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MISSION ESPÍRITU
SANTO
Your bell tower lifts its head toward heaven.
Your white-washed walls gleam in the morning sunlight.
Your open door invites us in,
and cool shadows inside entice us to explore.
Your halls are empty now;
our footsteps echo on the bricks.
Two and more centuries ago
you were full of people:
solemn gray-clad priests
expressionless natives
uniformed Spanish soldiers
sweating field workers
skilled artisans
and children at play.
Sounds filled your spaces then:
laughter and talking
groaning and teaching
chants of the faithful
clanking of swords
lowing of oxen
clicks of rosary beads
shouts of the overseers
Until your bell tolled its daily call to prayer.
Then all knelt together silently, briefly.
Faithful Franciscan fathers, intent on planting
the Kingdom of God (as they knew it)
in the desert wastes of northern Mexico.
Native peoples, lured from their wilderness homes
by the promises of the mission,
considered Catholic catechism a fair trade
for food and protection.
A few proud military officers from the local fort
who protected the Mission from
outside threats and inside chaos.
All prayed to the same God in their own way.
Ancient Shelter, your bell no longer rings
but your chapel still welcomes
reflection and prayer.
I offered God, not prayer, but questions:
Did the vision of the Mission’s founders
die when it was closed?
That dream of Your Kingdom come on earth where
rich and poor
brown and white
tutored and simple
priests and soldiers
students and teachers
powerful and powerless
old, young and those in-between
kneel together in praise and prayer?
For brief moments
during those few years
that dream almost became real.
Holy Spirit, namesake of this place,
continue to dream that dream
until it becomes a reality
for all times,
in every heart,
everywhere.
Text 9/10/2010 - MarySue H.
Rosenberger
Photos - Bruce E. Rosenberger
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