From Refuge to Abolition: Expanding the Christian Practice of Sanctuary

Sanctuary as political refuge extended by the church has greatly evolved over the centuries in response to a “complex combination of economic, social, and political factors and circumstances.”[1]

For much of history, sanctuary was tied to the realm of the sacred through churches, temples, and religious leaders, but as the modern notion of “separation of church and state” has stripped the church’s legal power to act as a moral conscience for the state in defense of the vulnerable, the ability to offer sanctuary beyond government-controlled bureaucratic processes has been greatly and intentionally dismantled.[2] Today, as xenophobia and delusions of supremacy continue to erode our bonds of mutual responsibility, ordinary people—both within and beyond religious spaces—are challenging the false dichotomies of good and bad, legal and illegal, worthy and unworthy to reclaim sanctuary as a moral obligation to one another.

As Christians, we inherit a rich tradition of radical hospitality. The ancient Israelites understood themselves as strangers and sojourners, a cultural memory that became an embodied ethic of welcome toward fellow wanderers in the mortal journey. [3] Christ himself depended upon the kindness and hospitality of others throughout his earthly ministry, and beckoned his disciples to follow his lead in breaking down the social, mental, and physical barriers that separated people from one another. In Ephesians 2 we read:

“But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us, abolishing the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it.” [4] 

This passage calls us to something more courageous than interpersonal hospitality; it calls us to be anxiously engaged in the dismantling of the social, political, and spiritual walls that separate us from one another. In Sanctuary Everywhere, Barbara Andrea Sostaita extends this challenge by calling practitioners of sanctuary to see and act beyond the binaries of borders and status. [5] But if sanctuary is to extend beyond the opening of our chapels, homes, and arms to those seeking refuge from dehumanization, then sanctuary must become more than a physical place—it must become a way of being. It requires us, as neighbors, to become embodiments of sanctuary in how we see and encounter one another and to seek to reform a world that profits from human suffering, silence, and subjugation.

However, if sanctuary remains dependent upon the fluctuating perceptions of whose lives are worthy of protection, sanctuary remains vulnerable to the changing tides of public sentiment, political rhetoric, oppressive powers, and human compassion. In contemplating the limits of sanctuary, we can begin to envision the possibilities of its next evolution. 

Naomi Paik’s abolitionist manifesto declares that “[t]he core paradox of liberal sanctuary lies here: being a law-abiding ‘good’ immigrant will not save you as long as the state can determine what it means to be a law-abiding ‘good’ immigrant.”[6] We see this represented in the story of Samuel who was detained and subsequently deported following a routine biometrics appointment after living in sanctuary at CityWell Church in Durham, North Carolina for 11 months. Samuel had no criminal record and deep ties to his community, including U.S. citizen family members. Regardless, the state rendered him deportable and disposable on the basis of status alone. [7] This tragedy is one of countless stories of individuals being targeted for detention and deportation today which expose the limits of “deservingness.” No amount of moral qualification can secure protection when the criteria themselves remain unstable and subject to political redefinition. 

As Samuel was handcuffed and dragged away, community members “formed a human wall around him by locking their arms around the vehicle…[and] remained unshaken for nearly three hours.”[8] Having come to know him not as an undocumented immigrant but as a fellow human being, they transformed their bodies into barriers and their presence into protest. Although Samuel had physically stepped out of the church’s refuge, those who protested his arrest bore witness that he “never left the sanctuary. Sanctuary flees the building.”[9] His story reveals that perhaps the most decisive struggle is not over adequate policy or protest, but over the recognition and defense of humanity itself. 

When governments are invested in systems of dehumanization, sanctuary cannot remain confined to conditional protection or symbolic resistance. Limiting sanctuary to national borders, church walls, property lines, or narrow definitions of ‘good immigrant’ only reinforces the very hierarchies it seeks to resist, leaving many excluded despite their equal God-given claim to dignity. Sanctuary extends beyond borders and barriers through communities that refuse to let the state have the final word on any person’s worth.

If the systems that determine who is worthy of protection are themselves responsible for producing exclusion and suffering, then sanctuary cannot merely offer refuge within those systems—it must challenge and reform them. Sanctuary, then, starts with the warming of our hearts to our neighbors and expands to be a commitment to abolishing unjust laws and deadly prejudices that alienate and exclude. 

Rather than operating within binaries of deserving and undeserving, sanctuary as abolition rejects the premise that worthiness can, or should be, determined at all. It is not merely the extension of refuge within existing systems, but a commitment to reforming the systems and ideologies that require such lines to be drawn in the first place. Through this reframing, sanctuary is transformed beyond merely a place one enters or exits, but a social covenant between mankind that invites us to recognize every encounter as an opportunity to affirm and defend our shared humanity. 

As Samuel’s son cried out during the vigil to protest his detention, “Sanctuary is not the building. Sanctuary is the people of the church. The brothers and sisters.”[10] The human wall that formed around Samuel was not an exception to sanctuary; it was sanctuary made into a force to be reckoned with. Their bodies became the walls and their solidarity became the shelter.

To practice sanctuary, then, is not simply to offer protection, but to refuse the logic that makes protection conditional. It is to insist, in the face of systems that categorize and exclude, that dignity is not granted by the state and cannot be taken away by it. Lasting sanctuary starts with us through love of neighbor, and evolves into the transformation of systems. What was once confined to sacred walls is expanded in hearts and bodies sanctified by solidarity. 

Sanctuary as abolition refuses to let borders, buildings, laws, or bureaucratic categories determine the limits to human dignity. It becomes not merely a place of refuge, but a people committed to abolishing systems that dehumanize and building a world where belonging is no longer up for debate.

Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, and Youtube for more content like this.