Immigration Around 60 participants, accompanied by a mariachi band, made their way near the Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, where Ruiz ministers to a congregation largely made up of Latino immigrants in Bay Ridge.
As the band played somber hymns honoring the sacred day, the march took on a deeper meaning this year, reflecting not just religious observance but also the growing burden of immigration challenges faced by the community.
As the workday ended on a gray afternoon, participants took part in the Stations of the Cross — the Christian ritual honoring Jesus’ suffering and crucifixion.
With increased federal immigration enforcement casting a shadow over immigrant communities, even sacred spaces like churches no longer feel entirely safe from the threat of arrest.
Several attendees expressed that just showing up felt risky in the current climate of intensified immigration enforcement. Some voiced fears for their loved ones, while others grieved what they saw as a harsh new chapter in America’s approach to immigration.
New York City experienced a surge in migrants during the Biden administration, partly driven by actions taken by Republican-led states. But with the return of the Trump administration, a new phase of immigration crackdowns has begun — marked by intensified raids, reduced local protections, and growing fears that even churches may no longer be safe havens.
President Donald Trump, who campaigned on a hardline immigration agenda, has focused especially on undocumented individuals with criminal records. In January, his administration lifted prior restrictions that had barred immigration agents from making arrests at places of worship.
Faith leaders like Rev. Ruiz, who came to the U.S. as a teenager, now find themselves guiding their congregations through a time of deep uncertainty and fear in the face of these intensified immigration crackdowns.
“This may be one of the most critical moments to publicly live out our faith and values,” said Rev. “What’s often portrayed as strength in today’s society is actually a form of lawlessness.”
As Rev. Ruiz’s group continued its Good Friday procession, they passed row houses and modest apartment buildings in a neighborhood once predominantly white and immigrant, now home to growing Arab, Latino, and Asian communities.
Meanwhile, Jewish Voice for Peace activists held a Passover Seder outside Manhattan’s federal immigration building to protest the detention of Mahmoud Khalil, a Palestinian Columbia University student activist.
Stations of the Cross on a Brooklyn Street
At Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, a woman preparing for baptism led the procession, carrying a small wooden cross adorned with palm leaves. The group’s first stop along the Stations of the Cross was near the corner of the modest church, its gray exterior accented by bold red doors.
Speaking in Spanish, Rev. Ruiz began with the second station, recounting the biblical moment when Roman authorities forced Jesus to carry his cross through the streets, condemned as a criminal as onlookers watched.
But Rev. Ruiz condensed the ritual to just four stations, pausing at each corner of the Brooklyn block to read gospel passages in both Spanish and English. A former Catholic priest, Ruiz said he focused on key moments — Jesus taking up the cross, receiving help to carry it, being stripped of his garments, and ultimately facing death — to keep the message clear and impactful.
Nearby, Latino and Asian delivery workers waited on scooters, scrolling their phones for their next job. Women in hijabs walked calmly past the group. The mariachi band — a dozen young musicians with guitars, horns, and violins — played mournful melodies as the solemn journey continued.
The white robe worn by Rev. Ruiz is frayed at the collar — a quiet reminder of past resistance. In 2018, during Donald Trump’s first term, Ruiz was arrested alongside other clergy and city officials as they tried to block the deportation of a local immigrant rights activist.
At the time, New York City was actively promoting its sanctuary status, even as federal agents continued making arrests. In contrast, the current administration under Mayor Eric Adams has taken a different approach. Adams recently allowed Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) to return to the Rikers Island jail complex and has pushed to ease sanctuary policies that restrict NYPD collaboration with ICE. His argument: the city must be able to deport migrants who commit crimes.
Ruiz’s church has long been a refuge for migrants, offering food, shelter, and vital services to help them navigate the complex process of securing documentation or understanding the intricacies of immigration law. During the COVID-19 pandemic, Ruiz went further, coordinating funerals for undocumented individuals whose families had been unable to claim their loved ones, who were left unclaimed in the city morgues.
The Church as a Sanctuary
Since 2022, over 200,000 asylum seekers have arrived in New York City, many transported by bus from Republican-led states aiming to challenge the city’s sanctuary policies.
The news and videos of arrests have cast a heavy shadow over the congregation, Ruiz explained, deeply affecting the community.
Their names surfaced on a list of over 200 Venezuelan men detained in the infamous prison, and it was through this list that their family was able to locate them.
Both had tattoos — markings that, under the Trump administration, have often been used to associate Latino immigrants with gang affiliations.
In previous years, the Stations of the Cross procession would draw people from the neighborhood to join along the way. But this year, Ruiz and others noticed a smaller turnout, a quieter walk through the streets.
Ruiz, whose own family once lived undocumented, recognizes the expressions on people’s faces when they see police nearby — the fear, the uncertainty. He also understands the burden of working off the books for low wages just to survive.
After the procession ended, around two dozen people remained in the church for the evening service, families scattered quietly throughout the pews.
Off to the side, workers organized boxes filled with fresh produce. The following day, on Holy Saturday, families gathered in lines that wrapped around the church block, waiting for warm meals.