have is small — five bunk beds and a single bed completely fill one room, while the one car garage-sized remainder hosts church services, meals, additional guests and whatever else the ministry requires. Lampón says the most they’ve ever hosted for night was 48, but 35 to 40 is typical. Women and children double up on the beds when needed, turning 11 spots into 22, and the church puts down sleeping mats anywhere else someone could lay their head for the night. 

One woman, 48, whose name is not provided for security reasons, has slept in one of those beds every night for the last seven months. The process of applying for asylum in the U.S. can take months or even years, so long stays at the shelter are common. She is migrating from Cuba to join her husband who successfully migrated to Iowa two years ago. She heard about this church from a woman she met earlier in her journey and says she could never have imagined how well she’s been treated during her stay here.

“They’ve really helped me in everything. They treat me as their family,” she says. “I don’t have anyone. I am literally alone on this journey. I don’t have any help. They’ve helped me. I’ve gotten sick and the pastor has offered help at any hour, saying, ‘You can stay here until you get your [asylum] appointment. Don’t worry, you have food, you have shelter, you have clothing.’”

Because migrants are both mobile and vulnerable, it’s hard for agencies to effectively estimate their total numbers.

Most official guesses put the migrant population in Mexico at around 1.5 million, but it’s almost certainly much higher.

And it’s not only migrants from other parts of Latin America making the difficult journey. Migrants from all over the world — Ukraine, Haiti, Sudan, Afghanistan and countless other countries — visit these shelters on their journey to the southern U.S. border.

Just a decade ago, there were few, if any, churches in Mexico operating shelters. But since 2018, Lampón says, many churches have seen how overwhelmed the government shelters had become and could not ignore Jesus’ clear call to care for the stranger. Now, church-supported shelters make up a significant percentage of the sector. 

And for those like Lampón on the outskirts of Mexico City or Consuelo Martinez, who works in Juárez, this isn’t just about meeting essential needs. Shelter, food and water are vital, but their ministry is to care for those staying with them in as many aspects as possible. 

Just a few miles from the U.S-Mexico border crossing into El Paso, Texas, in a small, converted warehouse, Martinez starts each day at 3 a.m. She and two other members of the team at Oasis del Migrante (Migrant Oasis) have filled the small storage area between the office and kitchen with all the equipment they need to prep, fry and decorate more than 300 doughnuts a day, topping them with icing in flavors like chocolate, maple glaze and hazelnut.

By 5 a.m., the doughnuts are ready, and migrants from Oasis pick them up and take them to sell on street corners across the city.

Many sell on corners where regulars come by every morning, craving the sweet treats that aren’t common elsewhere in Juárez. Most will sell their lot within an hour, earning profits they can keep to sustain themselves or their families.

“We see it as entrepreneurship for the migrants,” says Martinez. “Some of them have jobs, but one way we can be a blessing is by offering them work, ways to make themselves some money.” 

Martinez is very familiar with how hard it can be to find work as a migrant. Born in Honduras, she lived in the U.S. some 20 years ago but was doing so without documentation. She and her husband had three children in the U.S. before they divorced. Martinez decided to go back to her family in Honduras with the children.

Two years ago, with her children aged 17, 16 and 11, she began the process of returning to the U.S. That path ultimately led her to Juárez, waiting on her appointment at the border without knowing when it might come. A friend introduced her to Pastor Roman Dominguez, who oversees Oasis, and she was welcomed into the shelter.

“But something changed when I started serving here,” says Martinez. “I felt within myself peace, like I feel good here, maybe this is okay. 

“The pastor, everyone, said I would feel different when I got my visa appointment, but I didn’t think I would. And then the day came, and I got my appointment, and I went over to the States with my kids, and I just didn’t feel good, I didn’t feel at peace.”

So, the family came back to Juárez, and Martinez joined Oasis as the shelter coordinator. Her U.S.-born children can cross the border on foot to attend school in El Paso, while she spends her days working to help migrants on journeys like hers. That doesn’t mean every day is easy — even with being up before the sun, she’s often not in bed until 10 p.m. But she knows she’s where she’s supposed to be. 

“The pastor, everyone, said I would feel different when I got my visa appointment, but I didn’t think I would. And then the day came, and I got my appointment, and I went over to the States with my kids, and I just didn’t feel good, I didn’t feel at peace.”

So, the family came back to Juárez, and Martinez joined Oasis as the shelter coordinator. Her U.S.-born children can cross the border on foot to attend school in El Paso, while she spends her days working to help migrants on journeys like hers. That doesn’t mean every day is easy — even with being up before the sun, she’s often not in bed until 10 p.m. But she knows she’s where she’s supposed to be. 

“I really believe that I was born to serve, and so here I am. Even though it’s been difficult, it’s been very fulfilling for me. Knowing that I’m helping others and serving others has really filled me with a lot of peace. I feel very good about what I’m doing.”