A Priest’s Reflection on Renewing the Episcopal Church
I was born to immigrant parents from Mexico. My father arrived in the United States at 16; he was a cowboy for many years. My mother, a homemaker, devoted herself entirely to caring for her children and guarding the stability of our home. Though often overlooked, her dedication to homemaking was profound; her constant care, hospitality, and resilience gave me the most remarkable pastoral example I have ever known. As I grew up within the parish of Our Merciful Savior in Denver, these values became intertwined with my experience of faith, community, and identity.
In my early 20s, I helped start a Spanish-speaking congregation. Until I went to seminary, I was more familiar with the Spanish version of the Book of Common Prayer than the English one. Now, as my wife carries our first child, I find myself reflecting on the church communities I have had the privilege to serve as a priest and on the kind of church I grew up in — communities filled with kindness, generosity, and an unyielding curiosity about my cultural background.
As I anticipate the arrival of our son, a second-generation Mexican American, I experience mixed emotions. I have been privileged to serve in prosperous and large, mainly white, congregations. Because of this, I feel sadness knowing my son may not have the chance to partake in the cultural expressions that defined my faith journey — posadas during Advent, the delight of tamales during festive gatherings, and the beautifully disorganized love affair that Holy Week and Easter celebrations often are in Spanish-speaking Episcopal churches. These traditions are not merely cultural festivities but the spiritual embodiment of faith, belonging, and communal identity. Yet amid this sadness, I am hopeful, knowing that my Episcopal family will embrace him without hesitation, welcoming his heritage and celebrating his ethnicity and Spanish name and surname with love and pride.
These reflections have led me to ponder how the Episcopal Church understands Latino communities, especially as it grapples with declining membership and a lack of diversity. Latinos are often seen primarily as a demographic solution — a potential means to bolster numbers and build diversity. This perspective, however, reduces a vibrant culture and its rich spiritual life to mere statistics, overlooking the profound spiritual depth that Latinos bring. To genuinely address the church’s challenges, we must move beyond this narrow focus on demographic contributions and recognize the cultural and spiritual wealth inherent in the Latino community. Our role is not just to increase numbers, but to foster genuine relationships and true inclusivity.
The depth of spirituality within Latino communities is a rich tapestry woven from historical struggles and faith forged under adversity. The Cristero War in Mexico during the 1920s is a poignant example. When the government sought to suppress the Catholic Church’s influence, widespread persecution ensued. The Cristeros — ordinary people — fought for religious freedom and the right to live by their faith openly. “The Cristiada was a popular religious movement, profoundly Mexican, and left indelible traces on the collective memory of the country,” historian Jean Meyer writes in The Cristero Rebellion: The Mexican People Between Church and State, 1926-1929 (Cambridge University Press, 1976; tinyurl.com/cristero). This rich history of faith and resilience is an inspiration to those who encounter it.
Similarly, in Central America, countries like El Salvador, Guatemala, and Nicaragua experienced military dictatorships and civil unrest throughout the late 20th century. Amid violence and systemic oppression, the church became a refuge and a source of strength for the marginalized. The Medellín Conference of 1968, a gathering of Latin American bishops, marked a turning point in articulating the church’s preferential option for the poor, emphasizing that the church “cannot remain indifferent to the tragic and pressing problems of misery and injustice which afflict Latin America” (see The Church in the Present-Day Transformation of Latin America in the Light of the Council [Medellín Documents], Medellín, 1968).
Despite this richness, the Episcopal Church’s engagement with Latino communities has sometimes been superficial. I’ve witnessed well-meaning but ultimately misguided efforts in which cultural symbols are appropriated without a deep understanding of their significance. For example, the Episcopal Church has, at times, reduced Latino participation to the use of maracas at diocesan events — gestures that fall short of authentic engagement.
In one instance, a bishop decided that his entire consecration ceremony would be conducted in Spanish, although neither he nor his diocese had significant Latino representation. Such actions, while intended to foster inclusivity, can quickly come across as performative rather than genuinely honoring the culture they seek to celebrate. It’s crucial that we understand the cultural significance of the symbols we use, to ensure our actions are respectful and meaningful.
Perhaps the most striking example I have seen is a seminary using pan de muerto — the bread of the dead — for Eucharist during a Día de los Muertos service. In Mexico, using pan de muerto in the Eucharist would be considered inappropriate, even offensive, trivializing these distinct symbols’ cultural and religious significances. It reflects how a lack of cultural understanding can lead to unintended insensitivity — transforming a sacred rite into something that feels forced, awkward, or disrespectful.
Moreover, the church’s adoption of terms like Latinx further complicates its engagement with Latino communities. Intended as a gender-neutral alternative to Latino or Latina, Latinx has faced criticism from many within the Latino community. According to the Pew Research Center, “About one in four U.S. Hispanics have heard of Latinx, but just 3% use it.” Imposing such terminology without considering how communities self-identify risks alienating those we aim to welcome. This highlights the importance of actively listening to communities, respecting their preferences, and avoiding assumptions about what constitutes inclusivity.
Another often overlooked aspect of the Latino community in the United States is its inherent paradoxes — Latinos are a diverse population whose values cannot be neatly categorized. Many Latinos hold left-leaning views, particularly on social issues and economic justice. Yet there is a growing trend of Latino identification with the Republican Party, including support for figures such as Donald Trump. In fact, “32% of Latino voters supported Trump in 2020, an increase from 28% in 2016,” a report by The New York Times said. This paradox underscores an essential tension that the wider church seems to overlook and often wants to ignore — immigrant communities trend more conservative than their American counterparts.
Latino congregations often embody a unique blend of values, including socially conservative perspectives, especially regarding family structures and marriage. While this is not universally true, the expectation that Latino congregations will automatically think like the wider church or align with its progressive moral positions can lead to misunderstandings and frustration on both sides. True inclusivity requires an openness to different perspectives — not assuming conformity but embracing the diversity of thought and experience that Latino congregations bring.
Moreover, there is a growing tendency within the Episcopal Church to focus heavily on critiquing “whiteness,” empire, and privilege. While acknowledging the historical injustices that have shaped the church and society is essential, there are times when the emphasis on these critiques can overshadow the genuine love and acceptance I’ve experienced in many congregations. The tone adopted in prominent works within our church has felt like pandering to segments of the church rather than fostering inclusive and joyful communities. This approach risks alienating those who come to church for hope and community, inadvertently creating divisions instead of encouraging the reconciliation that is at the heart of the gospel.
Instead of focusing on narratives that risk deepening divides, we should concentrate on fostering unity, compassion, and understanding. By emphasizing the genuine love, acceptance, and respect that many Episcopal communities demonstrate, we can build stronger relationships based on shared faith and mutual respect. This perspective encourages us to recognize and celebrate diversity without blaming or creating unnecessary divisions.
True inclusivity goes beyond language or cultural symbols. It involves building relationships, integrating traditions, empowering leadership, and demonstrating a lasting commitment. By moving past superficial efforts and remaining mindful of how we engage with cultural symbols and communities, the church can avoid the pitfalls of tokenism and instead cultivate genuine connections that honor the depth and richness of Latino spirituality. This approach benefits Latino communities and enriches the church, fostering a more vibrant and diverse spiritual life.
For a related discussion on The Living Church Podcast, listen to “‘We Bring Fiesta’: Being Latino and Anglican” with Rev. Canon Anthony Guillén.
The Rev. Omar Cisneros is assisting priest at Christ Episcopal Church, Tulsa, Oklahoma.