Along the Way

Driving south out of Tucson on Interstate 19, heading toward Green Valley, the historic community of Tubac, and, eventually, the Mexican border, you get a brief glimpse of Mission San Xavier del Bac, "The White Dove of the Desert." On a waning summer evening, it looks startling and pure, brilliant in the setting sun. You might even be tempted to entertain a brief fantasy of Spaniards riding north on their great Andalusian stallions, of Father Kino, the 18th-century Jesuit missionary, recognizing this unnamed valley as a place to build another mission, another post for bringing "the word" and "civilization" to the "heathens." Riding horseback in the riverbed of the Santa Cruz, far below 20th-century traffic, is another reality, a world apart. The riverbed is wide and deep, the banks made steep by centuries of erosion. I ride through tall dry grass, past rocks, and across sandbars that hold the memory of rushing water long gone, its passing visible in the delicate patterns left behind in the white sand, brush strokes as varied and beautiful as snowflakes. It's silent. I can hear the saddle creaking, my horse breathing, insects singing. If I look carefully into the distant summer dusk,I can almost see the Spanish riders approaching. I'm alone with my imagination. I can feel what it must have been like for those early explorers as I ride on, half expecting to meet them in the evening stillness. Suddenly, my horse is startled, and I become aware of a figure, far across the sandbars and grass, walking toward me, waving and calling. I'm surprised; my attention is forced back to the present. Who is this, and what does he want? Should I gallop away or go to meet him? Might as well chance it, I decide, and ride over. Four equine legs give me the advantage. As I draw closer, I see a young man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He carries a backpack and has a friendly face, flushed from hiking in the evening heat. "Can you direct me to San Xavier mission?" he asks, as I approach. "I've just arrived in Tucson and decided to set out immediately for the mission. I thought if I took a shortcut through the riverbed and up the west bank, I could make it before dark." "As a matter of fact, you're almost there," I assure him. "But the west bank is very steep and hard to climb, especially at dusk. Walk downriver and cross the bridge you see in the distance. You'll be able to climb up out of the riverbed there near the highway where it's graded. Once across the bridge, you'll have the mission in sight." We spend a few minutes visiting. "Where are you from?" I ask. "Most people don't choose Tucson for a summer vacation." His answer surprises me: "I'm a Franciscan priest. I'm scheduled to say mass at San Xavier in the morning. It's been a dream of mine for some time. This is a very special journey for me." He speaks easily, an amiable and gentle person. We discuss his travels and his long-held interest in Spanish missions. It is an enjoyable conversation, cut short by the gradually approaching darkness. He thanks me for being friendly and helpful and walks on his way. I ride off in my own direction, pensive and thinking about this unexpected and unusual meeting. It seems only moments have passed when I again hear someone calling. I look around, but I see no one. Then something catches my eye. There is the traveling priest, high atop the far bank, triumphantly gesturing. Waving and shouting thank you, he turns and walks into the pink afterglow. I rein in my horse. How did he get to the top of that bank so quickly? It hardly seems possible. How odd that my solitary reverie about a priest's journey of long ago should be interrupted by another priest, appearing as if out of nowhere, about to fulfill his own dream of saying mass at Father Kino's mission. Could it be that I met with a spirit of the past? Mexican folklore contends that souls often hover in riverbeds just as evening descends. What a ridiculous thought! Of course there's a much more reasonable explanation. On the other hand, what do you think?

A VERY SPECIAL JOURNEY TO MISSION SAN XAVIER