Stay or Leave

Should I stay or should I leave? Am I trapped in the barrio or is the barrio an inescapable, yet beautiful part of me from which I should not flee (or even have the desire to leave)? Should the life-taking stories of my barrio take precedence (like they do in the news) or do I privilege only the life-giving (counter) narratives that dignify my city? If I stay, am I being a bad parent, allowing my son to remain in a potentially dangerous environment where opportunity and resources are scant? If I leave, am I being a bad Christian by opting for my family’s and my own comfort and safety?

These questions invaded my mind and the noises of my barrio played a conflicting melody where love, sacrifice, injustice, and pain entwined.

El ruido que amo (the noise that I love)

I love las cumbias, las rancheras y los boleros I hear desde mi ventana. I didn’t exactly request this music pero my neighbors’ music selection is everyone’s delight. Ok, maybe not everyone’s, but I like it. I’ll be hanging out in my back yard and suddenly la canción de Ana Gabriel que puso la vecina gets me going, and I start singing my heart out: ¿Quién como tú, que día a día puedes tenerle? It takes me back to the many road trips I took with my parents when I was a little girl. Ana Gabriel, Juan Gabriel, Los Bukis – those were my jams!

I love el ruido que mi gente makes when they’re hussling. Tamales, tamales, tamales. ¡Tamales de piña, de puerco, de pollo, tamales! I love when my son runs out yelling raspadooo when the street vendors pass by honking their horns announcing la llegada of those delicious raspados we all slurp with such gozo. I love hearing mi pueblo use their voice to try to make ends meet en el swapmeet: barato, barato, barato, pásele; ¿qué le damos, señorita, pásele a lo barato? 

I love la euforia que se escucha cuando la selección mexicana scores a goooooooool!

Whoever said my people have been silenced, has not set foot in my neighborhood.

El ruido que odio (the noise that I hate)

I hate that I can distinguish the sound of fireworks from gunshots. I hate that we have to run inside the house and lock every door when we hear shots fired. I hate that every other day police sirens and the noise of helicopters drown out the sound of my favorite TV show, reminding me that I am not safe. I hate the cries of yet another grieving mother as she pleas with the public to help her find her child’s murderer.

El ruido que amo y el ruido que odio are juxtaposed mainly because “U.S. barrios have been a source of cultural resistance; they function as reterritorialized spaces where it is possible to maintain one ́s culture and to resist assimilation. At the same time, the barrios are social spaces where ethnic lower classes are segregated thus impairing their economic development and creating a subculture of violence and poverty.”[1]

El silencio que mata (the silence that kills)

But the most murderous force in my neighborhood is silent. The culprit hides in plain sight. More than two thousand pounds of toxic chemicals are emitted in Wilmington, California every single day. My beloved city is surrounded by the largest concentration of oil refineries in the state and the third largest oil field in the contiguous U.S., and it is home to the largest port in North America (Grist 2022). Wilmington, which is 90% Latino and 40% immigrant, is a toxic wasteland; the dumping grounds of big oil corporations. The contaminants expelled daily create diseased bodies in a community where the median household income is 40% below the state’s average and where 28% of its residents are not medically insured, a number that represents three times more than the national average. The environmental hazard created by these companies also has an impact on violent crime. Several studies have found a link between violent crime and pollutant exposure: “air pollutants act as stressors, eliciting endocrine stress responses in our brains that lead to irrational decisions and violent tendencies and also disturb the physical, cognitive and emotional health of people exposed to it at high levels” (The Guardian 2022).

Wilmington, CA; they call it a “bad neighborhood” and bad neighborhoods are always bad because of the individuals that inhabit it. A “bad neighborhood” is never thought to be bad by virtue of systemic injustices that include racial and environmental inequalities. My family and I are from a “bad neighborhood,” but I don’t think we’re bad people. Jesus himself was from Galilea, a neighborhood deemed undesirable. Dr. Chao Romero asserts that if Jesus was from California, he would not come from Beverly Hills or Calabasas, but the most marginalized regions of the state, like East LA or the Central Valley.[2]

What we really mean when we say “bad neighborhood” is impoverished, and, often, Brown or Black. The “good neighborhoods” are strictly regulated. Associations determine rules about the colors in which you are allowed to paint your house, how often you’re supposed to do your lawn, and how much noise you can make. “Good neighborhoods” are wealthy, have good school districts, lower crime rates and are predominantly White. Language matters because language constructs truth. The use of “good/bad” as it refers to neighborhoods continues to strengthen the belief that the people who live there are inherently bad and completely disregards systemic issues that have created and continue to sustain the disenfranchisement of our barrios.

I understand the ways in which systemic issues have worked against my community. I love my community for the ways in which it has shaped me to be resilient, humble, and faithful. I am grateful for the ties I have formed there and the life lessons that have been imparted to me: to not judge people by what they have or where they came from. Nonetheless, there is another competing truth: I have witnessed more gun violence than the average American, I attended low-performing schools in the area and do not feel safe letting my teenage son walk alone to the store that is 100 feet away from my house. I have lived in this city for over 30 years and there is a certain level of comfort granted to me by familiarity, but as a mother, I face a conundrum: do I stay or do I leave?

Deciding to leave our barrios is more than aspiring to a bigger, nicer house with abundant parking, and plentiful green spaces. Leaving our barrios means that our children will have better educational opportunities, access to resources that improve their livelihoods, and the probability of being less exposed to violent crime. Ironically, the dilemma many of us face is similar to the one experienced by our first-generation immigrant parents with one distinction: my socioeconomic status and educational levels have significantly improved while remaining in my native community.

The Christian Community Development Association (CCDA) emphasizes a ministry of presence in which believers are active members of the communities in which they serve. It is a way of doing ministry that decentralizes white saviorism and centers the voices of community members. They invite people to be wholly present in their areas of ministry by becoming (and remaining) a neighbor. As a Christian that understands the importance of serving the socially dispossessed, am I to remain and use my social and economic capital to help my community flourish or should I leave relocating in a city where my children will be safer and have access to opportunity?

I left. It might seem like that was the easiest decision to make, but it certainly didn’t feel that way. I wrestled with this decision for quite some time, asking the Lord for guidance: “Lord, help us; ayúdanos a entender tu voluntad.” Months later, my husband and I received an answer to our prayers that gave us the certainty that we were being called out of my beloved city. In very God-like fashion, he set the pieces in motion and directed our steps.

So, should you stay or should you leave? I don’t know, and I don’t think there’s a generic right or wrong answer. God directs our paths in unique ways in different seasons of our lives (Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8). For people of color, these decisions are especially difficult as we encounter survivor’s guilt. Dr. Piorkowski explains that survivor’s guilt, or success guilt, is prevalent amongst first-generation college students from marginalized communities. We often ask ourselves – and God – questions that are filled with remorse: Why did I succeed when so many others in my neighborhood didn’t? Why am I alive when many of my classmates aren’t? Why do I have the opportunity to live in better conditions when many of my family members don’t? How is it possible that I love my barrio, but still want to leave it?

Guilt and gratefulness collide, but this guilt is crippling because it doesn’t allow me to faithfully receive God’s blessings. Instead of viewing the earth as a punishment that we must endure to buy our way into Heaven, we must understand the earth as a good place created by God (Genesis 1:18; Genesis 1:31) and our salvation as a free gift from our Lord (Ephesians 2:8; Romans 6:23). Perhaps God is indeed calling you to stay, but the decision to remain should not be guided by guilt. Conversely, if we are being led to leave, we must not do so developing a posture where we see our former neighbors as less-than, or inherently lacking, because of their socioeconomic status, and in doing so, engaging in the further dehumanization of our barrios. Remember that “You will always be Esperanza. You will always be Mango Street. You can’t erase what you know. You can’t forget who you are” (The House on Mango Street). 

About Dra. Meduri Soto

As an academic from el barrio, Dra. Meduri Soto strives to engage in scholarly work that honors and gives visibility to her community. Her faith drives her passion for justice as she seeks to reveal the ways in which certain language ideologies are constructed to operate unjustly against our communities. Her work acknowledges language as a powerful tool and promotes linguistic diversity in its different manifestations. Bicultural and bilingual identities are at the center of Dra. Meduri Soto’s work. She is a Spanish professor at Biola University where she teaches second language and heritage language learners. To learn more about her work, follow her on Instagram: @la.dra.itzel

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Footnotes

[1] Views of the Barrio in Chicano and Puerto Rican Narrative (Antonia Domínguez Miguela)

[2] The Brown Church: Five Centuries of Latina/o Social Justice, Theology and Identity (2020) 

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Do We Have To? Engaging Pro-Trump Family

Many black and brown people faced a familiar dilemma in 2020: To engage or not to engage; that was the question. Since so many of our friends, family, and co-workers have been “doing the work,” reading (or at least buying) the bestselling books and watching carefully curated “Representation Matters” collections, we feel we have a responsibility to engage conversations about race, politics, and justice. These conversations are always exhausting, often infuriating, and sometimes they make matters worse. 

But is it ok not to engage? Especially for Christians, isn’t the burden of hard conversations the necessary price for “gospel unity?” Sometimes, maybe. In the wake of 2020’s presidential election, a previous World Outspoken article gave an example from the gospels of why Latin@s, for example,  should engage Trump-supporting family members. But every conversation with a Trump-supporter and/or racist is not a conversation with a Zaccheus. In this article we present three gospel principles for not engaging conversations about race with those who are committed to ignorance, misunderstanding, and white supremacy.

1) Scope Out the Situation: “Who All Over There?”

As any black potential party-goer will tell you, the wrong answer to the question “who all over there?” may result in the unfortunate response: “I’ll let you know” (i.e. definitely not going). The thought of interacting with a certain person or people is enough to detract from any potential good the party might have to offer. The situation must be scoped out. The words of Jesus in Matthew 7:6 express a similar sentiment. Jesus says, “Do not give what is holy to dogs, and do not throw your pearls before pigs, or they will trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces.” 

While we might hesitate at the thought of naming friends and family members dogs or pigs, the idea is this: discernment must be exercised before deciding who to give the gift of conversation, relationship, and some of the most personal aspects of our existence. Not just anyone can presume to have access to our time and energy. And we need not feel guilty about saving these precious pearls for those who know how to value them. We gotta scope out the situation before deciding whether to go.

2) Shake It Off: “Aight Imma Head Out”

Many of us—whether subconsciously or not—still feel like we’re inconveniencing people when we talk about the problems of white supremacy. In reality, we’re offering a gift, a miracle really—freedom from the burden of whiteness and an invitation to a better form of life together. When this gift is treated as a burden by those who can most benefit from it, we sometimes find ourselves begging for their attention. But Jesus has a word of advice for those with a miraculous gift to give when they are not received: shake it off and head out like the Spongebob meme.

In Luke 9:5 Jesus says, “And as for all who do not receive you, when you leave that city, shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them.” Those with stiff necks without ears to hear from their fellow humans about the realities of injustice and oppression do not deserve more attention; they deserve less. And those of us with a gift to give can exercise the confidence and resolve of Spongebob. There’s no reason to stay in that conversation. Shake it off and head out, fam.

3) Don’t Even Try: “Woooooooow…. ok.”

Sometimes the ignorance is appalling. It’s not even funny. You hear something like, “Hasn’t every culture had slavery? What was so different about America?” and you start looking around for hidden cameras and Ashton Kutcher. The levels of empathy, education, and attention that would be needed to have anything like a fruitful conversation are so absent that the invitation to engage almost seems patronizing. In such a circumstance, sometimes all you can say is “woooooooow…….ok.”

Jesus faced a similar situation in Mark 6:6. Faced with crowds who couldn’t believe that he was who he said he was and came to do what he said he came to do, Jesus refused to give in to their patronizing. When the passage says that Jesus “could not do any miracle,” it was not a reflection on his ability. The clue is in the next verse, “he was amazed at their unbelief.” Jesus effectively said “woooooow…….ok” and worked his miracles only among a select few. With the rest of them, he didn’t even try. It wasn’t worth his attention. And it’s not worth ours, either.

Obviously, this is not an exhaustive list of potential responses to interactions about race, politics, and justice. The earlier article gives a good example of when and how we might choose to engage. But we should know that engaging is not the only gospel response possible. Many who pretend to want to learn and grow don’t deserve our precious time and attention. And we do not always endanger gospel unity when we choose to withhold our engagement. Like Jesus taught, we might need to scope out the situation, shake it off, and sometimes, not even try.

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About Michael Yorke

Michael Yorke holds a degree in Historical Theology from Wheaton College Graduate School in Illinois. He thinks and writes at the intersection of race, history, and Christian theology with a view toward a liberative and antiracist future. He is married to Chelsea and their first child will be born in December.

A Word on Trump-Supporting Latinos

It should already be common knowledge. It should not need repeating. Still, the obvious truth of the “Latino community” was, for lack of a better word, discovered by many on election night. With surprise and disbelief, political analysts spent the days after the election discussing a simple truth: Latin@s are not a monolith. We already know this. It was not news to us, but what the election did reveal was the deep divisions disintegrating the Latin@ community. Some news outlets were quick to simplify this division, pointing to generational distinctions to explain who voted for Trump or Biden. Others proposed it was a difference of regionality. A few thought it could be reduced to nation-of-origin. In all cases, these simplifications are reductions of reality that prove more about the analyzing world than they do about nuestra gente.

I am not going to explain why an increased number of Latin@s voted for Trump. Political scientists and sociologists will do enough of that in their writing. My concern is for those Latin@s who are feeling betrayed by these voters. Among our supporters and friends, fellow activists, and nonprofit workers, many are angry. In the moment, many of my colleagues were tempted to fury, and some took to social media to lacerate their familia with “prophetic speech.” I understand this frustration well. For a decade now, my work in Christian Higher Ed has been in entrenched, white, evangelical spaces. Many of the Latin@s I meet along the way are actively working against the pursuit of justice, and at times, I retaliate too. There is, however, a person the Spirit keeps bringing to my attention since the election. His story is worthy of reflection because it is a story of empire, betrayal, and Christ’s response to both.

Passing through Jericho

Of the four gospel writers, Luke stressed the upside-down Kingdom of God and revealed Jesus as the liberator. Jesus came to “proclaim the Good news to the poor… to proclaim liberty to the captives… to set at liberty those who are oppressed” (Lk. 4:17). Jesus subverts the religious and political establishments of Israel and Rome. Like Moses, He is a deliverer. On His way to Jerusalem to make His ultimate sacrifice, Jesus passes through a borderland city named Jericho. At the time, this border city served as a customs station, an outpost of the Roman empire. The shock of Jesus’ passage through Jericho was who Jesus visited while there.

Luke tells us that Jesus stopped for one person in Jericho, Zacchaeus. He was a rich man, the chief tax collector, a publican. Zacchaeus was responsible for the extortion of his own people. Therefore, he was hated and despised by most Israelites and barred from religious practice because of his betrayal. In fact, Jesus’ words at the end of the story suggest that the Jews considered Zacchaeus’ sin so severe, he was no longer one of them (19:9); They disowned him. Yet despite his service to Rome and his role in oppressing the Jews, Jesus called Zacchaeus down from the tree to dine with him in his home. The scandal of Jesus’ choice caused the crowds to grumble. How could Jesus welcome this man? Worst, why would Jesus choose to dine in his home?

¿Y que con el Publicano?

Many of my ministry friends think of Trump-supporting Latin@s as modern-day tax collectors. Their view is that Latin@s in power have reached their position by following the path of Zacchaeus. By aligning themselves with the empire, they are elevated from among their own, only to support a structure that oppresses their people. And indeed, some have done that. But the story of Zacchaeus is instructive for our moment. Jesus’ words to the Jewish crowd bear repeating to the angry Latin@: “the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost” (19:10). What transformed Zacchaeus was not judgment – of which he got plenty from fellow Jews – but kindness. Jesus did not resist Zacchaeus, He welcomed him. His welcome changed this man. The minute Zacchaeus’ feet hit the ground, he reversed his injustices, paying back what he stole beyond what the Law required.

This Thanksgiving we have an opportunity to bear witness to the gospel as we (virtually) dine with Trump-supporting family. Our welcome and embrace, despite their betrayal, is an echo of Jesus’ love for Zacchaeus and His love for us. As we pray prayers of thanksgiving, pray as non-innocent tax collectors, not self-righteous Pharisees (Lk. 18:9-14). Remember what Paul asked self-righteous Jews later in Rome: “do you presume on the riches of [God’s] kindness and forbearance and patience, not knowing that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?” (Rom. 2:4). It’s kindness, not judgment, that transforms the tax collector.

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ABOUT EMANUEL PADILLA

Emanuel Padilla is President of World Outspoken, a ministry dedicated to preparing the mestizo church for cultural change through training, content, and partnership development. He is also an instructor of Bible and Theology at Moody Bible Institute. Emanuel is committed to drawing the insights of the Latina/o church for the blessing of the wider church body. He consults with churches on issues of diversity, organizational culture, and community engagement.

For the Abuelas en el Barrio

This week many church leaders made the hard decision of going virtual these upcoming Sundays. More so, it was made clear through official statements made by the World Health Organization (WHO) and the US Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) that we have not yet reached the height of medical or financial devastation in the US or the world. Many are getting the sense that things are going to get worse, before they get better.[1] Anxiety and fear are pervasive among our friends, family, and congregants.   

Only a short scroll through social media makes it appear that we as a country have lost a sense of cordiality and neighborliness. The videos of people stampeding over one another to grab rolls of toilet paper would seem comical, if not contrasted to the images of our elderly standing in a picked-over grocery aisle empty handed. In times like these the Church must ask: “How do we respond faithfully during this pandemic?”

Moving to a virtual format is a valuable first step, as it recognizes the need for “social distancing” to keep safe the most vulnerable of our communities. However, while this is a good first step, I would argue it is still simply just the first step of a potentially long journey. A good next step is to reflect on our society’s current actions and rhetoric and ask, “What do these tell us about how we understand our world”?

“Every Man for Himself” | Counteracting an Economy of Scarcity 

“Then the Lord said to Moses, “I will rain down bread from heaven for you. The people are to go out each day and gather enough for that day. In this way I will test them and see whether they will follow my instructions.” ”

— Exodus 16:4

The sense of not having enough, or eventually coming to a place of not having enough is arguably what is driving the mania that has people flocking to the stores to buy items in bulk. The anxiety of not enough is a tell-tale sign of a culture that exists in an economy of scarcity. These mentalities and sensibilities don’t just happen overnight, they come from years of formation. Within Western culture, individuality is a virtue. It is good to look out for yourself. While this comes with benefits, like the ideals of democracy and of individual voice, it also comes with pitfalls.

The Christian faith has a history of counteracting the economy of scarcity. In the wilderness, the people of God had to submit to vulnerability, believing that God would provide day by day. And despite disproportionate collection, “some gathered much, some little,” (Ex. 16:17) God always made sure his people had enough. In fact, it was the hoarding of goods that produced rot (Ex. 16:20). Unlike the rest of the world, ours is an economy of enough.

If we are going to make it through this time, with some semblance of sanity and good-will, it is incumbent upon the Church to innovate and implement systems that counteract the current economy of scarcity. This could look as simple as encouraging your fellow congregants and friends to take only what they need to last them for the next two weeks at the stores, in order to reduce hysteria and defy this sentiment of scarcity.

We find that acting based on scarcity eventually produces scarcity. The economy of scarcity is a self-fulfilling prophecy. When individuals decide to take beyond their need, someone else suffers disproportionately. This is currently reflected by the desperate positions of many of our elderly.

“It’s okay, I’m low-risk.” | Learning How to Honor Lola

“But if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.”

— 1 Timothy 5:8

It has been made common knowledge that the most vulnerable of our communities in this time of pandemic are our elderly and those with pre-existing conditions (e.g. those with auto-immune disease, going through chemo, etc.). So, while it may not seem like the disease poses a significant threat to you or your immediate family unit, the same is not true for everyone in your congregation. We must ask ourselves always how we are actively seeking to honor everyone, especially the most vulnerable of us.

In the Filipino culture, it is very common for elderly family members to live among younger generations in the same household. Intergenerational contact is normative; one household could hold up to four generations. The idea of leaving Lola (Abuela) by herself or in a nursing home, is a relatively foreign concept. In addition to this, the elderly in your “barangay” or “barrio” are also met with a great deal of respect. Thus, the well-being of the elderly is naturally taken into consideration. Now, this does not mean that there is no anxiety of scarcity in Filipino/as, but in days like these I find myself reflecting on my culture. I am compelled to stop and consider the ways that my heritage teaches me how to love my community, especially the Lolas and the Lolos of them. 

When writing to Timothy, Paul makes a seemingly indicting statement that to not provide for relatives is paramount to denying the faith. This seems almost counterintuitive to the scarcity mentality that I just described, especially since many are hoarding with their families in mind. Keep in mind that the Biblical context was perhaps much more similar to intergenerational contexts, like that of the Philippines, and less like our Western, individualized contexts. In a Filipino culture, we would read this to apply to the most vulnerable in our family units. Therefore, every action we take during a communicable pandemic is taken with care and always takes into consideration our Lola and Lolo at home.

The Church can learn a valuable lesson from its Filipino members during this crisis. We must prioritize and give special care to not just our elderly, but our most vulnerable brothers and sisters. We must not operate based on an assumption that most of us are "low-risk," but rather keep in mind that among us there are thousands of people, seen and unseen, who are especially vulnerable to this illness. Because we are a body, a family, that includes people who are vulnerable, we are compelled to protect them with our actions as best we can. The Body of Christ must be conscious of every member, including our Lolas y Abuelas. As one Body our identity, and thus our “risk,” is always absorbed in the whole of our community.

What Does It Take to Be a Neighbor?

When the world is in crisis, it is easy to feel overwhelmed and lose sight of our immediate context.

In times like these, I almost feel like the lawmaker who asked Jesus the question, “Who is my neighbor?” This question, of course, inspired Jesus to tell the parable of the Good Samaritan. What I often forget is how economically prodigal or reckless the Samaritan Man was in response to the hurt stranger on the side of the road. He poured out oil and wine, expensive commodities, to address the man’s wounds, and he paid for the man’s accommodation and any other possible costs. The Samaritan was lavish in his care for a stranger. At the end, Jesus asked his initial inquisitor: “Which of these do you think was a neighbor[...]?”

To which the inquisitor answers, “The one who showed mercy.”

In truth, neighborliness finds its fullest expression when we not only consider the needs of the most vulnerable, but when we consider their needs more important than our own. Ministry at this time cannot simply end at accommodating a mandate of “social distancing,” it must venture on into neighborly acts.

Going virtual is a meaningful first step for many churches, but there is more work to be done. Many church leaders in my area have taken it upon themselves to mobilize the healthy and able in their churches to assist their most vulnerable. They have asked those in their congregations who are over 60+ and most at risk to contact them directly with a shopping list and have made plans to find shoppers for them during this time. This is an innovative way to counteract the anxiety of scarcity, create opportunities of intergenerational partnership, and actively pursue the act of neighborliness. The Church needs more innovative ideas such as these.

What are the ways that you can be a neighbor today for those who are most vulnerable? If you are already living out neighborliness, share them with us using #WOSNeighbor #forAbuela!

“Jesus asked: “Which of these do you think was a neighbor[...]?” The expert in the law replied, “The one who showed mercy.” Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.””

— Matthew 10:36-37

About Jelyn Leyva

A Second-generation Filipina born in Tampa, FL, Jelyn Leyva graduated Moody Bible Institute in Chicago on May 2017 with a Bachelor’s degree in Women in Ministry and an Interdisciplinary in Theology. She is currently in Los Angeles, CA pursuing an MDiv at Fuller Theological Seminary with her emphasis in Christian Ethics. Having lived in various places in the US, Jelyn’s interest lie in the complex history and multi-ethnic life of the Protestant Church in the US. Her hope is to serve this church and its many colors with the consideration of traditional and contemporary theological scholarship.

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Footnote

[1] “Coronavirus: Over 1,000 Cases Now In U.S., And ‘It’s Going To Get Worse,’ Fauci Says,” NPR.org, accessed March 19, 2020, https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2020/03/11/814460233/coronavirus-1-000-cases-now-in-u-s-and-it-s-going-to-get-worse-fauci-says.

A Tale of Two Churches

After prayerfully considering our approach, this opinion piece is being published anonymously. The author, as mentioned in the article, “grew up around guns.” To protect the identity of the author, we have removed all identifiers.

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At the end of 2019, there was a shooting at a church in Texas where a man shot and killed two people before a member of the church shot and killed him. The whole incident was over in a matter of seconds. The church member’s quick reaction saved lives and prevented untold suffering that morning. As with every shooting incident in the US, major news outlets quickly began the debate about guns and shootings. Each side rehearsed their go-to talking points, except now the right had a perfect example of a good guy with a gun stopping a bad guy with a gun.

As a believer, I couldn’t help but think about another church shooting that happened five years earlier. In 2015, in Charleston, SC, a black church was the site of a mass shooting during a bible study. There was no “good guy” with a gun to stop the shooter there, and instead of a quick resolution, nine lives were lost. However, what dominated the news cycle then was the church’s response. Since the shooter was apprehended alive, the families of victims had a chance to address the young man. What happened is hard to describe in words and is much more impactful in video (take a moment to watch it). The overwhelming mercy that was extended to him through powerful, simple words like, “I forgive you” and “repent and believe,” said more about the Gospel than many preachers say in a lifetime of sermons. Their actions made it nearly impossible for the story to be covered in the media without the telling of the Gospel.

I grew up around guns, as do many Americans, and have never thought of myself as a pacifist. However, over the last several years, I’ve begun to see where Christian pacifists are coming from. I fully support both police officers and the armed forces. I believe that God has structured governments to enforce justice, and sometimes that means violence and even capital punishment. I believe there is nothing in Scripture that prohibits believers from service as a police officer or in the military. However, the more I look into the New Testament, it seems that Jesus’ teachings, and those of the apostles, call us to something radical. I’m not convinced that we should protect ourselves at all cost or cling to this life. Hear me clearly. We shouldn’t actively seek to be victims; we should lock our doors at night and flee from attackers. But, should we fight back?

In the sermon on the mount there is the famous verse where Jesus says to turn the other cheek if someone slaps you. Jesus quotes the Old Testament “eye for an eye” and then calls those listening to instead endure wrongs by not retaliating (Matt 5:39). He urges us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. He tells us that by loving and praying for those who hate us we are like our Father in heaven. Jesus also goes so far as to say that we are no different from the Gentiles if we only love those who love us. Christ did not die on our behalf so that we could remain like the world around us. He calls us to love rather than hate, give rather than horde, lift others up rather than step on or ignore them. While some will claim that this slap on the cheek is more about humiliation than violence, the OT passage where the original “eye for an eye” quote comes from is about justice and retribution in regard to bodily harm.

Theologians often talk about Kingdom reversal, how Jesus often calls us to act opposite from how the world acts. In God’s Kingdom the last is first, the poor are rich, and the humble are exalted. We should ask ourselves, how often do we as Christians agree with the world? Do we agree with them about when life begins? How to spend our money? Do we agree with what it means to have a family? Even when we do agree with the world on something like meting out justice, are our underlying reasons the same?

Jesus’ Last Words

During the last supper, Jesus spends a lot of time preparing the disciples for what will happen when He leaves. In John 15-16, Jesus speaks of the hatred the world will have for them and that some will even kill Christians thinking they are serving God (16:2). He warns them that the world will hate them and reject them because it hated and rejected Him. Persecution is to be expected in the church. Jesus made it clear that only those who lose their lives would find life (Matt 10:39).

Anytime I’ve had this conversation, people agree that we should be prepared to die for our faith when the conversation is abstract or distant. However, when the conversation shifts to more tangible scenarios, like the tragedy in Texas, people quickly want to soften what Jesus is saying by interpreting His words as hyperbole. Obviously, Jesus wouldn’t want us to submit to just any violence, but only that which is the result of our faith. I ask, how are we as believers supposed to know when violence is happening because of sin in the world or when it is happening because of our faith? Should we ask our assailant if they hate us for our beliefs or for something else? Is there even a way to evaluate most cases?

I have sometimes wondered if the US will produce any martyrs on its own soil, or if all of our martyrs will die on the foreign mission field.  I remember youth pastors asking their students if they would die for their faith after the Columbine shooting, but here we are now in 2020 arming our security in our churches. Is church supposed to be a safe place? Will we turn our houses of prayer, where everyone is welcome, into compounds? Or will we love our enemies and trade safety for a chance to live out the sacrifice of the gospel?

How then shall we live?

I’m not sure I have fully convinced myself of the correct answer. I rejoice that many lives were spared at the church in Texas, but I also rejoice at the way God gave the church in SC a platform for the Gospel. I weep over the many lives lost in SC and over the three lost in Texas, including the shooter. The truth is, God works powerfully in times of great pain and allows suffering to enter into our lives for many reasons we can’t comprehend. I doubt I’ll ever carry a gun. However, we are each called to follow the Holy Spirit. While we can discuss theology and ethics all day long, both of these situations happened in the blink of an eye. Only in the Spirit can we ever hope to make the right decision. We must prayerfully seek the Lord in this, allowing His Word and the Holy Spirit to conform us, rather than the fears or agendas of the world around us. The world clings to this life because it is all they have and know. While God gave the right for humans to defend themselves in the Old Testament, Jesus calls us to something greater in order to bring us into His mission to save the world.

By forgoing trying to provide ourselves security in this life, we are fully trusting in the Lord to keep us safe. What is the worst that could happen? We die, murdered by someone for our faith. We would then have the highest honor of sharing Christ’s unjust death! As Paul said, “to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Phil 1:21). D. L. Moody once commented that he was often asked if he had what it took to be a martyr and he humbly stated, “If God should call on me to die a martyr’s death, He would give me a martyrs’ grace.” May God grant us all grace and wisdom as we evaluate how we should think and act in this fallen world, for only in the power of the Holy Spirit can we ever do what is right.

What Latin Hospitality Taught Me About the Gospel

Mid-stride, I noticed his home. It was out of place. No wait, the porch was out of place. This summer I lived at a busy intersection dividing Chicago’s Wicker and Humboldt Park neighborhoods. Directly on my running route through Wicker, I discovered an older gentleman who consistently sat on the patio extending beyond the tiny porch of his home. Even when his chair was vacant, the front door hung open and a water glass sat at the table waiting for his return or the arrival of a friend. It is not that Wicker Park lacks beautiful porches, it is that this gentleman’s porch is a flavor that one would typically connect to Humboldt Park—spilling into the street, extending a vibrant welcome punctuated by unconventional paint selection, flowers, statues and flags. This porch speaks of warm, Latin hospitality.

In a technology-driven era with decreasing face to face connection, the western church has recently emphasized the concept of biblical hospitality. A brief online search leads to articles and blogposts, lamenting the loss of in-home hosting and after church lunches around the kitchen table. In 2018, author and speaker Rosaria Butterfield furthered the discussion with her book, The Gospel Comes with a House Key: Practicing Radically Ordinary Hospitality in Our Post-Christian World. Butterfield calls the church to a lifestyle of hospitality as a principle means of welcoming the lost into the gospel of Christ. House church movements, such as Legacy Christian Fellowship in Chicago, are an increasing church plant model in urban areas, making church accessible to those who may not set foot in a church building. As the church seeks to live out biblical hospitality for the growth of the Kingdom of God, a valuable lesson can be learned from the front porches of the Latino community.

Urban planner and community activist, James Rojas, is a pioneer and leading thinker in “Latino urbanism” and Latin placemaking in America’s neighborhoods. Immigrating to neighborhoods planned, zoned, and built for the ambitions and lifestyle of the American working and middle-class, Rojas explains that Latinos bring into America’s neighborhoods their own view of land, people, and place.[1] Rojas calls this the “Latino vernacular.” This vernacular is not only a synthesis of cultural styles from a variety of home countries, but a visual expression of the very values and experiences of both the individual and the immigrant community as a whole.[2] Latino vernacular is not merely an architectural distinction[3], as seen in the Wicker Park patio I ran past each morning this summer. Architecturally, the build of this home and space was like every other house on its block. However, the resident chose to utilize the space in a distinct way, implementing an entirely different placemaking method than his neighbors, setting his patio apart from the remainder of the street.

The front porch of a home provides the division of the public and private spheres, keeping the home distinct from the public space, the street, on which it resides. Rojas explains that the typical American home is constructed in a linear progression of the public to the private: street to porch, living room to kitchen, and then the backyard.[4] Many American communities may remember a day when the front porch was utilized more frequently as a place of interaction: greeting neighbors, chatting with a date before saying goodnight, or sharing a piece of pie with a friend who stopped in. While graced with beautiful planters, lights, and the occasional bike, today the rocking chairs on the porches in my neighborhood sit empty, while lights flicker from the show streaming in the living room or smoke rises from the grill out back. This transitional space, the front porch, remains un-utilized.

Not so in Latino urbanism. Coming from cultures which operate around a plaza, Hispanic communities value and utilize the front porch and space in front of a home, creating a place where the public and private collide.[5] The porch becomes a happening place, where the resident interacts and engages with the community. Rojas explains: “The front porch is where Latinos become civic-minded and bond with their neighbors.”[6] It is bringing the warmth and care of home to the community in which one lives. Lynda Lopez, Chicago resident and reporter for StreetsBlog Chicago has seen the impact of Latino placemaking in her own Chicago neighborhood, Little Village. In her June 18th post entitled, “How Latinx Chicagoans Remake Public Space,” she shares how the corners and stoops of Little Village remind her of sitting in front of her grandmother’s house in Michoacán, Mexico. While walking through her neighborhood, Lopez sees the concept Rojas calls “social cohesion” at play.[7] The community, in extending their homes to the front of the house, take increasing ownership of the streets and corners as well. The household, now extended forward into public space by the utilization of the front porch, is thrust into consistent, intentional, and caring interactions with the community.

The interaction of the public and private which Rojas defines in Latino urbanism provides a challenge to the church, offering a means for us to grow in our understanding and living out of the gospel. The gospel itself exemplifies the collision of the public and private. Through the incarnation of Jesus Christ, the sacredness of the Godhead became accessible to the community of mankind. In Ephesians, this access to the trinitarian relationship is directly related to becoming a part of the household of God.[8] Could the current trend towards biblical hospitality be the church realizing its need to be and act as the spiritual home it truly is? If so, our porch needs a little Latin placemaking.

Welcoming the outsider into the sacredness of the home can be a challenge for individuals and communities of any culture. But the church can’t take a pass on this one. Christ has mandated a going forth of believers and a welcoming in to those who are outside the family of God. After spending this summer observing the porches of many Chicago homes, I realized the church is, or at least should be like, the Latino front porch. This is what we ontologically are in Christ—a collision of divinity with sinful humanity. We are the welcoming porch, a bit out of place on our block, offering a long talk and glass of water rather than gathering in the back yard by ourselves with the BBQ. When we operate this way, we become consistently and intentionally committed to our communities, civic minded—aware of its needs—but spiritually minded too, always desiring to welcome our neighbors in for a full meal around the table of God.

As National Hispanic Heritage Month begins this week, my thoughts are driven to the many ways my Latino and Hispanic brothers and sisters have challenged by thinking with fresh perspectives of the church and the gospel. As ministry leaders and faithful Christians, let us celebrate the beauty of theology set within our various cultural expressions. As a white ministry leader, it is my desire to grow personally as I partner with my Latino family in the sharing of the gospel, implementing their unique strengths alongside my own, so that the fullest picture of the Body of Christ can be expressed in our communities.

About Emily C. Alexander

A first generation college graduate of a rural working class family, Emily C. Alexander recently completed her undergraduate degree in Ministry to Women at the Moody Bible Institute. Emily lives in Chicago where she enjoys long walks admiring architecture and pondering theological and sociological issues. Her hope is to impact the lives of women and the flourishing of the church through thoughtful theological engagement.

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Footnotes

[1] http://norcalapa.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/Latino-vernacular-is-transforming-American-streets.pdf

[2] Rojas 28

[3] Rojas 28

[4] Rojas 28

[5] https://www.pps.org/article/front-porch-placemaking-the-latino-connection-to-the-street

[6] https://www.pps.org/article/front-porch-placemaking-the-latino-connection-to-the-street

[7] https://chi.streetsblog.org/2019/06/18/considering-latino-perspectives-on-public-space-in-chicago/

[8] Ephesians 2.16-22