CHICAGO — He traveled more than 5,000 miles, dodging human traffickers and drug cartels for six months, to reach the United States, all while caring for his disabled brother.

Then, someone put him on a bus and sent him 1,400 miles farther north, to America’s third-largest city.

“We didn’t know anyone here,” said Daviel, speaking through a translator, as he stood in the small foyer of the Northwest Church of Christ in Chicago. A church member, Barbara Foucher, helped the Venezuela native fill out paperwork to receive help through the congregation’s food program.

Daviel’s brother, Albert, stood nearby, silent. Albert suffers from “a kind of paralysis” and is nonverbal, his brother said. Bringing Albert on the journey was dangerous, Daviel said, but their parents could no longer care for him. And the gang warfare and medicine shortages that plague Venezuela gave him few alternatives.

The brothers were among 70 families who made a pilgrimage through Chicago’s Albany Park neighborhood on a sunny Saturday afternoon, past dog walkers and Little Leaguers, to the church’s food pantry. Christians and volunteers from a nearby high school loaded sacks of fresh vegetables, canned goods and loaves of bread into their cars, vans or backpacks as airplanes soared overhead, landing at O’Hare International.

Some of those in need came here from distances even greater than Venezuela. For Ukrainian Anastasia Sokolova, Chicago was her third move in less than a decade. Her parents died when she was 7, and she grew up in an orphanage in the eastern city of Donetsk.

In 2014, pro-Russian separatists took over the region, sparking a long, bloody conflict. She went for nearly two years “without money, without food,” she said, before she fled west to Kyiv. Then, in 2022, Russia rained missiles on Ukraine’s capital as it launched a full-scale invasion.

She evacuated through Russia — “I hate Russia,” she stressed — and eventually settled in Germany. Her godfather, who lives in Chicago, invited her here. She arrived three weeks ago. Another Ukrainian refugee, Ivan Shutenko, drove her to the Northwest church. The food she received will help her as she waits for permission to work.

The conflicts she’s endured (“my two wars,” as she called them) have strengthened her resolve to carry on, Sokolova said. “I never, never give up.”

‘The weirdest and worst-possible time’

Even as the COVID-19 pandemic subsided, sending Chicagoans back to work, Churches of Christ experienced a spike in need, representatives of two churches with food pantries told The Christian Chronicle.

Since 2022, the Windy City has welcomed more than 30,000 Ukrainian refugees, including Sokolova and Shutenko. Most have integrated into the city’s preexisting Ukrainian communities, where blue and yellow flags still fly from balconies two years after the invasion. Meanwhile, U.S. politicians argue over continued spending for Ukraine.

More problematic for Chicago, however, is the influx of more than 19,000 Venezuelans, including Daviel and Albert. Few have families here, and many arrive on buses sent from Republican-controlled border states. Under Texas Gov. Greg Abbott, the Lone Star State has bused more than 100,000 migrants to cities run by Democrats, including Chicago.

Although J.P. Grosser certainly has his opinions about the politics of the surge, he said he does his best simply to serve the souls at his doorstep. He coordinates the food program for the Lakeview Church of Christ in Chicago’s Uptown neighborhood, about five miles east of the Northwest church.

The influx of migrants “caught us at the weirdest and worst possible time,” Grosser said on a recent Wednesday as he supervised the unloading of a large shipment from an area food bank. The city already had a housing crunch and a homeless problem, he said, and has struggled to find places for the new arrivals.  

Uptown once had a reputation for gang activity and violence, second only to Chicago’s South Side, said Grosser, who moved here from southern Illinois in 2019. He remembers hearing gunshots down the street from his home.

Since the pandemic, the neighborhood has gentrified and prospered. The local ward also has become the temporary home for one of the largest groups of Latin American immigrants in the city, said Christa Pierce, wife of Lakeview minister Walter Pierce and Grosser’s sister. The student body of the local school district doubled. Uptown residents routinely see immigrant families asking for help outside Costco Wholesale and Starbucks.

The church brought in translators to help with its program, Krista Pierce said, and contributed coats to help the migrants weather the winter months. She and her husband attend community meetings for updates on the migrants. At a recent meeting, city officials reported a decrease in buses sent from the border states. One alderman said, cynically, that he expects another surge in August just as the city hosts the Democratic National Convention.

A development grant helped the Lakeview church expand its basement food pantry. As Grosser took inventory, church members sweated through their shirts as they unloaded large crates of milk, Brussels sprouts and an unexpected gift — multiple boxes of frozen vegan pepperoni pizzas. 

Volunteer Audrey Bowen called on her Tetris-playing skills as she worked the pizzas into freezers already stuffed with brown-and-serve sausages.

On Saturdays, those in need line up and make quick shopping trips to the church basement. The brief interactions, plus the language barrier, make it tough to share Jesus with the migrants, Grosser acknowledged.

But perhaps the best way to feed people spiritually, he said, “is to lead by example and to let them see how we are toward them.”

“We do feel the urgency, the desire and the importance of serving God,” he added. “God has blessed our family so much, it’s ridiculous. So we know we have a lot to give back. And we’re honored to do it.” 

Scenes from a giveaway

At the Northwest church, interactions may be even shorter than those at Lakeview.

The congregation doesn’t yet have the facilities to accommodate indoor shoppers, so it still follows protocols used during the pandemic. Nonetheless, a few of the church’s clients have attended worship services, and some have helped out with the pantry, minister Patrick Odum said.

During the Northwest church’s Saturday distribution, Odum met recipients as they stood by their cars or on the church’s freshly mowed lawn. He entered their information on his phone and did his best to remember — and pronounce — the names of repeat customers, who came to Chicago from Latin America, Vietnam, the Philippines and elsewhere. Then volunteers brought out the food, presorted into individual crates.

A few of those who came to receive food spoke with the Chronicle. Some declined to give their last names.

Barbara, who moved here from a small town near Krakow, Poland, more than two decades ago, said she has come to the Northwest pantry for at least seven years. “The food service is amazing,” she said, adding that she always shares what she’s given.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever return home, especially since her town is less than three hours from the Ukrainian border. She’s worried that, should Ukraine fall, Poland may be next.

Laticia Soto, originally from Mexico, works at a textile factory. Lately the company has cut back her shifts, and the food from the church helps her make ends meet. Two other Mexicans, Luis and Jorge, said they’ve had the same problem at the plant where they work. The food allows them to save money to send back home.

Daviel, the Venezuelan, preferred that the Chronicle not use his last name nor take his photo, said his interpreter, Abdiel Estrada, whose father preaches for the church’s Spanish service.

Volunteer John Cobbins carts donated food up the wheelchair ramp for the Lakeview Church of Christ’s food ministry.

Instead, a Chronicle reporter and Estrada prayed with Daviel and his brother before Estrada invited them to visit the church’s clothes closet. As they browsed, volunteers retrieved a box of food for the Venezuelans.

During their 5,000-mile journey to the U.S., the danger often seemed too much, Daviel said as he loaded the produce into his backpack. But each time, before he turned back, he remembered the political Armageddon and economic desperation that he and Albert had left behind in their homeland.

Going north, he said, at least there is hope.

This article has been republished with permission from The Christian Chronicle.

Erik Tryggestad is President and CEO of The Christian Chronicle. Contact erik@christianchronicle.org, and follow him on X at @eriktryggestad.