I believe that if we don't offer legal ways of emigrating to

In the words of Jean-Claude Juncker: “I believe that if we don’t offer legal ways of emigrating to Europe and immigrating within Europe, we will be lost. If those who come—who are, generally speaking, the poor and needy—are no longer able to enter the house of Europe through the front door, they’ll keep making their way in through the back windows.” These words resound with both urgency and compassion, reminding us that the movements of peoples cannot be denied by walls alone. To shut the doors of mercy is not to stop the traveler, but to force him into darker, more dangerous paths.

The ancients knew well that migration was not a curse, but a constant rhythm of human life. The Israelites fled famine to dwell in Egypt; the Athenians welcomed exiles from other lands who enriched their culture; the Romans absorbed countless tribes into their empire. Where there was lawful passage, there was order, exchange, and peace. But where paths were barred, there was chaos—raids, smuggling, and shadow societies. Juncker’s words echo this ancient truth: if the front door of hospitality is barred, the back windows will be broken, and the house itself will be imperiled.

Consider the story of Ellis Island in the United States. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, millions of the poor and needy crossed oceans to seek a better life. The laws, though imperfect, created an orderly system of entry, which allowed newcomers to be welcomed and woven into the fabric of the nation. But where such systems have failed, desperation has driven migrants into peril—across deserts, upon fragile boats, through the hands of traffickers. This reveals the power of Juncker’s metaphor: legal passage is not indulgence, but protection against chaos, both for the host and for the guest.

The house of Europe he invokes is no ordinary dwelling, but a symbol of shared civilization: its values of freedom, dignity, and human rights. A house thrives when its doors are open to guests chosen with wisdom and compassion. But a house that locks its doors to all strangers soon discovers intruders in its shadows, and worse still, it risks losing its soul to fear and suspicion. For the test of a house is not how well it guards its riches, but how faithfully it welcomes those in need.

History offers another lesson. When Spain expelled its Jewish and Muslim populations in 1492, it thought to purify and strengthen itself. Instead, it lost artisans, scholars, and traders who had enriched its lands for centuries. Meanwhile, other nations that opened their doors gained strength from what Spain cast away. Here again we see Juncker’s warning: to reject the stranger is not only to injure him, but to impoverish oneself. To open the front door is not weakness, but foresight, for it allows order and dignity where secrecy and desperation would otherwise rule.

The deeper meaning of the quote is that migration, when recognized and legalized, can be a source of renewal. But when driven underground, it breeds resentment, exploitation, and fear. The poor and needy who come are not enemies but human souls seeking survival. To deny them lawful paths is to drive them into the arms of smugglers and to turn a manageable challenge into a crisis. Juncker teaches that the wisdom of nations lies not in denying reality, but in shaping it with laws that are just and merciful.

So let this teaching endure: do not close the front door of your house against the weary traveler, lest you force him into the shadows where both he and you will suffer. In your own life, remember that generosity and order are not opposites but companions. Offer lawful paths, clear rules, and compassionate welcome, whether in nations or in homes. For the ancients remind us, and Juncker echoes: the strength of a house is not in its walls, but in the justice of the way it treats the stranger who knocks at its door.