When I was ordained as a pastor in the United Methodist Church twenty years ago, I did not imagine in my wildest dreams that it would come to this. But there I was last Sunday, a 50 year-old man (OK, 51), running almost two miles in slacks and dress shoes so as not to miss out on a commitment I had made to serve communion. The whole enterprise that we call El Faro - The Border Church / La Iglesia Fronteriza, is in many ways preposterous, even ridiculous. Sometimes when I am talking through the fence at Friendship Park to someone standing in Mexico, and I explain what we are doing - trying to gather as a church in two nations, through a high-security fence - I can almost hear them thinking, "Tonto gringo." Silly gringo. ("Silly" is a nice way of putting it.) If ever there was a Sunday that I felt silly it was this past Sunday, as I panted my way across the two miles to Friendship Park with the communion elements in my backpack. I appreciate that such a bizarre scenario must seem inexplicable ... so I will try to explain.
I had spent the morning in Tijuana, hosting friends visiting from the General Board of Global Ministries of the United Methodist Church. My colleague Saul Montiel was simultaneously hosting a visiting media team from United Methodist Communications, so our hands were full. When we met up in Tijuana, Saul and I split the bread and juice as we have been doing each Sunday for the past several months, and all seemed well. The plan was for me to return to the U.S. so that I could serve communion from Friendship Park while Saul would serve from the Mexican side of the fence at Playas de Tijuana.
When I got into the pedestrian line to cross back into the United States, it was 11 o'clock and I thought everything would be fine. In my years of crossing the border I have never waited more than an hour and forty-five minutes to re-enter the U.S. by foot, so I figured that at the latest I would be back to my car at 12:45, which would give me time to drive to Border Field State Park, hike the two-miles to Friendship Park and serve communion at 1:30 as planned.
Two and a half hours later, I was panicked. It was now 1:30 and I was just now crossing the line. I knew it was my fault for having miscalculated, and I was mad at myself, more than a little embarrassed. But for the most part I was frustrated because my time was running out for some very specific reasons, each one reflective of the madness that is life on the U.S.-Mexico border.
In the first place it makes no sense that U.S. citizens (or anyone else) should have to wait 2 and half hours to enter the United States. The San Ysidro/Tijuana Port of Entry is the busiest border crossing in the world and yet our government can't figure out a way to expedite the crossing back and forth of some 120,000 people each day. If we could figure this out both nations would benefit economically, culturally and the mental and physical health of millions of people from both nations would be significantly improved.
The second reason I was going to be late was because the State of California can't adequately fund its own State Parks. Friendship Park sits within the larger surrounding area which is Border Field State Park, and when this larger park is open to vehicles, it is just a five minute drive to get to the historic meeting place on the US-Mexico border (which was the principal reason for designating the location a State Park in the first place). But lacking the needed funding to keep the State Park staffed year-round, Border Field is closed to vehicles for several months each winter, which means that people who want to meet up with friends and family from Mexico have to park at the edge of the State Park and hike the two miles in to Friendship Park. That a public
The third reason I was running out of time is because San Diego Border Patrol now makes the bi-national meeting place - a place which people from both nations have been visiting for geneartions - accessible to the public only during the limited hours of 10 am to 2 pm on Saturdays and Sundays. Don't get me wrong - for a period of time across the last few years it appeared that Friendship Park was going to be eliminated altogether, and I am glad that Friendship Park is once again open to the public. But the truth of the matter is that there is no reason in the world that Friendship Park should not be wide open and accessible to the public at least during daylight hours. The idea that people from the two nations meeting up at this location represents a threat to our national security is nothing short of a joke.
So there you have it. Those were some of the thoughts that went racing through my mind as I panted my way through Border Field State Park, trying to reach Friendship Park in time to serve communion. I had compared notes with Saul by cellphone and I knew that he and the others were waiting on me. But as I jogged into the Park I passed a number of people who were on their way out, and I knew that by the time I got there Friendship Park would be almost deserted. Two good friends, Maria Teresa and Simon, were also waiting and I confirmed with them by text message that they would wait for me.
I got to Friendship Park at exactly 2 pm - closing time - and so asked Agent Kris Stricklin, the Border Patrol agent on site, if he would allow for an extra five minutes. "Two-fifteen, sir," Agent Stricklin said, and I felt enormously relieved. I was genuinely grateful. I still am.
Inside the park, I shared with Simon and Maria and the several dozen people gathered on the Mexican side of the fence a brief sermon and then I consecrated the elements. Although I knew time was running out, I invited people to come lay their hands on the wall before we distributed the elements. Together we prayed the Lord's Prayer. I started in Spanish: "Padre nuestro, que estas en los cielos, santificado sea tu nombre ..." And I finished in English: "... for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever." As I prayed I knew that Simon was right there beside me. But I was unaware that Maria Teresa had stepped back to take this photo:
I had spent the morning in Tijuana, hosting friends visiting from the General Board of Global Ministries of the United Methodist Church. My colleague Saul Montiel was simultaneously hosting a visiting media team from United Methodist Communications, so our hands were full. When we met up in Tijuana, Saul and I split the bread and juice as we have been doing each Sunday for the past several months, and all seemed well. The plan was for me to return to the U.S. so that I could serve communion from Friendship Park while Saul would serve from the Mexican side of the fence at Playas de Tijuana.
When I got into the pedestrian line to cross back into the United States, it was 11 o'clock and I thought everything would be fine. In my years of crossing the border I have never waited more than an hour and forty-five minutes to re-enter the U.S. by foot, so I figured that at the latest I would be back to my car at 12:45, which would give me time to drive to Border Field State Park, hike the two-miles to Friendship Park and serve communion at 1:30 as planned.
Two and a half hours later, I was panicked. It was now 1:30 and I was just now crossing the line. I knew it was my fault for having miscalculated, and I was mad at myself, more than a little embarrassed. But for the most part I was frustrated because my time was running out for some very specific reasons, each one reflective of the madness that is life on the U.S.-Mexico border.
In the first place it makes no sense that U.S. citizens (or anyone else) should have to wait 2 and half hours to enter the United States. The San Ysidro/Tijuana Port of Entry is the busiest border crossing in the world and yet our government can't figure out a way to expedite the crossing back and forth of some 120,000 people each day. If we could figure this out both nations would benefit economically, culturally and the mental and physical health of millions of people from both nations would be significantly improved.
The second reason I was going to be late was because the State of California can't adequately fund its own State Parks. Friendship Park sits within the larger surrounding area which is Border Field State Park, and when this larger park is open to vehicles, it is just a five minute drive to get to the historic meeting place on the US-Mexico border (which was the principal reason for designating the location a State Park in the first place). But lacking the needed funding to keep the State Park staffed year-round, Border Field is closed to vehicles for several months each winter, which means that people who want to meet up with friends and family from Mexico have to park at the edge of the State Park and hike the two miles in to Friendship Park. That a public
The third reason I was running out of time is because San Diego Border Patrol now makes the bi-national meeting place - a place which people from both nations have been visiting for geneartions - accessible to the public only during the limited hours of 10 am to 2 pm on Saturdays and Sundays. Don't get me wrong - for a period of time across the last few years it appeared that Friendship Park was going to be eliminated altogether, and I am glad that Friendship Park is once again open to the public. But the truth of the matter is that there is no reason in the world that Friendship Park should not be wide open and accessible to the public at least during daylight hours. The idea that people from the two nations meeting up at this location represents a threat to our national security is nothing short of a joke.
So there you have it. Those were some of the thoughts that went racing through my mind as I panted my way through Border Field State Park, trying to reach Friendship Park in time to serve communion. I had compared notes with Saul by cellphone and I knew that he and the others were waiting on me. But as I jogged into the Park I passed a number of people who were on their way out, and I knew that by the time I got there Friendship Park would be almost deserted. Two good friends, Maria Teresa and Simon, were also waiting and I confirmed with them by text message that they would wait for me.
I got to Friendship Park at exactly 2 pm - closing time - and so asked Agent Kris Stricklin, the Border Patrol agent on site, if he would allow for an extra five minutes. "Two-fifteen, sir," Agent Stricklin said, and I felt enormously relieved. I was genuinely grateful. I still am.
Inside the park, I shared with Simon and Maria and the several dozen people gathered on the Mexican side of the fence a brief sermon and then I consecrated the elements. Although I knew time was running out, I invited people to come lay their hands on the wall before we distributed the elements. Together we prayed the Lord's Prayer. I started in Spanish: "Padre nuestro, que estas en los cielos, santificado sea tu nombre ..." And I finished in English: "... for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever." As I prayed I knew that Simon was right there beside me. But I was unaware that Maria Teresa had stepped back to take this photo:
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| Photo credit: Maria Teresa Fernandez |
If I was frustrated on the way in to Friendship Park, I was exultant on the way out. We had pulled it off again, another improbable gathering of the only church in the world (at least to my knowledge) that meets across an international boundary. And as Maria Teresa and Simon and I hiked out of Friendship Park I was reminded why a small but sturdy band of us have fought so hard to ensure that the public should continue to have access to this unique cross-border meeting place. On the way out we walked part of the way with a family who had traveled over 3 hours from Oxnard - and hiked back and forth to Friendship Park - so that two small children could see their mother who has been deported to Mexico. The two children, both U.S. citizens, are now being raised by their grandmother, who is waiting to regularize her own immigration status, something she hopes will enable her to reunite her daughter and grandchildren. Until then they will have to meet at Friendship Park.
This is the older of the two children, an 11-year old girl, speaking with her mother through the fence at Friendship Park some half an hour before this tonto gringo ever got around to serving communion. As I upload her photo I invite you to say a prayer for her. Just to engage our imaginations, let's pretend her name is "Isabella" her mother's is "Teresita." For now there is nothing else to do but pray.
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| Photo credit: Maria Teresa Fernandez |
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