The details change from culture to culture... But the heart is the same everywhere: a deep, abiding love for God, for tradition, and for each other.
Written by Maria Del Amo, NCEA Director of Hispanic and Latino Engagement, [email protected]
Growing up in a Puerto Rican household, faith wasn’t something we saved for Sundays. It was woven into our daily lives, the smell of sofrito hitting the pan, empanadillas frying in the kitchen, my abuela’s rosary beads clicking softly on the patio after dinner. And here’s the thing: when I talk with my Mexican, Dominican, Cuban, and Central American friends, they tell me the same story with different seasonings. For Hispanic and Latino families across all our cultures, the Catholic faith isn’t just a religion. It’s a way of life.
Here are a few examples, some from my own family’s kitchen table, some from the tables of the families we’ve shared pews with along the way.
The Blessing Before Meals (Because Even Rice and Beans Deserve a Little Holy Spirit)
In my house, you couldn’t start eating until someone blessed the food. And I mean anyone. My little cousin once tried to sneak a tostón off the plate before the prayer, and my abuela gave him the look, you know, the one that could freeze water at ten paces. “¡No! ¡No! ¡No!” she said, wagging her finger. “First, we thank God.” And so we did. I’ve since learned that the look is universal. Mexican abuelas have it. Dominican abuelas have it. It transcends borders. Whether the plate holds arroz con habichuelas or arroz con frijoles, every bite is a gift, and every gift deserves gratitude.
The Family Rosary (A Perfectly Choreographed Choir)
Sunday dinners at my tía’s house were always a production. The arroz con pollo was steaming, the kids were running around like wild goats, and then, without fail, someone would pull out a rosary. Next thing you know, the whole room is praying together, voices rising and falling like a choir that never rehearsed but somehow always knew its part. My abuelo used to say, “La oración en familia es la oración que llega al cielo” (“Family prayer is the prayer that reaches heaven”). Honestly? I think every abuelo has said some version of that. And I think they’re all onto something.
Passing Faith Through Storytelling
In our family, faith got handed down the same way recipes did, one story at a time. My abuela could turn any quiet evening into a testimony. She’d tell us about leaving Spain for the Dominican Republic by boat with my grandfather and a small child—my dad—praying the whole trip: “Papá Dios, you got us this far. Don’t quit on me now.” She’d describe the little church in her village in the mountains, the candles she would light during hard times, the novenas that carried the family and friends through illness and loss. Looking back, we thought we were just listening to stories. Really, our abuelas were teaching us why we pray.
Celebrating the Liturgical Year at Home (When Faith and Culture Dance Together)
Every Latino culture dances with the Church calendar in its own way, and if you’re lucky, you get invited to all the parties.
In our house, Christmas was the main event. Puerto Ricans celebrate the longest Christmas in the world, just ask around. There were the parrandas, when fifteen relatives showed up at midnight with a cuatro and a güiro singing aguinaldos, and you let them in, fed them, and joined them to the next house. There was Día de los Reyes, when, as a child, we’d cut fresh grass for the camels and tuck it in a shoebox under the bed.
Every December, there were also the Posadas, reenacting Mary and Joseph’s search for shelter, going house to house singing—because seeking refuge and welcoming the stranger is everybody’s gospel.
Faith in Action Through Service (Masa for a Cause)
My mom had a saying: “La fe sin obras no llega ni a la esquina” (“Faith without works doesn’t even make it to the corner”). So when the parish needed money for the youth group, the kitchens went to work, filled with women making pasteles, arroz, pinchos, and frituras. Every kid got a job, such as spreading, filling, folding, tying a string, as if our lives depended on it. And when a new family moved in down the street, my mom showed up with a pot of asopao before they’d finished unpacking. Nobody ever explained to us that faith means helping others. They didn’t have to. We watched it happen, one pot at a time.
The Home Altar (Where Saints and Palm Fronds Coexist)
Walk into almost any Hispanic or Latino home, and you’ll find a little altar somewhere. The crucifix is a given. Mary, too, though she goes by many names: Guadalupe in Mexican homes, Altagracia in Dominican ones, Caridad del Cobre for Cubans, and in ours, la Divina Providencia, with the palms from Palm Sunday folded behind her picture frame. Different titles, same Mother.
My abuela used to say, “El hogar es el primer templo” (“The home is the first temple”). She wasn’t kidding. Our home was so full of reminders of God’s presence that even my cassette player had a little cross taped to it. Don’t ask.
Sunday Mass: Church as Family, Family as Church
Sunday Mass wasn’t optional in my household. Tired, cranky, half-asleep, we showed up, prayed together, and left feeling a little more whole. The parish wasn’t a place we visited; it was an extension of the family, and what a family it was: everyone from my Catholic school, from first grade through twelfth. And the after-Mass conversations in the parking lot? Those could go on for hours, catching up with family, debating which basketball or baseball team was better (a dangerous topic with no safe answer).
Worth Celebrating
So there you have it, a glimpse into how Hispanic and Latino families live out the Catholic faith, told from one Puerto Rican kitchen table with the doors wide open. The details change from culture to culture: the masa, the music, the name we call Mary. But the heart is the same everywhere, a deep, abiding love for God, for tradition, and for each other. And that is something worth celebrating.
Connect with Maria Del Amo
If you’d like to learn more about how we can support and engage Hispanic and Latino families in Catholic education, I’d love to connect! Feel free to reach out to me at [email protected].
