A Journey of Compassion: My Visit to Casa de Misericordia

Last week, I found myself traveling to the U.S.-Mexico border, to a place where hospitality meets hope in the face of hardship. I spent time in Tucson, Arizona, as part of the National Board of Volunteers in Mission — a group that came together 3.5 years ago to unite volunteers and work with the General Board of Global Ministries, with a shared mission: to explore how we, as people of faith, can move forward in a changing world. It was a journey filled with questions about how the church can be a source of light and refuge for asylum seekers passing through the southern border, and I came back incredibly moved by what I witnessed.

Our meeting in Tucson was eye-opening. I had the chance to learn from Tucson Samaritans, a group devoted to providing water stations in the desert for those making the difficult journey across the border. I listened to the testimony of a Salvadoran woman who fled to the U.S. in the 1980s during the Salvadoran Civil War. Now, decades later, she has dedicated her life to serving those seeking asylum. Her story was a powerful reminder that the journey of seeking refuge is not a new one—it’s a deeply human story, repeating itself across time and borders.

One of the most important experiences during my time in Tucson was our trip to Nogales, Sonora, Mexico, to visit Casa de Misericordia, or "House of Mercy." This shelter for migrants, with its 120 residents—children, women, and families—offers more than just a roof and a meal. They provide a space for learning, healing, and building a sense of community amidst uncertainty.

At Casa de Misericordia, I saw hospitality in action. They have created an internal school in partnership with the local public school, ensuring that migrant children continue their education while awaiting decisions on their futures. Teachers dedicate their time to these children, and the shelter operates tortilla factories and gardens to be as self-sustaining as possible. Although many other organizations provide much-needed support, particularly for health and mental health care, the heart of Casa de Misericordia lies in its commitment to creating a sense of normalcy, safety, and dignity for those who are often treated as invisible.

What struck me most during my time there was the sheer resilience and hope among the residents. Some of the people staying at the shelter are from Mexico, seeking refuge from violence or danger within their own country. As I listened to their stories and walked the grounds, I saw faces filled with both uncertainty and strength. And as we learned about the often-lengthy wait times for asylum cases to be heard, it became clear how easy it is for these individuals to "evaporate"—their names and faces lost amidst the slow-moving processes and shifting policies.

In reflecting on this experience, I left with an insight that will stay with me for a long time. There are so many maps—maps of business, political borders, crime pathways—but there is also a “human map,” one that we as a church are called to engage with. This human map is about connection, hospitality, and the web of relationships that bind us together. The church's role is not just to respond to crises or provide charity; it is to walk alongside those who are on the margins, offering a sense of belonging and advocating for the rights and dignity of every person.

Casa de Misericordia reminded me of the power of hope and the strength of community. As we continue our work within the Transformational Communities Network, my hope is that we will find new ways to be a refuge for those in need, to seek shalom, and to live out the Gospel in relationship with the human map that we are all a part of. We are all seeking refuge, hope, and a place to call home.

In faith, service, and shalom,

Abel Vega