Sometime back before the American Revolution, my ancestors, probably including those of both English and Irish nationalities, immigrated to what would become the United States.

They were part of the great migration of European peoples to the Americas. Native Americans would suffer greatly, pushed further and further into less fertile areas, forced to give up sovereignty and lands.

Slaves and their descendants suffered also, shackled by prejudice that denied them the American dream.

For people like my ancestors, however, the new lands allowed them to flourish as they probably never would have in Europe. Like other immigrant families, some of my ancestors did better than others. A few became well-off, others became small farmers, others eventually landed in urban areas, becoming workers and small business owners, surviving both depression and times of war.

My own parents kept their home during the Great Depression of the thirties, saved by one of President Franklin Roosevelt’s new deal programs. Later, they managed to send my brother and me to college. We both enjoyed middle class American lives.

Not surprisingly, I have sympathy for immigrants. I think one of the greatest gifts the country has been granted is renewal brought about by managed immigration. Indeed, the castoffs of Nazi Germany, given sanctuary in the United States, helped power the defeat of that same regime.

Some of my beliefs, I freely admit, come from my Christian faith, a belief that those who are blessed are obligated to bless others. We the blessed, are called to share those blessings.

This country has allowed some to amass great wealth. I don’t believe that being rich is in itself a sin. I do believe it is a great responsibility. The responsibility is to choose between the path of the rich man in Jesus’ parable who ignored the poor seeking crumbs from his table, or that of the one known as the Good Samaritan, who chose to help the needy one he happened to meet.