Co-written with my AI sidekick, Andrew (aka ChatGPT).
I wasn’t planning on writing anything deep today. But then I started thinking about the way people like me — brown, bilingual, born and raised here — are still told in subtle and not-so-subtle ways that we don’t belong. And sometimes, it’s from the exact people who sit in church pews every Sunday, talking about loving thy neighbor.
There’s something ironic about being told to “go back to your country” by someone who probably has a verse from Corinthians in their Instagram bio. The same person who might’ve posted about forgiveness and grace right after leaving a note on a receipt that says something hateful in a restaurant that served them food made with love and stories and seasoning passed down through generations.
Let’s talk about that.
Because if you can quote the Bible, but still act like compassion stops at your cultural comfort zone, maybe you missed the point. Jesus wasn’t known for flipping tables over tamales, y’know?
It just makes you think: what version of Christianity is being practiced when there’s room for casseroles at the potluck, but not space for people of color in your community? What kind of gospel is being shared when grace is reserved only for those who look or speak a certain way?
Here’s what I believe: you can love your faith, and also check your bias. You can go to church and also break bread (or tortillas) with people who don’t fit your idea of “American enough.”
So next time someone tells someone to go back where they came from, they should follow it up with just a smile and a “sure — I’ll head back to the kitchen that made your favorite salsa.”
We’re not going anywhere. And we shouldn’t have to keep proving we belong in a country we’ve helped build, flavor by flavor, faith or no faith.
End of sermon. Pass the chips.