California in Tension: June 2025
These past days in California—Los Angeles especially—have been heavy with unrest. ICE raids stirred fear and resistance in immigrant communities, while protests quickly flared into riots. Freeways blocked, rocks thrown, tear gas fired. National Guard and Marines deployed by presidential order. California’s governor objecting in court.
It’s strange to watch this unfold—not far-off news, but real streets, real people, real decisions. The word “compassion” is everywhere, but its meaning seems stretched thin. Some shout for mercy, others demand order. Both claim to care.
A Gospel View: Law and Mercy Woven Together
The teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints don’t fit neatly into either side. The scriptures speak of law:
“We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law” (Articles of Faith 1:12).
But also of love and gentleness:
“Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matthew 22:39).
And peace, not confusion:
“For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace” (1 Corinthians 14:33).
It’s not simple. The gospel seems to invite both: respect for law and care for people, even when they are here without papers.
Years ago, the Church quietly supported the Utah Compact—a gentle statement reminding lawmakers to seek solutions that keep families together, that balance enforcement with mercy, that honor both the law and the dignity of the soul.
When Compassion Becomes Politics
But watching these protests and riots, another thought stirs. Compassion—when used as a political weapon—loses its shape. It stops being Christlike and becomes a slogan. Laws are ignored in the name of kindness, and soon chaos follows. On the other side, law can harden into cruelty, unbending and blind to faces and families.
Neither path feels whole.
Some nations seem clearer in this: firm laws, expected borders, consequences—but without the shouting match. Less compassion on billboards, perhaps, but less disorder on the streets.
In America—especially in California—it feels as if the pendulum swings wildly. Compassion shouted from one side, order barked from the other. But neither voice sounds peaceful anymore.
A Quiet Middle
Perhaps there is a quieter middle. One that honors law without crushing the stranger. One that shows compassion without pretending laws don’t matter.
The scriptures and teachings of the Church seem to lean in this direction: steady, slow, thoughtful. Not rushed by outrage. Not manipulated by politics. A way that values both responsibility and mercy.
Maybe this is why the gospel says so little about modern borders and so much about hearts. Maybe because every time people grab one side too hard—compassion or law—something breaks.
Conclusion
There are no easy lines here. Only tensions that must be carried with care. Real families. Real laws. Real risks.
As these days in California unfold, it feels less like a fight to pick a side—and more like a quiet warning: when either law or mercy are used as weapons, the result is suffering. But when they are woven together, patiently, something closer to peace appears.
