Grace and Identity

"The Lord will send you to strange places to teach you about His sovereignty." - Pastor Leonce Crump

And it happened. I moved to Denton, Texas.  A city rich in diversity with friendly people, thriving local businesses, and a fascinating "hipster" culture.

DentonIG

As quickly as I was welcomed, I was challenged just as fast. Denton: a wonderfully remarkable culmination of the church and the unchurched.  We begin our series by discussing religious backgrounds in need of a Savior.  We begin with Grace and Identity.

Los Vallucos y Familia

In El Valle, despite Catholic cultivation and traditions, the majority didn't come from a churched background.  For many, the model of religious principles was being raised as Mexicans and indoctrinated as Catholics which meant that being called Catholic was another way of being called “Hispanic.”  Frankly, I never met a Christian that was a Mexican until I became a one!

Several years ago, some friends and I went to a local pub in McAllen where the Catholic Church had an open-question session called "Theology on Tap."  While the priest didn't drink, I'll be the first to say that my beer was delicious.  More importantly, it was the young priest's response to a question from someone in the audience: "tradition can trump Scripture."

Family is the official religion.  Parties are the gathering, dinners are community groups, tortillas y tequila are the elements of communion, and getting drunk is being filled with the Holy Spirit.  Religion was stellar and following this model meant having a "pass" on everything else.

You remember, member?

Identity is founded the family; teaching against this was considered heresy.

The Bible Belt of Texas

North Texas is referred to by many as "The Bible Belt" and the claim many will make is that everyone is a Christian.  The majority of the population was raised in the church, come from generations of church attendees, and could recite verses from the Bible by the time they could speak.  Orale.

I've had the privilege of sitting down with several people and having heard their stories, it seems everyone can remember their upbringing in church: bible trivia games during Sunday school, wearing their “Sunday’s Best,” knowing clear and distinct differences between Baptists and Presbyterians, and most importantly finding their self-worth in religious morale.

Questioning the Christian Checklist is heresy.

The "Nitty-Gritty"

As I reflected on both cultures, I realized that there is a dismissal of grace and identity, though it is the same Gospel that brings them to Jesus.

In El Valle, identity is grounded in the matters of the family.  Disgrace or disapproval meant the abandonment of god; leaving little to no room for forgiveness.  Anyone suffering from an identity crisis turns to whatever is pleasing to the flesh in hopes that it will give them value, security, or peace.

In the Bible Belt, identity fell in the matters of "Christian Law" and when the law was broken many were left in confusion, shame, and at loss of value bearing remorse and a tragic understanding that taught repentance was only for the perfect.

"For by grace you have been saved through faith.  And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not the result of works, so that no one may boast." -Ephesians 2:8

The Grace of Jesus' Gospel

How does Jesus’ gospel draw these two cultures to Him?

By extending grace, forgiveness, and faithfulness that is found in Him.

For the Valluco, the Gospel means hearing some of the most significant words anyone could say to their children, “You are forgiven and I love you.”  The Gospel means finding value, security, and peace in Jesus because He is faithful, just, merciful, gracious, and kind.  It's not about perfection, but forgiveness.

For the Bible Belt Christian, the Gospel is being covered by the grace that is in Jesus not by works or lack of work, but because of His finished work on the Cross; works are a response to the saving grace of Jesus Christ not a means of acceptance.

It is through Jesus where grace and identity are restored as He reconciled the churched and unchurched to Himself through His work on the Cross.  Amen.

Hasta manana, si Dios nos da la vida, amigos...

Oso

Give To The Mission: Valluco En Denton

La Gracia

As I drove home this afternoon, my mind began to wander off into several rambles which usually lead to specific conclusions on particular topics.  Tonight and ever so surprisingly, I began to process through something quite foundational in my culture: failure.  In my experience, failure is an extremely crippling element- it isn't denied as something that will never happened, but it seems as if it shouldn't happen. Deep in my own thought and far into the process of a previous conversation, I began to think about the crippling weight of failure.  Growing up, failure meant weakness, showed vulnerability, and if there was any hint of success then there was always room for improvement.  Failure kept me from speaking, moving forward, apologizing, interacting, and pursuing.  I would much rather have gone through more punishment than be given a deep understanding of the nature of my failure.

When I first began to build a relationship with Jesus, I could not understand His radical approach to failure.  In fact, what scared me most about Him was not the punishment I presumed I would receive upon the confession of my sin, but the disappointment I would give Him through my failure.  I thought I would be left behind and stuck in a limbo of shame. But, none of that was true.

In Mexican culture, you are shown a deep understanding of failure so that you can see the cost left to you and the family. Jesus, however, allows failure in order to demonstrate our need for Him.  As we draw closer, our relationship with Him grows because it is His grace that covers us, not the construction of our legality or morals.  Failure outside of Jesus bears the ongoing production of rules that's purpose is to reflect weakness.  Failure inside of of Jesus bears the ongoing production of grace that's purpose is to reflect our need of a Savior.

Familia y Amigos, failure isn't weak or unacceptable.  Failure is an affirmation of our need for Jesus Christ.  That's completely different than anything we can experience because with need comes comfort not shame.

"Praise the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort." (2 Corinthians 1:3)

Con Amor,

Oso

Anthrax

The year was 1989 and Anthrax was on tour in the U.K. in promotion of their Among the Living album, which is an amazing album that displays the perfect example of 80's thrash metal.  My parents had coffee nights with friends, two of my brothers worked, and my eldest brother, Meme, and I were left at home which meant our own personal concert. Epic. I had really short hair and couldn't head-bang properly so I would slam my head on my mum's couches while Meme whaled on the imaginary drum set.  He was always the drummer from Anthrax, Charlie Benante, and I was the rhythm guitarist, Scott Ian.  Together we ruled the house without conviction, loyal anarchy, and a passion that made our living room come alive.

But as soon as we saw the lights to our parents' van, all of those extravaganzas ended.  Abruptly too.

I have no idea how my mum did it; raising 4 boys.  I remember getting in a fight with Meme in the hallway of my room and my head going through the wall.  Then there was New Year's eve where we boxed and I made his nose bleed and my mum got after me! I didn't see the logic.  He's the eldest, why did the baby brother get the slammer?

I never thought Meme would need me.  I thought it would be one of those stories where the big brother always took care of the little brother.  I never thought he would need me because he is 15 years older than me so I never felt like I could truly appreciate what it was like to be in his shoes, even if I grew up.

And then today happened.

About a week ago, Tia Maria passed away.  It was tragic and it seemed all of the sudden.  Meme was able to head out to Mexico to see our family to tend to any needs for my parents and be of support to our cousins.  Today he was showing me pictures of bueli's (grandmother) house and telling me the wonderful messages from our cousins.  I teared up because I miss them dearly.

He got to the part where everyone was at the funeral home and saw my Tio Rolando, husband to my late Tia Maria.  Meme said Tio wasn't all there.  I mean, his wife had just passed away, I can't imagine what he was thinking in a time such as that day.  Now, I need to pause and paint a portrait of Tio Rolando:  he's a bad-ass and that's an understatement.  Everyone in the barrio knows this man as Don Rolando; father to 9, extremely hard-worker, business owner, land/ranch owner, bull wrestler (yes, I said it), his idea of fruit juice is wine, drinks his coffee black with mucho sugar, and loves a good cigar.  When he was young, he fell into a well of burning oil and came out without a single burn.  That's Tio Rolando (big smile from me right here).

When we would stay in Mexico with our cousins, he would wake us up at 5:00 a.m. to have breakfast (freshly made, real chicharrones. Oh my lord, I'm salivating), feed all the animals on the ranch, chase the piglets, carry the bags of oats for the pigs, kill and field dress an animal on the spot with a small knife or cleaver, build a fire, more manly stuff, and then munch out.  We quickly learned that men were made for work.

Back to the story.  As Meme came across Tio Rolando at the funeral, he mentioned that Tio Rolando didn't look at him; didn't bother to say anything the whole time.  Tio Rolando is a rock to us.  Meme began to shed tears, heavy tears.  It was difficult for him; seeing our Tio in a state of distance, but also loss.  This wasn't how it was suppose to be.

At that moment, I could of shared whatever bible verse came to mind or a story of affliction that led to redemption in order for my brother to see the light on the other side of what he experienced, but that wasn't the point.  It wasn't what he needed.  My brother needed his brother to hug and cry with him.

I was needed.  My brother needed comfort and embrace.  That, alone, as I sit now, is sharing the love of Jesus.  Five years ago, I didn't need a bible verse.  Five years ago, I needed Jesus for comfort by embracing me.  That's the beautiful part of this: As Jesus has loved me, and I mean genuine love not a high-five from time to time, I got to love my brother well today.  As Jesus embraced me and told me "It's okay, I'm here," I got to hold my brother with tears and say the same thing.

"Come to me all who are burdened and heavy laden and I will give you rest." - Jesus

- Oso

EL Valle y Los Sunday's

It's 5:30 a.m. and the morning's night is cold and the further distance outside of the city limits the more quiet it is. As the coffee brews and my mind begins to realize that I'm awake, I smell the familiar scent that travels through every Valluco's nose, one that is strange to the outsider, but an embrace of home to the natives: tortillas.  While coffee has an aroma that allows most to start their day, the smell of freshly hand-made tortillas puts it to shame. It's Sunday.  A day where masses will gather to celebrate Diosito and praise Him for the cross.  It's a time of mariachi.  It's a time for the mariachi to shine their boots and tune their instruments before driving to the church.  It's a time for fathers to be at HEB, Junior's, Jesse's, or Dorita's shopping for the best meat and seasoning at 6:00 a.m.  It's a time for hijos y hijas to wake up and make sure their siblings are getting ready for church while moms, abuelitas (who we called "bueli"), and cousins are getting the food in order so when they get back from church, they can begin cooking.

It's Sunday.  A day where families will worship the tradition of religion through the church.  It's a time where families will become one despite the events that passed during the week.  It's a day where children are made much of at church and during the BBQ.  It's a time where the party begins at 12:00 p.m. and we don't believe in invitations.

It's Sunday.  A day where families from los barrios go over to everyone else's home to celebrate the arrival of Sunday.  It's a time where fathers begin their weekly routine of lighting the fire: some with charcoal over a cast-iron BBQ pit, some with mesquite logs over a caja de muerto, and others with kindle, twigs, and large branches in between three cinder blocks on the ground with a grill set on top.  It's a time where rituals mean nothing more than bringing the family together.

It's Sunday.  A time where the poor are rich.  It's a time where jokes are made and the laughing is so hard that one needs to be fanned down because they may choke on the very air they're trying to breathe.  It's a time where soccer games are played- "Football es para los americanos."  It's a time for service and the communion of family.

It's Sunday.

Hasta, 

El Oso

La Revolución

"Do not think I have come to bring peace. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword."                                                                                                                        - Jesus (Matthew 10:34)

Che Guevara wrote about the significance of a revolutionary saying that it is the people who support the revolution that make it possible; without the people, there cannot be a revolution.  Ultimately, the mission is to serve the people in a time of need.

In Borderlands/La Frontera, Gloria Anzaldua writes about conforming to the traditions of the Mexican culture saying "to escape rejection, we conform to the culture." Consequently, it is the tradition of the culture that constitutes the standard and the acceptable.  Despite her love for her family, people, and culture she was rejected for being outside the standard.

Che Guevara and Gloria Anzaldua knew what kind of a revolution they were getting into- whether political or social, they understood the possible outcome of their position: death or rejection.

My revolution is not one of political stance or social injustice, but one of spiritual freedom in my pursuit of Jesus Christ.  It is one that can have the same results that Che Guevara and Gloria Anzaldua faced.

Born Mexican and raised with Catholic principles, I was told that work ethic was vital and marrying a woman who's Catholic would be all I need. I kept the ethic and, fortunately upset the rest of the cultural standard and by God's amazing grace and His pursuit, I became a Christian- meaning, Jesus called me out of a life of sin and showed me that being saved meant He was everything I would need, not tradition or custom.

Raised with Catholic principles meant I had candles with Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary underneath my sink to light and stare at when times got rough, it meant that Jesus Christ was a statue- a very expensive statue andnot a person, much less a king, and having a rosary on the rear view mirror of my truck signified my legitimacy.

Principles meant I lived for myself.

Mum y Osito

I upset the established norm of my culture when I decided to make Him first in my life which meant family came second and tradition came third.  In my culture, the family is the religion.  The house is the church.  Family members are the body. And time spent together is simliar to community groups or bible studies. None of this sounds wrong andin fact I love hanging out with my brothers over a fire with a dead animal on the grill and a nice Indio (beer) in my hand.  It's one of my favorite things to do. Ever. I love talking to my mom as she makes real corn tortillas by hand without measurements- Aztec skills.

But once this "religion" takes the place of my God, it becomes idolatry: the displacement of Jesus as my savior.  Once my family becomes my god, then I am no longer salt or an ambassador of Jesus to my family.  Once my family becomes my god, it means I oppose my King Jesus.

Meme y Osito

If all things work to glorify Jesus, then my fear isn't that I have lost my family, but because of God's grace and Jesus' work on the cross, I have been chosen to show my family the work and love of Jesus so that we may worship Him freely as a family because He loved us first!

Oh, pinche Osito con el evangelio! 

Why is this a revolution? Because it disrupts the tradition of culture, discontinues the pseudo-validation of the phrase this is just the way it's always been, and because Jesus said we would be hated and persecuted because He washated first.

A revolution is a time of need.  The need is Jesus.

This revolution began four (4) years ago and it's only picking up momentum, but Jesus has shown me much grace in the process. No revolution is without mistake.  But every revolution stands in hope.  The hope of my revolution is Jesus and it's because of the hope He's given that I can extend the same grace and love to my family as He has to me.  It's because of those that He's put around me that I can continue moving forward in the awkward midst of this revolution and, despite failure or success in the Gospel, look back and say it was all worth it.

¡Viva la revolución!

Hasta,

Oso