A bent-over woman with a mantilla draped over her head slowly makes her way down the aisle of the small church. She pauses before a large picture of Mary and the baby Jesus, who is tied to his mother's hip with a colorful Mexican serape.
Votive candles and a statue of a saint draped with beads occupy places of honor in this simple, white stucco church filled with wooden benches. There is one stained-glass window, an image of Jesus praying in the garden of Gethsemane. A bell outside rings to beckon people in the surrounding barrio to the Sunday morning service.
The service begins with prayer for a woman who has been a leader in one of the barrio's active comunidades de base. She had helped to organize Bible studies and nonviolent acts of defiance against the drug trade. Earlier in the week, her home was shot up by drug dealers, and she now fears for the lives of her young children.
This is Dolores Mission Church in East Los Angeles. Dolores means "sorrows" in Spanish, and indeed this corner of the city has its share. Poverty, illegal drugs, and gang violence are rampant.
The church provides a haven of hope here. The garage of the parish house has been turned into a meeting place and physical workout area for young gang members, who consider it a home. At night, several homeless people sleep in the sanctuary.
A school and temporary shelter for women are housed in the parish hall, where after the service, tortillas and menudo are served to the congregation and visitors. The menudo -- a pungent soup made of entrails and hominy, served with slices of fresh lime, onions, dried red chili peppers, oregano, and fresh cilantro -- is a mainstay of life here. Every woman has her own recipe.
THE GOSPEL PASSAGE FOR this Sunday morning is the story of Jesus' visit to the home of Mary and Martha. The priest, Father Greg Boyle, hopes to use it as an illustration of freedom from prescribed roles, emphasizing Jesus' affirmation of Mary's choice to listen and learn rather than get caught up in the flurry of meal preparation that occupied Martha.
Boyle offers his sermon in base-community style, asking questions and encouraging reflection and discussion. At one point he asks the congregation, "Why do you think it is that only men sat at Jesus' feet to listen and learn?"
Seven-year-old Daniel has his hand up in a flash. Boyle calls on him, and Daniel answers strongly, "Because the men don't know how to make menudo."
An insuppressible laugh travels through the congregation, and Boyle grins and shouts, "Lo ultimo, Daniel!" It was the ultimate answer.
In this corner of East L.A., a new vision is being born -- where women are empowered to lead Bible studies and the fight against illegal drugs, and where men are free to make menudo. Both will require courage.
Joyce Hollyday was associate editor of Sojourners when this article appeared.
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