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We weren’t prepared. COVID-19 restrictions were just winding down, and we weren’t yet getting very many drop-in visitors at the church offices. Besides, it was spring break for school families, so we weren’t counting on seeing many people.

But the doorbell rang—and we weren’t prepared for the way what happened next would set us on a completely unknown and unexpected path.

At the door on this warm spring day, backlit by bright sunlight and new buds on the cedar hedges of our parking lot, stood a young man next to a family of four. “Is this a church?” the man asked. He explained that he had met this family at a bus stop and that they didn’t speak English. With help from Google Translate, he learned they were refugees from Colombia. They had been picked up crossing the border into Canada at a park. Their passports were confiscated, and they were told to appear at a processing hearing three weeks later. They had been given one night in a local hotel but left to fend for themselves after that.

Through reasons I can only guess were given to him by the Holy Spirit, he thought a church might be able to help. Our church, Immanuel Christian Reformed Church in Langley, B.C., was the top internet search result and just 500 meters from the bus stop.

Opening wide the doors to the church, I invited them all in. I asked Matthew, the young man, if he wanted to join us too. His reply was a straightforward “No, thank you. I think I’ve done my part.” Turning around, Matthew walked away, disappearing into the afternoon sun. To this day I still wonder if he was an angel sent to help this family find us.

With obvious fatigue clinging to their frames, this young family of four timidly entered our church. What we weren’t prepared for was how they entered our lives. At this point, my colleague, Pastor Kevin, joined us as we brought out some water and a light snack to share. Providentially, Kevin can fumble his way through a Spanish conversation because of Immanuel’s 25-year history with mission partners in East Tijuana and Rosarito, Mexico. We learned the family’s names: parents Andrés and Laura, Natalia, almost 12, and Angie still cradled in Laura’s arms.* We learned they fled Colombia through Mexico, crossed into the United States, and used the last of their money to fly north to Bellingham, Wash. After walking across the U.S./Canada border they were picked up by Canada Border Services and brought to a refugee processing center. At the Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada office there was no Spanish interpreter available to help Andrés and Laura understand what was going on or what would happen next.

Amazed by their story, we wanted to learn more and find out how we could help. For that we called Maria, a member of our congregation who speaks Spanish fluently. Over speaker phone she translated for us. The comfort and familiarity of the language produced a visible sigh of relaxation as Andrés and Laura eased back into the soft chairs in the church lobby. As we listened, it became clear we needed to help them with more than just a listening ear.

As I said, we weren’t exactly prepared for this. We didn’t have protocols or procedures in place for a refugee family showing up at our door. This sort of thing doesn’t ordinarily happen in our neighborhood. Immanuel does have a refugee sponsorship committee. We have worked in the past to bring two different families from different countries and are well on our way to bringing in a third. But that work has procedures and denominational support staff and clear governmental requirements. That work takes years to organize and can move at a manageable (and sometimes unbearably slow) pace. Andrés and his family were here now. The need was immediate, and we didn’t have time to make plans. We had to respond.

I called a member of the refugee sponsorship committee and explained what was happening. Within an hour, Andrés, Laura, and the girls were heading over to John and Pearl’s house, moving into guest rooms for an unknown length of time. Just a week earlier, John and Pearl had prayed together and felt God laying on their hearts a need to prepare for refugees. In their minds, they were preparing for emergency refugees from the war in Ukraine as Canada was receiving thousands fleeing that conflict. Yet John and Pearl opened their home and their hearts to this unexpected family, finding a way to communicate with broken English, a little Spanish, Google Translate, and a lot of gesturing. But sharing meals and traveling to legal appointments has a way of bringing people together.

We weren’t prepared. But we were ready, and we were willing.

A nurse from our church family came to visit with a bag full of health care supplies for the whole family. Pearl, already a tutor in the school system, began tutoring 12-year-old Natalia in English and worked to get her into the school system. John, a cut-flower grower, provided work for Andrés so he could provide for his family.

In our gathered worship we started bilingual greetings: “El Señor esté contigo” (“The Lord be with you”) and “Bienvenidos a nuestra iglesia” (“Welcome to our church”). Members who had done mission work in Mexico and Costa Rica dusted off their Spanish and intentionally sought out Andrés and Laura each week. At the end of the service everyone was charged with one voice: “Vaya con Dios—Go with God.”

During those weeks that turned to months, Pearl said, “Is this hard? You bet it is! But it’s also stretching us, teaching us hospitality. … They have arrived at our church for a reason. They are truly a delight, and every evening at supper we find something to laugh about.”

We weren’t prepared, but we were ready—ready to go where God called; ready to trust when we didn’t know; ready to work on behalf of those in need; and ready to love and live with whomever God brought to our doors.

On Easter Sunday we opened our worship service with the following declaration:
“Christ is Risen! Cristo ha resucitado!” That year, the church family responded just a little more boldly: “He is risen indeed! En verdad ha resucitado!” Together we sang a bilingual version of Hillsong’s “King of Kings / Rey de Reyes” At the communion table we received Christ crucified and risen; serving Andrés and Laura the body and blood of Jesus, we tasted resurrection together that day. From fatigued and timid to hopeful and loved, we sang as one: “Gloria al Padre, nuestro Dios; Gloria al Hijo, el Salvador; Gloria al Santo Espíritu. Rey de reyes nadie hay como tú”—“Glory to God our Father; glory to the Son, our Savior; glory to the Holy Spirit. King of kings, there is no one like you.”

Andrés, Laura, and the girls have moved to Vancouver to be closer to the Immigration Settlement Services Welcome Centre and the worker assigned to their file. Andrés is working full time, and Natalia is in school finishing eighth grade. However, they visit with John and Pearl every few months, and every once in a while they join us for worship on Sundays. Their story isn’t over. Border Services still has their passports, but they are safe and happy, ready for what comes next.

And so are we. We can’t prepare for everything, but we can be ready when God moves; ready to go when God calls. One thing I’ve learned is that a God who raises the dead can do everything—and because of that, I can be ready for anything.

* Refugee names have been changed because their story is ongoing. Church members are identified by their real names.

Discussion Questions:

1. Have you or your church been involved in sponsoring refugees? Can you recall the experience?
2. Can you share an occasion where you were “not prepared but still ready”?
3. Have you experienced a multilingual worship service? How did you feel during and after the service?
4. How can we help ourselves to always “be ready” for God’s service, even if we cannot always be prepared?