CHRIST OUTSIDE OF THE BOX

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There's something about an abandoned mission.

You wonder what made the congregation pick up

and leave. Here it's interesting.

The wooden vigas, the logs above that span the

thick adobe walls, are hidden by a dropped ceiling

reminiscent of a rec-room add-on, some misguided

soul's attempt at modernization, or worse.

The altar and one of the pews are still here,

albeit the worst for wear.

There's some minor trash about, and

some framing boards have been left on the altar.

But it hasn't been obliterated, totally junked,

like most old abandoned places

in the Southwest are, anymore.

The confessional space to the left

of the altar has a neat little nicho

to confess your sins through.

You wonder what relief came from kneeling

there. You wonder if any of it stuck,

if it made anyone feel the better,

if it made sense, even vaguely.

It must have.

The opening carved through the adobe wall

was an opening to redemption.

 

You enter the sacristy, the "prep" room,

through the arch on the right.

The little nicho is now in the far corner

on the left where there must have been

a chair for the priest to sit, reflect,

and pass counsel and penance.

.

Did people come away with a weight lifted?

Some must have.

Did the good padre carry the weight well?

Quien sabe? Who knows?

The old adobe walls don't answer.
*

It's interesting that there's no

trashy grafitti anywhere, just the name of Jesus,

religious slogans, a few designs, a couple of

crude paintings of the desert.

The altar and the framework that held

the tabernacle, the chamber/home of the

consecrated host - Christ Himself if you believe

church dogma - are in bad shape, the tabernacle

frame leaning against the back wall.
 

What happend here?

There's no answer.

Does Christ mind?

Hardly, I would think.

Do you think the body and spirit of

a Creator Son of the Universe can be

contained in a gold-plated box?

Do you think God cares about our childish

concepts concerning where God is,

what box we've put Him in,

and who has His ear?

Are you nuts?

This sounds vaguely ancient-Jewish to me.

*

My friend Frank Ruiz and I are curious

about the place, but soon enough feel like

we've worn out our welcome with

the ghosts at San Jose Mission.

Or maybe it's not that, maybe not.

I don't know what, but it seems like

something is going on here, still.

Someone's looking over my shoulder.

But it's probably always this way, at old sites -

sites where people knelt down and prayed,

places where desperation and hope held hands,

places where both joy and sorrow said the rosary,

and winked at each other whenever they passed

through the entrada, one coming, one going.


Places where the energy still sits on the ruins -

like an innkeeper waiting for a traveler,

like a gatekeeper waiting for the guests,

like Christ outside of the box.

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