Jesuit Priest Maintains Border Ministry Through Changing Immigration Policies
For the past five years, Reverend Brian Strassburger has maintained his spiritual mission at the volatile US-Mexico border, transitioning from ministering to overflowing crowds of asylum-seekers to providing sacraments for detained and deported migrants. Despite significant reductions in border crossings during President Donald Trump's administration, the Jesuit priest continues his work centered on the Christian message that "God is accompanying you on your journey."
Border Dynamics Shift While Ministry Persists
Strassburger leads the Del Camino Jesuit Border Ministries from his base in Texas's Rio Grande Valley, where he and two fellow Jesuits have offered Mass and other sacraments to migrants on both sides of the international boundary since 2021. The border landscape has transformed dramatically during this period, with crossings plummeting from record highs under previous policies.
Between May 2023 and January 2025, approximately 2.5 million people either crossed illegally or sought humanitarian protection through legal channels. This surge followed the Biden administration's termination of COVID-19 asylum restrictions, preceding President Trump's declaration of a national border emergency at the beginning of his second term.
"The journey, whether it's northbound or southbound, involves a lot of suffering," Strassburger explained. "We have a faith that speaks to us amid that suffering. We have a God who says, 'I want to be one of you.'"
From Packed Shelters to Detention Centers
Initially, Strassburger celebrated Mass in overcrowded shelters in McAllen, Texas, and just across the Rio Grande in Reynosa, Mexico, where thousands slept in tents and hundreds waited for opportunities to enter the United States. He vividly recalls ministering at a Catholic-run shelter immediately after the Trump administration canceled all border appointments made through the official asylum application.
When he asked migrants how they were coping with this devastating news, most expressed feelings of terror and deception. However, one woman named Sandra responded in Spanish with profound resilience: "The last thing we lose is hope."
Strassburger reflected on this moment: "Sandra doesn't place her hope in a smartphone app or in a presidential administration or in a government. She puts her hope in the Lord, and that is a hope that doesn't disappoint, even in the midst of the despairing moments of life. If Sandra can say that, in that day and in that moment, how can I lose hope in my own ministry here on the border?"
Personal Journey to Border Ministry
The 41-year-old priest's path to border ministry unfolded through unexpected grace rather than careful planning. Raised by Catholic parents in Colorado, he originally envisioned becoming a father, math teacher, and basketball coach at a Jesuit high school similar to his alma mater. His perspective shifted during college when volunteering with Augustinians, where he encountered the future Pope Leo XIV and ministered to AIDS patients at a South African hospice.
"I'd always thought a religious vocation or a priesthood was like this cross that you bear because God tells you you have to," Strassburger admitted. "I started to think, what if the life of priesthood isn't this great burden, but actually the way for me to be my best self?"
After entering the Jesuit novitiate in 2011, he spent over two years in Nicaragua despite initially knowing no Spanish. Returning bilingual, he discovered his mission during a summer at the Kino Border Initiative in the twin cities of Nogales, Arizona and Mexico. Following ordination, his superior asked him to establish a Jesuit presence in the Rio Grande Valley, responding directly to Pope Francis's call for the church to serve at society's margins.
"I couldn't have said yes fast enough," Strassburger recalled. The local bishop provided simple guidance: "Read the reality and respond to it." The priest added: "That's what we've been trying to do since then. And we identified very quickly the need for pastoral accompaniment of the migrant population."
New Focus on Detained and Deported Migrants
As immigration enforcement intensified, Strassburger shifted his attention to conducting regular Masses at two major Texas detention facilities and shelters in Mexico. One Matamoros shelter operated by Mexican authorities serves recently deported individuals, including some who had spent decades in the United States before removal.
He described one woman arrested after twenty-nine years in the country, right before Christmas, during a routine immigration court check-in. Her six children, all American citizens ranging from six to nineteen years old, remained in the United States without her.
"She's like, 'I just keep thinking, was it a mistake for me to even try to regularize my status? Like, if I had not gone to court that day, would I be celebrating Christmas with my six kids?'" Strassburger recounted. "That's the kind of thing we encounter every day."
William Cuellar, deported to Mexico five years after leaving as a four-year-old child, now resides in a Matamoros shelter near Brownsville, Texas, to facilitate visits from his mother and adult children in the United States. After attending Mass with Strassburger for six months, Cuellar views the priest more as a friend than a clergyman.
"When I met Father Brian, I was like, 'Cool, I can communicate in English with someone else,'" Cuellar said. "He provides me with the time to hear me out."
Spiritual Support Beyond Sacraments
Sister Carmen Ramírez, who operates the Casa del Migrante shelter in Reynosa with another Catholic nun, emphasized that Strassburger's compassionate presence provides migrants with crucial emotional and spiritual support beyond formal sacraments like Mass, confession, and baptisms.
"They bring hope to people," Ramírez affirmed. "These men, they bring the Gospel, a glance of empathy, of compassion."
The shelter currently houses approximately two dozen individuals primarily from Honduras and Mexico. When the Jesuits visit twice weekly, an additional fifty families join for Mass and activities focused on mothers and children, many of Haitian descent.
"Father Brian is a man who knows how to relate to children," Ramírez observed. "I imagine Jesus when I see them running to hug him. His apostolate is of listening, of sitting down to listen, looking at people straight in the face, saying that there is a God who loves them through this encounter."
