By Cassady Allen
“Sister cities” is the phrase often used to describe El Paso and Ciudad Juárez. On the surface, the term refers to two cities in different countries that are formally connected through social, cultural, economic and historical ties. Yet, the connection between El Paso and Juárez goes much deeper.
They are sisters, intertwined in community and culture. Aunts, uncles, abuelas and abuelos live on both sides of the border. Families cross between cities. Communities depend on one another. El Paso and Juárez, united, marked by a 40-foot statue of Cristo Rey overlooking the region, signifying the unity and love God has for all people.
For those of us who live here, the border is not simply a political issue, or a place of crisis often portrayed on television. The border is home. It is a sacred place of encounter where cultures meet, families remain connected across nations, and faith communities continue the daily work of mercy and accompaniment.
At the border, ministry is embodied.
I have the privilege of participating in ministries on both sides of the border through my dual roles as an affiliate with the Sisters of Charity of Cincinnati, a Catholic religious congregation dedicated to serving the vulnerable and marginalized, and Women of Welcome, a ministry connected with World Relief that equips women to advocate for immigrants and accompany vulnerable families through faith and hospitality.
This work is rooted in accompaniment, compassion and radical hospitality.
For many of us living at the border, the Gospel is no longer theoretical. We encounter Christ daily in the detained, the deported, the grieving mother and the frightened child.
Ministry here looks like listening to a mother cry because she does not know where her husband has been taken, praying with someone through a detention center phone line, accompanying families through court hearings, distributing food and hygiene supplies, and helping people navigate systems that often leave them feeling invisible and forgotten.
It also means gathering together to learn about immigration policies and their impact on families, praying outside courthouses for those suffering under current conditions and for softened hearts among those in positions of power, and meeting with members of Congress to advocate for more humane policies.
Often, the most important ministry is simply being a faithful presence so that people know they are seen, valued and not alone.
Years ago, much of the ministry here focused on accompanying asylum seekers in shelters. These were the most vulnerable, escaping danger and searching for hope in the “land of the free.” They journeyed toward reunification with family and friends, longing finally to live in peace and to have the possibility to dream.
Now, as immigration policies have shifted under President Donald Trump’s second term, most of the shelters have shut down. The ministry has shifted from accompanying those hoping for a new life to accompanying those held in immigration detention centers.
For many asylum seekers, the experience in the United States has become what they once fled. Detention centers are places where the length of stay is unknown, where food, hygiene, and sanitation are poor, and medical access is extremely limited. People are moved from place to place until they are lost within the system, fearful for their lives and uncertain of what comes next.
Many describe these places as worse than prison, and at least 52 deaths have been recorded from January 2025 to April 2026. This is not 1930s Berlin. This is El Paso, Texas, in 2026, in one of many migrant detention centers across the United States.
These are not criminals. They are migrants who came to this country 10, 20, even 30 years ago seeking safety, dignity and the possibility of a better life for their families. Their stories echo the human longing for refuge and belonging that has existed across generations and throughout history.
Living and ministering at the border has also allowed me to witness many of the realities that lead families to migrate long before they ever arrive at a detention center or border crossing. These realities are not distant; they are present in the everyday conditions of neighboring communities just across the border.
In Anapra, Mexico, an impoverished colonia just across the border from El Paso in Juárez, the Sisters of Charity have served the community for more than 20 years through Proyecto Santo Niño.
This ministry offers an accredited Montessori school, therapy services and social support programs for children with developmental and physical disabilities. Many families face extreme poverty, unstable employment, limited access to healthcare and childcare, and ongoing violence. Homes are often built from concrete blocks with little insulation or reliable utilities, and sewage runs through dirt streets.
Despite these realities, families continue striving to create stability, safety and opportunity for their children.
Through the sisters, I have witnessed how access to resources can transform lives and help families move toward greater stability. I think of one young girl with spina bifida whose growing independence through therapy and adaptive support has given both her and her mother greater freedom to begin pursuing future opportunities and greater stability for their family.
Stories like hers remind us that this work is not simply charity. It is an investment in human dignity, opportunity and the future of entire communities.
When families have access to education, healthcare, disability services, childcare and dignified work, they are more likely to remain rooted within their own communities, cultures and relationships. It does not eliminate every reason someone might migrate, but it can reduce the desperation that drives dangerous journeys, exploitation and family separation.
As women of faith, we bear witness to both suffering and resilience. God is ever present and continues to be revealed through the people of this community.
We witness children still laughing despite uncertainty, strangers sharing meals with one another, and volunteers arriving day after day from across the country because they believe every human being is made in the image and likeness of God.
El Paso continues to show up as a community deeply committed to living out the fruits of the Holy Spirit: accompanying those in prison, caring for the poor, welcoming the foreigner, and above all loving God and neighbor. We are one with Juárez, connected by bridges, not merely separated by walls.
Living in this sacred place and witnessing the suffering imposed upon human beings reminds us daily that there is still work to be done. As followers of Christ, we are called not to turn away, but to accompany those living on the margins, to advocate for the dignity of every human person, and to be a voice for those too often silenced or forgotten.
I urge others not to allow human suffering at the border to become distant or normalized. Continue calling your elected officials and senators. Let your voice be heard in support of humane immigration policies and the protection of vulnerable families. Learn about the realities facing immigrants and refugees. Support organizations doing the work of accompaniment and mercy. Pray, advocate, serve and remain willing to encounter those whose stories are different from your own.
The Gospel calls us to love our neighbor. At the border, that call becomes impossible to ignore.
Cassady Allen is an affiliate with the Sisters of Charity of Cincinnati and a member of Women of Welcome living and serving on the El Paso-Juárez border.
The post Opinion: El Paso and Ciudad Juárez are one community — and the Gospel calls us to act appeared first on El Paso Matters.
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