As a proud Puerto Rican, I absolutely loved everything about this year’s halftime performance! Super Bowl LX’s halftime show, led by Bad Bunny, felt like more than entertainment. It felt like a pause—a collective exhale—one of those rare moments when a massive spectacle quietly turns into reflection.
There had been plenty of noise leading up to the game about what the show should be, what it might represent, and who it was—or wasn’t—for. And yet, what unfolded was something gentler and deeper than all that commentary. Without fanfare or explanation, the performance spoke of unity, empathy, diversity, and belonging. (All the things, by the way, that Saint Miriam believes and promotes!)
What stayed with me after the music ended was how steady the whole performance felt. Nothing felt rushed or overdone. It didn’t try to prove a point. There was a care to it—a calm, grounded presence that didn’t need to be loud to be strong. In a world that often mistakes noise and urgency for power, this felt different. It felt rooted, thoughtful, and intentional.
The show moved through images drawn from memory, culture, struggle, and celebration—some immediately recognizable, others more subtle. They passed by almost quietly, as if trusting that those who recognized them would understand, and those who didn’t could still feel their weight. It wasn’t interested in spelling everything out. It trusted the audience to lean in. What struck me most was that trust.
Instead of softening its edges to make everyone comfortable, the performance invited viewers to notice before judging, to feel before reacting. It reminded us that culture is not just something we consume, but something we inherit, protect, and pass on. That identity is not a threat. That joy and resilience can exist even in places shaped by loss and displacement.
The powerful symbolic images spoke for themselves: sugarcane fields, a Coco-Frio stand passed along the way, violins playing where sugar once grew, a real wedding unfolding in the middle of the spectacle, and women dancing on electricity poles. No explanations were offered. None were needed.
Predictably, reactions were mixed. Some were moved. Others were unsettled. That, too, says something about where we are right now—about how fragile our understanding of belonging can be when it stretches beyond what feels familiar.
Near the end of the performance, Bad Bunny held up a football—an ordinary object carrying so much of America’s story—and on it were words carefully and deliberately inscribed: “Together we are America.”
Not a conclusion, but an invitation—an invitation to imagine a wider belonging, one that makes room for many languages, stories, and histories. And then, just as the moment settled, the final word arrived—not as a slogan, but as a quiet truth: “The only thing stronger than hate is love.”
Maybe we all need a to take a breath, pause, and enjoy a Coco-Frio, but this time…together…
Father Jerry