What if there was something, like my experience of a blackout in San Diego all of those years ago, that can flip our understanding of darkness? That it would give us a new way to look at the darkness so that we could face it head-on, to be still, be quiet in it, and embrace it as an opportunity to see and welcome the light of Jesus that exists in it?
Our ethnic identity, the culture or background we come from and/or are a part of, are incredibly meaningful aspects of our good and God-given identity. That is what makes it all the more difficult when that truth isn’t proclaimed in the media that we consume on any given day.
I think a big part of the struggle to celebrate the concept of “American” and apply it to myself was because everything I knew about that identity — whether from history, the media, or lived experience — was centered around people who looked and lived nothing like me or my friends.
It may not seem like that big of a deal but, if you’re Hispanic like me, you know that we go hard on this solemn day. It’s more than just your VBS kind of play. Many of our parents and grandparents grew up experiencing huge reenactments of the Biblical narratives about Christ’s final hours of life.