Many of us have survived, prospered and kept moving forward only thanks to family and circles of friends and allies.
At 29, while living in solitude in a foreign city, I was seized by a call to religion and spirituality. It felt so uncanny, I needed some time to grasp what was happening. From then on, I have been buoyed by an evolving and frankly at times up-and-down bond with believers, living and dead. In my acquired Catholic culture, a virtually infinite universe of art, music, writings, buildings, practices, institutions and communities teaches me in profound ways about God’s love.
In 2013, in the Los Angeles neighborhood of Boyle Heights, I naively wandered into the region of the Catholic “map” defined by Hispanic communities, understood in the broadest sense, from Spain to Latin America to the U.S., and the Jesuit priests linked to them. The Jesuit parish I ed is small and poor but has spun off several remarkable initiatives. These include Father Greg Boyle’s Homeboy Industries organization, famed for extracting young people from violent gangs: “Nothing stops a bullet like a job.”
I had only a vague, historical idea of Jesuits (“soldiers” of the Counter-Reformation?). Observing the parishioners’ poverty, exposure to violence and devotion at masses gave a new cast to my faith. The parish priests were models of commitment, working in overdrive to strengthen the community. They introduced me to the teachings of Ignatian spirituality, a gift of Spanish Basque Ignatius Loyola, who founded the Jesuit order in the 16th century.
By pure coincidence, a French friend sent me a startling book vividly narrating Ignatius’ conversion from soldier to God’s servant. It was written by a brilliant Paris attorney balancing a successful corporate practice, major human rights cases and a nonprofit ing immigrants.
Since 2016, I have belonged to another Jesuit parish, Our Lady of Guadalupe in San Diego, almost nestled under Interstate 5 after it loops through Downtown. It was founded to serve Catholics fleeing the Mexican Revolution. Pre-pandemic, 300 people, grouped mostly in families, typically packed the sanctuary for each weekend mass. A prominent Mexican historian wrote that the love of “fiesta” is the most important common denominator of Mexican identity. Parishioners brought this sense to enliven the services with prayer and singing, and to the parish social events to commemorate the Virgin and Ignatius.
With no large Mass attendance now, collection plate income has dwindled, and the parish has severely curtailed expenses. More parishioners cannot afford to pay to meet their families’ basic needs. The community is poor. But Pastor Father Marty Silva tells me he’s seen an outpouring of love for the parish expressed in extraordinary acts of generosity. Several donors are ing 25 families in distress. Parishioners are staging food sales in front of the church. Volunteers working on major maintenance projects help the parish avoid expenses.
Religious engagement has taken me to places I never imagined. I am grateful to all the people who have allowed me to witness and benefit from these histories of faith, selflessness and solidarity.
Blocker is strategy and communication adviser for the San Diego-Tijuana Smart Border Coalition. He lives in La Jolla.
