Every Brick Tells a Story...

I couldn’t help but hide the fact that I’d never visited any of the Missions in San Antonio. Although embarrassed, the enthusiasm and anticipation of what was to come engulfed me as my best friend, Kristin, and I parked at Mission Francisco de Espada. While gathering in the courtyard with classmates, I couldn’t escape that my ancestors walked this very ground that I stood upon. Our tour guide, Park Ranger Dora V. Martinez, enlightened us of a brief history before we started on our journey back in time to get a feel of what it was like living at Mission Espada.
Mission Espada was first established in Mississippi in 1690. It was later moved to what is now known as Austin in 1720 and in 1731 arrived at its third and final residence of present day San Antonio, Texas. Although we say the mission was moved, the buildings were never lifted and carried from one site to another; the only things that moved were people and documents, such as birth certificates, death certificates, etc. While strolling along the courtyard perimeters it was evident that Mission Espada was not just a home for Spaniards and Native Americans, but also a battleground and protection facility for many. My classmates and I discovered many holes in the walls that seemed to have been put there purposely. These holes were where many of the men rested their firearms in an attempt to shield their land and family against the Apaches and Comanche tribes. The gunshots only reached a mere fifteen feet, so the soldiers had to literally wait until they could see the “whites of their eyes” in order to know they had a clear enough shot.
Many are falsely led to believe that the churches of these missions are the sole purpose for their existence. Although the first church of Mission Espada was not strong enough to stay standing, the second one was. The church is still an active house of worship. The church doors have a mysterious story, maybe because no one is certain if it is true or not. A mason who designed the archway of the outside outline of the church doors fled/ran away one night. Later, research leads us to find that a mason fled because he killed a man over a woman and didn’t want to be hung for his crime. All the archway pieces were pre-cut, but because of job security, on the mason knew where each piece went. Since no other person could figure out the puzzle, the archway of the church ended up being narrower than expected.
Our last stop was the courtyard. We ended where we had started, and this was what touched me most of all. As I listened to Ranger Martinez, her voice became more of a narrative voice as I vision men and boys weaving clothing, and women farming the crops. Being in ninety-degree heat I pictured men’s blistered backs because there weren’t enough trees to block the sun from hitting them as hard as they dug the asequia.
There may only be brick and rock, and a few building left standing, but to me this mission is still very much alive. The spirits that still roam the soil touch every bit of beauty that this mission has left. I felt my ancestors there, and could see the great things that they started. I have yet to see all the missions, but tomorrow is never too late.