Years ago, back before the TSA existed and life seemed simpler even on the Maryland ghetto side of the DC border, I prayed fervently for a voluntary Spanish speaking assistant priest. No small order but lo and behold, a man turned up and built up a mighty south of the border congregation. It was a big thing, literally, and the hideously lib TEC diocese couldn't shut us down because racism and all of that.
By way of example, bishop figure John Chane tipped up for an, ahem, episcopal visit in my last year there, complete with a seminarian from VTS (Virginia Theological School) seminary. Of course the young man was wearing a bow tie (What? Yes, it's true) and asked me superciliously if "we had any programs" while I was setting up the High Altar.
"No," I replied, adjusting a missal stand, "I don't think we do." Bow tie sneered at my recidivist High Churchmanship and sat down in a pew, waiting for Mass. And then the church started to fill up and there was VTS boy sandwiched between several crews of homies and cabrón all 'round. He seemed rather scared, sensibly; you'll forgive my welcoming grin.
I tell you, after 35 confirmations there we were at the end of the Mass, singing the Regina Coeli at the Guadalupe shrine at the back of the church, six deep and standing room only my friends. You see, they couldn't drop the rainbow boot on such a thing, the fighting monkey waxed too strong.
Fast forward to today. Again, I've been praying for a Spanish speaking assistant priest/clergyman and what's happened? The diocese, in its abundant generosity, has sent one, a deacon and a good man. We'll hold our first Spanish Mass at Mission #1 on Sunday, the Feast of Christ the King.
In the meanwhile, I'm furiously practicing liturgical Spanish and would appreciate your prayers.
Viva Cristo Rey,
LSP
