by Roberto Solis, Iglesia de Cristo, Saltillo.
Recently, several congregations of the Churches of Christ (Iglesia de Cristo)—including ours, in the El Salvador neighborhood of Saltillo, Mexico—gathered for a camp‐style Easter weekend. Beyond the games, the food, and the songs, we wanted to dive into a fundamental question: what does it mean to take part in God’s mission today?
For many, “God’s mission” sounds like academic jargon, so we chose straightforward language where everyone could share questions and insights. We quickly agreed on one thing: mission isn’t an optional add‐on or a side project of our faith—it’s the very heart of following Christ. The resurrection didn’t just crown Jesus’s work; it sent us out with willing hearts to restore and heal our world.
From the start, God envisioned a world brimming with goodness. Human disobedience fractured that dream, sowing pain where there was harmony. Yet throughout history, He has raised up ordinary people to mend what’s broken—whether during the Exodus, through prophetic voices, or in the life of Jesus, who came to establish a kingdom of reconciliation and abundant life. His message didn’t stay confined to a building; it burst into a radical community that shared everything and challenged every power structure.
Today we inherit that legacy whenever we turn the everyday into moments of grace. You don’t need a passport or a grand project to be a missionary—just a simple gesture: inviting someone to your table, lending a listening ear, or visiting someone who’s sick. In those small acts, the Spirit moves, distributes gifts, and builds up the body of Christ.
At our gathering, we also felt this conviction: the church should feel like one big family. The richest moments don’t come from standardized programs but from stories shared over a long meal, from children’s laughter filling every corner with hope, and from the faith tales our grandparents pass down after years of walking with God.
The mission of God doesn’t belong to the church—the church belongs to the mission. We’re part of a plan that stretches beyond our agendas, aiming to bring redemption into every area of life. In this plan, neighbors stop being strangers and become companions on the journey. We learn their struggles, celebrate their joys, and care about their well‐being before any doctrinal debate—because when practical love leads the way, hearts soften and doors swing open to an authentic witness.
We recognize that a single gesture can change a story. The seed of reconciliation we plant in one home grows into trust, friendship, and bridges of hope. That’s why our prayers don’t end when the service does—they accompany us throughout each workday, every walk home, and every chance encounter with a neighbor on the street.
As we press on toward the ultimate goal—a renewed world where every knee shall bow and every tear be wiped away—we hold on to the truth that the journey unfolds in the ordinary. Every friendly greeting, open table, and act of care brings to life the great work of redemption that began in the empty tomb. Day by day, we’re sent by the Father, empowered by the Spirit, and upheld by community.
Roberto Solis, his wife Danea, and their four daughters are members of Iglesia de Cristo in Saltillo, Mexico.