Dear Westwood Family,

Monday morning, with a group of about 20 people from our church, I visited Chicano Park in San Diego. The park is in the middle of Barrio Logan, a community predominantly made up of Mexican-American people that was carved up and displaced by the development of ship-building and a naval base, and later by construction of the 5 Freeway and the Coronado Bay Bridge. The community, though, has been determined: in the 1970s, after a community uprising blocked development of a Highway Patrol sub-station on land that was promised as a community park, artists began painting the very pillars that hold up the bridge – and divide their neighborhood – with beautiful and bold murals depicting the history, people, and traditions of their community.

Our visit to Chicano Park was the final visit of the Borderlands Social Justice Pilgrimage that Everest Harvey and I led this past weekend. Our group spent some time wandering among the pillars of the park, time looking up at the murals, reading incredible stories in the images, and honoring their beauty. Like the windows in our sanctuary, the monumental murals are a kind of cathedral, except this one carved into the leftover spaces under the bridge, rather than placed in a prominent location.

Then, our group set up chairs and blankets in a circle for a final time of conversation and prayer. We weren’t there very long, in our visible seating circle, before we were approached by a man we didn’t know. He said he didn’t recognize us, but not in a menacing “You’re not from around here” kind of a way; it was obvious that he had a deep love for the park and for his community, and he wanted to be sure we respected that. Then, he spent time with us, telling us stories of his lifelong involvement in the park, a dedication that he has learned from his family. His openness in speaking with us, his love for his community, and his desire to protect his neighbors and neighborhood were obvious. He shared grief and anger, too; it was the third anniversary of the death of Chris DeArman, a friend who was shot by police during a traffic stop in the park. He was generous and welcoming and passionate.

After he finished talking with us, we watched him put his work gloves back on, and go to continue his tending work, picking up trash in a small parking lot in the park.

The whole encounter felt holy to me. We were, after all, outsiders. Strangers to that place, we received welcome and invitation to connection. This was very different from our encounter with masked Border Patrol officers the day before, but that’s a story for another day. Today, I want to give testimony to the gift of connection with others.

In times like these, when it’s easy to feel afraid, isolated, alone, and mistrustful, making new friends is an act of rebellion. Particularly for those of us who move through the world with privilege (like from our perceived race, economic class, gender, or language), going to someplace new, with curiosity and appreciation, can be an act of vulnerable and powerful grace. My world has been expanded by our encounter.

Chicano Park showed me a vision of a community that chooses to stand together, despite decades of hostility and neglect–from city leadership, from law enforcement, from the federal government. It also reminded me that the work of justice is long, and that we have always had work to do, together.

For today, I’m still sitting with what a gift it felt like to experience this all through our pilgrimage (Border Patrol encounter excepted): we encountered people who offered welcome and invited us to see and understand more about their stories. People who love their communities and places.

May we honor the gifts that come from connection and love.

grace and peace,
Pastor Molly