stories that break my heart

now that the transcriptions are done, i am attending to the business of stringing these narratives together. trying to make sense of all the stories.

this is my dissertation. this is a pain in the butt writing project i've been working on for about 21 months (not that i'm counting). mostly i hate it. but i have to confess that this chapter has been personal.

it's about the experiences of mexican people in the catholic church. it is where they have chosen to make their spiritual home. i am a mexican person in the catholic church. it is where i choose to make my spiritual home.

the morning before i left la feria, i spoke with an mexican couple in theie late 70s and early 80s. they were very hospitable and kind. the woman, mrs. z, spoke with special clarity about her memories in the church.

she lived in a rancho outside of la feria when she was growing up. her mother would take the family - walking - to church on sundays at the catholic church in la feria. mrs. z's older brother was abroad, fighting in world war II. there were many other mexican families who also had loved ones fighting in the war. many of these families would also travel from the outlying areas of town to attend mass on sundays.

the custom was for them to enter the church and go to the altar on their knees to show their devotion and to "pagar su manda" (pay their devotion). this was their supplication for the well-being of their loved ones in the war.

when they entered the church on their knees, however, the anglos parishioners would go pick them up. that was not how things were done in the church. that was not their (the anglo) way. they made the mexican faithful understand that it was "ridiculous" for them to be on their knees moving toward the altar.

little by little, mrs. z, recounted to me, people stopped. the anglos effectively shamed them out of their ways of worship.

anybody familiar with mexican catholicism knows that entering a church on one's knees is still practiced in various parts of mexico. it is part of peoples' devotion. a small sacrifice of physical discomfort for a larger supplication.

the church in la feria was never segregated. mexicans were always "allowed" to worship alongside anglos (granted, on a separate side of the church). but they were not allowed to bring their culturally specific religious practices with them. and those practices were lost. lost to them and to their children.

as mrs. z tells me her story, i think i may be re-opening old wounds. and the funny thing is that they wound me, too, even sixty years later.

sometimes i feel like i need to tell these stories; other times i feel like maybe they are best buried.

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