Haitian churches, such as this one in Indianapolis, filled up with immigrants fleeing economic hardship and political violence. [Photo by Christa McConnell]
Debbie Michel
January 6, 2026At the center of that unsettledness is a patchwork of changing immigration policies affecting hundreds of thousands of people across the United States, many of them Adventist church members. Some wait for the government to decide the fate of humanitarian programs that once allowed them to work. Others wonder how long they can stay employed, or whether a missed appointment might cause a knock on the door. A few have already begun packing bags.
Across Indiana, Illinois, Lake Region, Michigan and Wisconsin conferences, pastors and multicultural coordinators say the impact on congregational life is real.
“Every day our people wake up with the same question,” said Vitalii Hanulich, an Illinois Conference pastor of the Ukrainian Church in Chicago. “Should I wait? Should I leave? No one knows what will happen next.” Nearly all of his members hold a blend of parole and Temporary Protected Status, uncertain arrangements that have expired for some and for others such as Hanulich a reprieve until late 2026.
They are not alone. TPS, an immigration program granted to individuals who cannot safely return to their home countries, currently shields more than one million people. Five nations represent the largest groups: Venezuela, Haiti, El Salvador, Ukraine and Honduras. For many people in the pews, this protection is temporary and fragile.
The Lake Union’s more than 90,000 members include thousands who fall into these categories, or who live alongside relatives who do. Their experiences vary widely. Most communities report intense disruption, especially if their members are undocumented or their temporary protected status has expired. Yet regardless of status, churches must now navigate ministry in a climate where legal uncertainty quietly shapes daily life.
What follows is a portrait of the moment, drawn from extended interviews with the five Lake Union Hispanic multicultural directors, three pastors and a church member.
In western Michigan, Pastor Richar Perez watched a thriving Bible study group collapse almost overnight. Ten farmworkers had been preparing for baptism. Perez said a group of farmworkers would arrive Sabbath morning and, instead of attending Sabbath School, gather in the chapel for Bible studies. “They were inviting other people to church, too,” he said.
Then rumors spread that Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers had visited a nearby orchard. One family had missed an immigration appointment. Agents arrived at their workplace. Others feared they were next.
“In a single week, the entire group disappeared,” Perez said. “Some moved to other states. Some went into hiding. Some stopped answering their phones. We lost half our people.”
Pastor Daniele Spinosa in Ann Arbor and Detroit has seen similar patterns. Families who once filled pews now worship from home. Others, fearing traffic stops or workplace checks, have returned to their home countries. Several were preparing for baptism before they vanished. “It is discouraging to the church,” Spinosa said.
![Hispanic coordinators from Illinois, Indiana, Michigan and Wisconsin conferences meet with Lake Union Vice President of Multicultural Ministries Carmelo Mercado (right) during the Lake Union Year-end Meeting. [Photo by Katie Fellows]](/build/image/15715.jpg?or=360&crop=%2C%2C%2C&w=480&h=480&s=4e3d62e820859fd3fc0b87e986f294ff)
In Wisconsin, the disruption is acute. Hispanic Coordinator Evelio Miranda recounted the story of the leader of a growing church plant in a rural northwestern part of the state. The congregation began as home Bible studies and had grown into a vibrant small group that met every week.
The church planter had lived in the United States for 11 years, working as a carpenter building sheds. He supported his family and local congregation faithfully. When police contacted him about an old traffic citation, he went to the station willingly, believing it would be routine.
“When he arrived, instead of asking him about the citation, they detained him,” Miranda said.
The member now awaits deportation. His wife and children are heartbroken. He is undocumented but two of their children are United States citizens. The family is preparing for the likelihood of returning to Mexico together so they wouldn’t be separated.
The church plant lost not only its leader but its spiritual center. Members are grieving. Attendance has shrunk. The future of the group is uncertain.
In Chicago, a city targeted for immigration raids, the disruption is steady. Eva Cruz, a lifelong member of the South Hispanic Church and a member of the Lake Union Executive Committee, sees fear reshaping daily routines. Her church sits at the crossroads of several immigrant neighborhoods, drawing members from Pilsen, Cicero, Little Village and the Hispanic corridor of Chicago.
One family she knows no longer leaves their house. “There’s an elderly couple who have decided to actually bunker down in their apartment. They’re not going out. Their children are bringing them food because they’re too frightened to go out on their own.”
In Indiana, uncertainty has shaken entire congregations. Haitian Adventists have been deeply unsettled by the government’s announcement that TPS for Haitians will end on Feb. 3, 2026.
Lake Region Multicultural Director Eddie Allen, who supports Haitian churches in Indiana, said one company had planned an organizational service. It was meant to be a celebration. Instead, leaders postponed it.
When the event was finally held months later, he described what he witnessed. “The fear in their eyes and faces. They even had lookout, little children looking through the door, someone sitting out in a car looking. That was sad,” he said wistfully.
Indiana Multicultural Ministries Director Noel Ojeda hears similar stories. “Members are evaluating whether to move to Canada or other countries,” he said. “They do not want to be caught in a situation where they cannot stay and cannot return safely.”
The United States currently has a “Do Not Travel” advisory for Haiti because of kidnapping, civil unrest, violence and limited healthcare. These same dangers are what drove many families to flee in the first place.
The disruption is not limited to Spanish or Franco-speaking congregations. Ukrainian churches, Burmese groups and Caribbean congregations also feel the strain.
Pastor Vitalii Hanulich said his Ukrainian attendance has dropped by 10%. Giving has dipped as some members lose jobs, because employers hesitate to keep staff whose work permits might expire. Four families have already returned to Europe. Many others are considering their options.
“We have children who were beginning to thrive here,” Hanulich said. “Families who were rebuilding their lives. Now everything feels uncertain again.”
Across the Lake Union, multicultural coordinators describe this season as one of the most difficult they have ever faced. They spend their days counseling families, fielding urgent calls, connecting members with attorneys, praying with congregations, and trying to steady pastors who feel overwhelmed.
Allen has served in ministry for four decades. “This is the most challenging time I have ever seen,” he said. “The stress, the anxiety, the uncertainty — it is real,” Allen said. “People feel vulnerable.”
Nilton Garcia, Michigan Conference Hispanic ministries coordinator, shares similar sentiments. These aren’t distant media stories of people rounded up for deportation, he explained. “These are people from our own churches.”
![Illinois Conference and Lake Union executive committees member Eva Cruz voices her appreciation for the Lake Union statement on immigration, at the NOv. 19 Lake Union meeting. [Photo by Katie Fellows]](/build/image/15717.jpg?or=360&crop=%2C%2C%2C&w=480&h=480&s=37200a8d409aa45d5342723358a5a25b)
Eva Cruz says the harsh rhetoric has fueled inhumane treatment of immigrants and driving many Hispanics into hiding. “With the rhetoric now, it makes it seem that you are a criminal and therefore you deserve to be treated as less than or you’re not worthy.”
She believes the church must reclaim its moral clarity. “There’s no crime for being here undocumented,” she said. “We have to stand for what is right and call out when people are treated inhumanely.” For Cruz, the issue is not political, but spiritual. “We are called to be the hands and the feet of Jesus,” she said emphatically.
Ojeda echoed that concern. He said immigration pressures should not divide the church or be filtered through political lenses. Instead, “the church must respond with compassion and not fear.”
On Nov. 19, the Lake Union Conference released a statement urging the humane treatment of immigrants and affirming the dignity of all people. Multicultural coordinators say the statement matters, but they believe local congregations must also take concrete steps to support affected families. They hope congregations will create safe spaces for those who are grieving or fearful. They hope members will advocate for those who lack a voice, and for churches to serve as a web of interlocking hands that carry each other forward.
Allen believes prayer must be paired with action. “Praying is important,” he said. “But we must move beyond prayers.”
Even in crisis, the mission has not stopped.
Ruben Bullón, Illinois Conference multicultural ministries leader, reminds pastors that ministry cannot be placed on hold. “The immigration situation will change, just as the other crises like the pandemic or economic downturns and political cycles,” he said. “The constant is to reach people for Jesus. We preach Christ, not crisis.”
As churches try to press forward even while huge swaths of their congregation are hurting, Michigan Pastor Perez and others are trying to instill hope. “God is in control,” he reminds his members. “This life is temporary. Our citizenship is in heaven.”
And while not downplaying the crisis in the pews, Pastor Spinosa said he encourages members to see forced relocation through a missionary lens. Spinosa teaches his members to see deportation not as the end of mission. If families must leave, he tells them the gospel travels with them. “The mission continues,” he counsels.
Hanulich continues to baptize new believers. “People are still answering God’s call,” he said. “Despite the worry, there is hope.”
While the disruption is real, the gospel continues to move, carried by congregations who know what it means to trust God in uncertain places.
So, on any Sabbath morning, among the voices raised in Spanish, Ukrainian, Haitian Creole, Burmese and English, there remains a steady whisper of faith: God is still with us. God is still leading. God is still calling His people forward.
Debbie Michel is editor of the Lake Union Herald.
