Religion on the Street

MIAMI—Lying on my bright orange towel on the gorgeous South Beach sand this past weekend, I heard a plane, looked up at a brilliant blue sky, and read: “God has come. See him. 8 pm.”

Although this odd premonition caught my attention, I flipped over, rolled my eyes, and quickly forgot about it. Later that day, I turned on the evening news and finally understood. It featured what at first seemed like another Miami Heat victory celebration—hundreds of people dancing to salsa music, waving flags, and cheering loudly by the “Torch of Friendship” in downtown Miami. Then I noticed that almost all wore pins and T-shirts bearing the image of, not Dwayne Wade, but José Luis de Jesús Miranda, a man who claims he is—no joke—Jesus Christ.

This was not the first time I had come across the name. A former co-worker had mentioned him as the leader of “Creciendo en Gracia”—Growing in Faith—the controversial and rapidly growing religious movement she belonged to. According to the news report, the disciples had gathered on Biscayne Boulevard to celebrate their savior, and demonstrate their opposition to other religions.

De Jesús’ devotees ripped up copies of the Bible and the Torah, smashed religious statues on the pavement, and tore baptismal gowns and wedding veils, shouting, “Mentiras!” or “Lies!” Inquisition, anyone?

The scene affected me. My hometown, traditionally celebrated as a beacon of diversity and tolerance, was now featured on the evening news for its violence and hatred. What century are we living in? Thousands of people actually believed this man, who has made millions of dollars by founding, essentially, a sensational cult.

When I questioned my friend about De Jesús’ credibility, she answered, “I know it all sounds crazy, but He’s back and this movement is just getting started. How many didn’t believe it was Him 2,000 years ago when He came to die on the cross, you know?”

This is the logic behind the fastest growing religious movement in Florida. With this explanation, I internally labeled them all “crazy religious zealots” and filed them away with Mel Gibson, Tom Cruise, and that scary monk in the “The Da Vinci Code.”

Yet during these cynical musings, I also wondered if my own rolling eyes were any better than the hands that were burning the bibles or torahs. After all, I have no patience for people that take religion seriously, much less those that intertwine those personal beliefs with politics.

Outwardly, I was frustrated by Growing in Faith’s disciples: They refuse to vote, believing that the fate of the country is predetermined and thus the electoral process is useless. Inwardly, I was relieved they didn’t vote: The country was probably better off without their opinions cast on a ballot.

But out of respect, I keep my cynicisms private, even while they showcase theirs on the evening news. As such unabashed displays continue, my own beliefs are cemented: Religion only segments and consumes those that don’t know any better. Take Growing in Faith; its members overwhelmingly consist of Latin American immigrants who left an extremely strict strand of Catholicism in countries like El Salvador or Bolivia. De Jesús offers them something new—Catholicism without original sin. Suddenly, Catholic guilt melts away and they have a voice, an opinion.



Burning a Bible or a Torah may certainly catch my attention; I’ll even tolerate it. Yet the real basis of religious toleration isn’t really free speech, but mutual respect. Civil discourse, when it actually happens, is the bedrock of our society. Once religious groups start arguing based on reason instead of justifying their actions with the pretext of “faith,” they’ll earn credibility and I’ll force myself to listen. But until then, they’ll remain filed away under those three little words—crazy religious zealots.



Giselle Barcia ’08, a Crimson editorial editor, is an English and American literature and language concentrator in Mather House. Giselle is glad religious debates are not continued at the Miami nightclubs.