This year’s Catholic Social Tradition conference takes up Vatican II’s invitation to discern “the signs of the times” and to attend to the roles of church and state within civil society with a view toward the common good. These central CST themes warrant further exploration as Christian and other forms of religious nationalism represent a significant sign of the current time in particular national and international contexts. This interdisciplinary conference invites historical, constructive, and comparative approaches as we consider the ecumenical, interfaith, and transdisciplinary challenges of religious nationalism.
These artworks were displayed throughout the conference, to provide an interdisciplinary response to religious nationalism. The works spoke to themes of migration, spirituality, and trauma. When the arts are utilized for justice, they show us the realities of injustice while providing visions of what a just world might look like. Art can provide an insight into others’ worldviews that we may not be able to see or understand otherwise. Throughout the conference, viewers were invited to engage with the various artworks around this space with an open mind and spirit.
As an artist, I’m inspired by stories of resilience, identity, and belonging, especially within the immigrant experience. Growing up Mexican American, I’ve seen both the beauty and the challenges my family and others have faced in seeking a better life. My work often reflects these themes, exploring both my own experiences and the broader Mexican immigrant story. Through my art, I aim to highlight these injustices faced by marginalized communities while celebrating their strength and spirit. I hope viewers connect with these stories and feel encouraged to look at the world with greater empathy and better understanding. In this linocut, I reimagine the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus as Mexican immigrants journeying towards the U.S.-Mexico border. By depicting them as saints and martyrs, I wanted to reframe the often-criminalized narrative of immigrants who seek refuge, risking everything in search of safety and opportunity. Just as Mary once fled with Jesus to escape danger, this mother and child are guided by the same longing for a better life. Through this piece, I hope to challenge perceptions and invite compassion for those who, like the Holy Family, embark on difficult journeys, often searching for nothing more than peace and dignity.
The Death of Christ is a painting depicting Mary holding and lamenting the dead body of Christ. It is the second theology thesis painting in a trilogy of pieces narrating the Passion, death, and Resurrection of Christ. This work has been inspired by Michelangelo’s La Pietà sculpture located in St. Peter’s Basilica and aims to communicate Mary’s grief and Christ’s complete embodiment of humanity in death. The thesis artwork as a whole explores the significance of God’s death on the cross as sacrificial love, the reconciliation of humanity to God in death, and the new hope found in the Resurrection of the body.
Faith has always been a guiding force—a promise of refuge, hope, and redemption. But in the world we inhabit, faith is also wielded as a weapon, its symbols repurposed to divide rather than unite. My work, a linocut print of Jesus crowned not with thorns but barbed wire, confronts this tension. The word IMMIGRANT veils his eyes, forcing the question: Who do we see when we look at him? Who do we refuse to see?
Religious nationalism has blurred the line between faith and exclusion, twisting a message of love into a tool of gatekeeping. Yet, at its core, this image is not about condemnation—it is about reclaiming the narratives that have been co-opted, about seeing those who have been erased. Through printmaking, I carve out space for these conversations, for histories that demand to be remembered. The act of cutting away to reveal form is an act of resistance, a refusal to be silenced. In a time when borders—both physical and ideological—are drawn with increasing hostility, through this work I ask: If divinity walked among us today, where would he stand? And who would dare to turn him away?
La fe siempre ha sido una guía—una promesa de refugio, esperanza y redención. Pero en el mundo que habitamos, la fe también se ha convertido en un arma, sus símbolos reutilizados para dividir en lugar de unir. Mi obra, un grabado en linóleo de Jesús coronado no con espinas, sino con alambre de púas, confronta esta tensión. La palabra IMMIGRANT (inmigrante) cubre sus ojos, obligándonos a cuestionarnos: ¿A quién vemos cuando lo miramos? ¿A quién nos negamos a ver?
El nacionalismo religioso ha desdibujado la línea entre la fe y la exclusión, torciendo un mensaje de amor para convertirlo en una herramienta de marginación. Sin embargo, en su esencia, esta imagen no busca condenar, sino recuperar narrativas que han sido apropiadas, visibilizar a quienes han sido borrados. A través del grabado, esculpo espacio para estas conversaciones, para historias que exigen ser recordadas. El acto de tallar y remover para revelar la forma es un acto de resistencia, una negativa a ser silenciado. En un tiempo donde las fronteras—tanto físicas como ideológicas—se trazan con creciente hostilidad, esta obra pregunta: Si la divinidad caminara entre nosotros hoy, ¿de qué lado estaría? ¿Y quién se atrevería a rechazarlo?
Pick up the Brush is an invitation to paint life. The story of the purple hyssop branch represents the sacrifice of Jesus bringing recreation. The hand is nailed to the cross, so God calls you to reach in and offer your colors to the world. The pink "You Are" is welcoming the full gender of God.
Depicted here is Mary, a mother who took her baby across a border to flee turmoil.
Religion has long been used as a form of control due to the presumed authority of divine right. This has led to unnecessary bloodshed and destruction in the name of god which begs the question is our god a god of war?
As the daughter of a white evangelical pastor who raised me to believe in the goodness and love of God and the church- I find it difficult to sit with the reality that many pastors are abusing their power. I feel the discomfort in my body when I wonder - where can we go? If church is no longer the welcoming, inclusive, and safe environment that I was promised as a young girl - where is holy? Where is safe?
Take off your Shoes tells the story of the burning bush as shadow of the sacrifice of Jesus--ever burning love. The invitation is grounding at the foot of the cross on behalf of the oppressed.
What we have here is a riff on the miraculous medal which is a little trinket lots of Catholics like and it has a pretty little picture of Mary on it. Nuns used to give me one every time I visited Mother Teresa's grave. Apparently Mother Teresa herself gave out bucketfuls of them. This is like that but metal. There are drones falling on the sky. She's stomping on the serpent but it's also the Don't Tread on Me snake. She's burning Confederate and Nazi flags with DIY aerosol can flamethrowers. The demons of militarism and nationalism tremble at the sight.