It is 3:30am and we are three hundred faithful gathered in the parking lot of the church. With a shout "¡Que Viva la Virgen de Guadalupe!" we begin our five mile walk to a neighboring parish. More than half of us are under 25 years of age. There is prayer, and song, and quiet talking and long moments in which all that can be heard are footfalls.More than anything else, there is a sense of homecoming, of belonging.
Last week, the border patrol began asking families who were crabbing and fishing at a local creek for proof of citizenship or residency. The agents could not know how outrageous it is for someone's little boy to watch his father publically humiliated by men with guns. "Are you a US citizen?" is the question asked, but the unspoken accusation is "You are a Mexican, aren't you?" A question often posed by a Mexican Americans who have become Border Patrol agents as a way out of desperation.
The Virgen of Guadalupe is many, many things--inspiration, source of hope and healing, a call to prayer--but she is also Us.
She is deeply tatooed upon our hearts, a reminder that we are Mexican and that there is nothing but goodness in that.
It is like coming home after a long walk in the night.
