Yesterday some twenty people shared a single celebration of communion in two nations - seven of us in the United States and the rest in Mexico. The setting was Friendship Park, the bi-national park at the western-most edge of the US-Mexico border, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. We are calling our gathering "El Faro: The Border Church / La Iglesia Fronteriza" because "Faro" is a Spanish word meaning "lighthouse" and Friendship Park sits in the shadow of the famous lighthouse in Playas de Tijuana.
For six months in 2008 and 2009 I served communion at Friendship Park - in part to protest the construction of a new, secondary border wall that promised to eliminate public access to this historic meeting place. During that time I was able to offer the communion elements to people on both sides of the border fence. In February 2009 San Diego Border Patrol Agents formed a human wall to bring an end to these communion services.
Yesterday marked a small, but critical step in restoring Friendship Park to its rightful role as a location for authentic human encounter. Through a long and cumbersome process of negotiations lasting almost three years, leaders from the Friends of Friendship Park community coalition have engaged with Border Patrol officials in pursuit of architect Jim Brown's grand vision for the re-design of the park. A limited number of elements of this larger vision have now been put in place, and we have secured a commitment from San Diego Border Patrol to staff the park for "open hours" year-round on Saturdays and Sundays from 10 am to 2 pm. This regular schedule means that families and friends can once again count on the park being open if they make arrangements to meet.
Yesterday, Rev. Saul Montiel and I met up at 11 am in San Ysidro. There we broke a single loaf of bread and split a single bottle of juice into two conatiners, having agreed with San Diego Border Patrol that we will no longer pass things through the fence. Saul and his family headed for El Faro at Playas de Tijuana, to the south side of Friendship Park. I headed out through Border Field State Park to Monument Mesa, where Friendship Park can be accessed from the north.
When I arrived at the park at 12 noon, a family of seven from Los Angeles was visiting at the fence with relatives from Tijuana. One of the family members - a young man - had not seen his aunts and uncles in over ten years. The mother of this young man could not stop crying as she witnessed this reunion. When I asked her how their visit had been, she choked out the words, "Just wonderful. Just wonderful."
When the time came for communion there were just seven of us on the US side. I recruited two children, Chase and Griffith, as "communion stewards" and they helped me serve the bread and juice.
On the Tijuana side Rev. Saul Montiel served about 12 or 15 people. One of them was a young man whom I'll call him Carlos, separated from his family who live in Los Angeles. His partner, a woman from Guatemala whom I'll call Leticia, is living in the U.S. legally and working to normalize her status as a permanent resident. As long as she is embroiled in this legal process she cannot enter Mexico, so she has been unable to come and visit Carlos since he ended up in Tijuana four months ago. This is tearing Carlos apart, all the more so because he has yet to meet their newborn daughter, now three months old.
Carlos came to Friendship Park hoping that Leticia might make the trek from Los Angeles to meet up with him. When I spoke to her on the phone on Friday, though, Leticia explained that she had gotten an offer to work on Sunday and the family finances didn't allow for her to skip that opportunity. Who knows, maybe Leticia will come to Friendship Park next weekend ... maybe Carlos will finally get to meet his daughter. Yesterday, when it came time to share together and pray for one another, Carlos explained that he has come to the clear understanding his work, his family and his future all lie in the United States. None of us argued with him on this point.
I often tell people: "I've seen grandparents meet newborn grandchildren at Friendship Park; I've seen family members say goodbye to dying loved ones at Friendship Park; and I've seen lovers make out through the fence at Friendship Park."
I was reminded yesterday why these kinds of encounters haunt me and inspire me and challenge me to live a more faithful and fruitful life. Friendship Park reminds us that the U.S.-Mexico border is not the frightful place that some people make it out to be. Friendship Park reminds us that the U.S.-Mexico border is a place of profound human encounter.
Yesterday I was also reminded that the U.S.-Mexico border can be a place of communion. As Chase and Griffith and I served the elements here in the United States, I could hear Saul and others serving the elements in Mexico. Twenty-four hours later the words are still echoing in my ears and in my soul, a kind of bi-lingual chant which speaks the promise of a brighter future for the people of both nations.
"Take, eat. This is my body, broken for you.
Toma la copa. Este es el sangre de Cristo, derramado para ti, para el perdon de los pecados.
Do this in memory of me.
Hazlo en memoria de mi."
For six months in 2008 and 2009 I served communion at Friendship Park - in part to protest the construction of a new, secondary border wall that promised to eliminate public access to this historic meeting place. During that time I was able to offer the communion elements to people on both sides of the border fence. In February 2009 San Diego Border Patrol Agents formed a human wall to bring an end to these communion services.
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| Communion used to be served THROUGH the border fence at Friendship Park. |
Yesterday, Rev. Saul Montiel and I met up at 11 am in San Ysidro. There we broke a single loaf of bread and split a single bottle of juice into two conatiners, having agreed with San Diego Border Patrol that we will no longer pass things through the fence. Saul and his family headed for El Faro at Playas de Tijuana, to the south side of Friendship Park. I headed out through Border Field State Park to Monument Mesa, where Friendship Park can be accessed from the north.
When I arrived at the park at 12 noon, a family of seven from Los Angeles was visiting at the fence with relatives from Tijuana. One of the family members - a young man - had not seen his aunts and uncles in over ten years. The mother of this young man could not stop crying as she witnessed this reunion. When I asked her how their visit had been, she choked out the words, "Just wonderful. Just wonderful."
When the time came for communion there were just seven of us on the US side. I recruited two children, Chase and Griffith, as "communion stewards" and they helped me serve the bread and juice.
Carlos came to Friendship Park hoping that Leticia might make the trek from Los Angeles to meet up with him. When I spoke to her on the phone on Friday, though, Leticia explained that she had gotten an offer to work on Sunday and the family finances didn't allow for her to skip that opportunity. Who knows, maybe Leticia will come to Friendship Park next weekend ... maybe Carlos will finally get to meet his daughter. Yesterday, when it came time to share together and pray for one another, Carlos explained that he has come to the clear understanding his work, his family and his future all lie in the United States. None of us argued with him on this point.
I often tell people: "I've seen grandparents meet newborn grandchildren at Friendship Park; I've seen family members say goodbye to dying loved ones at Friendship Park; and I've seen lovers make out through the fence at Friendship Park."
I was reminded yesterday why these kinds of encounters haunt me and inspire me and challenge me to live a more faithful and fruitful life. Friendship Park reminds us that the U.S.-Mexico border is not the frightful place that some people make it out to be. Friendship Park reminds us that the U.S.-Mexico border is a place of profound human encounter.
Yesterday I was also reminded that the U.S.-Mexico border can be a place of communion. As Chase and Griffith and I served the elements here in the United States, I could hear Saul and others serving the elements in Mexico. Twenty-four hours later the words are still echoing in my ears and in my soul, a kind of bi-lingual chant which speaks the promise of a brighter future for the people of both nations.
"Take, eat. This is my body, broken for you.
Toma la copa. Este es el sangre de Cristo, derramado para ti, para el perdon de los pecados.
Do this in memory of me.
Hazlo en memoria de mi."
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