Abandoned

Abandoned (Part Three - Chapter 43)

CHAPTER 43: West Texas, 1621 A.D. ...... (Your review here)

"By God's mercy, soon we will find water."

"All glories to Jesus Christ, His Divine Son. All glories to our Savior. Don't fret Juan, soon we will find something to ease our parched throats. We have to trust that our guides, who were sent to us by God, will not let us down. Surely God is leading them as well as us."

The two Spanish priests and the 30 Jumano Indians had been heading east from the mission at Isleta for well over 13 weeks. The land didn't appear that much different from parts of Spain. The blistering heat of the day and the cold nights were also familiar. "Diego, how much longer do you suppose we have to walk?"

At least they had a donkey to carry their load. The squaws fared far worse. And sure enough, their thirst was soon quenched, but their feet still hurt. Then another week passed when suddenly they spotted a band of Indians in the distance.

"Padre, who are they? I don't know, it's hard to see from here."

Straining to see them, Juan blurted out, "I think they're coming this way."

Watching them closely for a good 30 minutes the two priests noticed that the six Indians were headed straight for them—speaking only a few words to the others as they drew near. Soon they all stood still, facing each other in a random mass—eyes looking at each other, but heads still. The dust that had been kicked up settled back down upon the ground—their dogs eyeing each other nervously.

Both priests reached for the crosses that hung around their necks—raising them slowly above their heads—"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost."

Screenshot: YouTube video, Sor María Jesús de Agreda

But what caught them off guard was how quickly the six Indians—in fact, how rapidly all the Indians pulled out their own crosses, hidden under their clothing—holding them in the same way for the two priests to see.

Screenshot: YouTube video, Sor María Jesús de Agreda

A one-eyed Jumano with a dirty headband tied across his forehead spoke. "They say they were told where to find us."

"But for what reason? Who told them?"

"She wanted to give you a sign."

Now it was the older brother who spoke. "Ask them if they can take us to her."

Almost on cue the Indians turned toward the east without speaking another word and began to walk. "Padre, they are still holding their crosses."

"Blessed is this day, Juan, God has kept us safe."

Ten days later, after slowly climbing to reach the top of what would one day be called, College Hill, located behind the HEB grocery store in San Angelo, Texas, the Indians stopped and motioned for the two priests to join them.

"What is it Father? What do they want?"

The six Indians who had recently joined them held out their crosses, pointing with them toward the valley below. But the two missionaries still had a few yards to climb before they could see what was down below.

"Padre, maybe a river; just a little further."

Four hundred years later when the occasional scholar would try to put down in writing what the two men saw, facts always seemed to clash with fiction, frustrating the most prudent historian—discouraging most. Earning their degrees at Harvard and Yale, they were taught that history was not supposed to tease the sensibilities of sensible people. So what were they expected to say when asked to write about the history of San Angelo, Texas in 1622?

Reaching the top of the hill where they could see below, the two priests seemed to lose their breath.

Without warning the two Spaniards fell to the earth like rods—reverent obeisances offered again and again—the Indians mimicking their every move.

Juan slowly rose to his knees—his palms pressed together near his heart—seeking breath to pray. Father Diego followed his lead—the Indians trying to do the same. Quietly both men began to speak in Spanish, uttering the same prayer that she had taught the Indians, but in their native tongue. The Lord's prayer never sounded so beautiful.

Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos; Santificado sea tu Nombre; Venga tu reino; Hágase tu voluntad; En la tierra como en el cielo; Danos hoy el pan de este día; y perdona nuestras deudas; como nosotros perdonamos nuestros deudores; y no nos dejes caer en al tentación; sino que líbranos del malo.

Both men stood up, holding their crosses high above their heads as a sign of triumph, for the glory of their Savior.

In the valley below, perhaps as many as seven or eight thousand Jumano Indians—men, women, and children—were walking eight abreast in a huge circle, following the lead of an enormous cross. The two priests wrote in their report that the cross was over six feet tall and decorated with a beautiful flower garland.

When the two Spaniards came closer to investigate they found an area where many sick Indians were laying down as if waiting for them. "In the Name of Jesus Christ." The two men stopped at each blanket, gazing into the hopeful eyes looking up at them. As they later wrote, 'the blind, the deaf, the paralyzed; all were healed'. Over the next year they estimated that over ten thousand Jumano Indians were baptized. By the year 1630, Spanish priests wrote to King Philip of Spain claiming that 60,000 Indians had received Christ, living in 25 different mission districts—not a savage among them.

As far as the woman that the Indians had earlier spoken about, she was never seen by the two priests. Only the beautiful rosary beads gave testament that she had been there. Undisturbed, the Indians declared that a beautiful woman in a blue cape had taught them how to make the flower garlands and decorate the large cross—all the while speaking perfectly in their native language.

"Brother Juan, how else could they have known?"

"Omnia possibilia sunt crendenti:" For the believer all is possible.

450 Years Later - College Hill, San Angelo, Texas/Photo: by the author, Ronald E. Boutelle