I write this as someone who loves the Church and has served her, offering reflection rather than accusation, and care rather than critique.

My beloved family in Christ,

I write with gratitude for you and for the care you offer God’s people in demanding and often complicated times. Many of you carry responsibilities that are heavy and often unseen. I know this weight, because I once carried it myself. The desire to lead with wisdom, to protect unity, and to avoid harm is not weakness—it is love at work.

Recently, I read an article describing the Pope encouraging priests to have their affairs in order—spiritually and practically—in the event they may be called to lay down their lives for those entrusted to them. Whether or not such language feels distant from our own experience, it served as a quiet reminder that faith has always asked its leaders to hold comfort and safety loosely.

Scripture speaks not only about the wrongs we commit, but also about the good we may fail to do. The sin of omission is rarely loud. It often looks like caution, patience, or waiting for clarity. And many times, those are wise choices. Still, the teaching invites us to reflect on moments when love may be calling us to attentiveness rather than silence.

Each of us has been given a voice. Some speak to many, others to only a few. But every voice, when guided by love, has the ability to offer reassurance, dignity, and hope. Faithfulness has never been measured by reach, but by care.

Jesus’ words continue to shape us: “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.” The least of these are not abstract. They are our neighbors—people whose lives are shaped by systems and decisions beyond their control.

For many families today, interactions with ICE have brought fear, uncertainty, and deep anxiety. Regardless of where one lands politically, the human impact is real. Children, parents, and communities are living under a weight that is hard to carry alone. Noticing that reality is not a political act—it is a pastoral one. To be clear, naming concern for those affected by ICE is not an alignment with a political party, but a reflection on how the Church responds to human fear and dignity.

It is understandable to want to avoid topics that feel charged or divisive. Unity matters. Peace matters. Silence is not neutral—though I recognize that many choose it out of care, caution, and a sincere desire to shepherd well. Still, Jesus holds love of God and love of neighbor so closely together that one continually draws us toward the other. Compassion has a way of asking to be seen, even when it feels complicated.

The Church’s response does not need to be loud, confrontational, or prescriptive. Often it is expressed through presence, clarity about human dignity, and a refusal to look away from suffering. Sometimes simply naming concern is an act of care.

I offer these thoughts not as instruction, and not as a call to action, but as an invitation to reflection. If we have been entrusted with influence—whether large or small—it is a gift meant to serve, protect, and remind people they are not unseen.

I remain grateful for the ways God continues to work through imperfect people, myself included. Scripture reminds us that God has often spoken through unexpected voices, offering grace where it is most needed.

May we continue to walk together with humility, gentleness, and love.

Grace and peace to you.

Rob Reveles