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The Rev. Tom Elewaut, the pastor of Mission San Buenaventura in Ventura, Calif., holding a holy card commemorating the canonization of its founder, the Rev. Junípero Serra, which is slated for Wednesday.Credit Monica Almeida/The New York Times

VENTURA, Calif. — On his way to Mass every morning at Mission San Buenaventura, Miguel Olivas drives past the bronze statue of the Catholic mission’s founder, Junípero Serra, a Spanish Franciscan friar, and murmurs a plea: “Pray for me, Father Serra. Watch over me.”

But to Jorge Escamilla, Father Serra — who will be canonized by Pope Francis on Wednesday in Washington — is much more than a source of spiritual solace. He is also a vital touchstone, signaling the importance of Latinos in the multicultural history of the Catholic Church and the United States.

“He spoke Spanish. I speak Spanish. The pope speaks Spanish,” Mr. Escamilla said gleefully after a packed Spanish Mass last Sunday at San Buenaventura, explaining why he will be one of thousands traveling to Washington for the canonization. “I belong.”

On the eve of sainthood, Father Serra has come to mean different things to different groups of people. For some Native Americans, he is the 18th-century colonialist who established a system of subjugation predicated on their compliance with the Spanish way of life. For Catholics outside California, he is mostly unknown.

But in the West, and especially in California, Father Serra is widely revered — especially among churchgoing Latino Catholics like Mr. Escamilla, 73, who arrived in the United States in 1981 after escaping a bloody civil war in El Salvador.

He said he was excited and honored to be able to witness the moment when Francis, the pontiff from Argentina, makes Father Serra the first Hispanic saint from the United States.

Father Serra lived by the motto emblazoned above the doors to the parish school’s auditorium here — “Siempre adelante,” always forward — but he has long been a controversial figure.

Historians say he was a man of his time, serving a church and state united in their colonizing ambitions. He flogged Native Americans who he felt deserved punishment for breaking the rules of the nine missions he established along the coast, from San Diego to San Francisco. He also protected them, locking up women at night so they would not fall prey to Spanish soldiers and, once, preventing the execution of men accused of killing fellow missionaries.

“He constantly told his students in the seminary to commit themselves to indigenous people, commit themselves to the missionary enterprise for, quote, the salvation of humanity, and he truly embraced that as his calling,” said Rubén G. Mendoza, an archaeology professor in the Division of Social, Behavioral and Global Studies at California State University, Monterey Bay, whose research focuses on California’s missions. “He came to these territories convinced that he could save indigenous peoples.”

Father Serra was a theologian who abandoned the comforts of academic life in his native Mallorca to spread the gospel in lands unknown — “the inspiration I need to keep going,” said Mr. Olivas, 83, his labored breathing the only hint of the hardening of the tissue in his lungs, an incurable condition.

Father Serra sailed rough seas from Spain to Mexico in 1749 and walked 200 miles from Veracruz to Mexico City, in an exercise of penance. There, he prayed at the shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe, a Virgin Mary depicted with brown skin. Theologians and historians who have studied his writings said he spoke with excitement about evangelizing Native Americans.

“Most Americans are familiar with the East Coast narrative of European expansion, the early British settlers who were there to recreate English society and made virtually no room for native people,” said Robert M. Senkewicz, a history professor at Santa Clara University and a co-author of “Junípero Serra: California, Indians and the Transformation of a Missionary,” a biography published in February. “When Serra came to California, he envisioned a future in which native people would have a place in society, even if an inferior place.”

In this city, his presence is hard to miss. A life-size statue of Father Serra stands in front of City Hall. A replica of the cross he placed on a hillside to guide travelers is the centerpiece of a popular lookout. A school is named after him, and Junípero Serra Way, next to the county museum, functions as a parking lot.

The congregation at Mission San Buenaventura has a mix of language and heritage that is traditional in Southern California — English and Spanish, Anglo and Hispanic. Its members’ roots in the area are measured both in months and in generations.

Jim Elwell Martinez is a descendant of a Spanish Army sergeant who arrived in these parts with Father Serra in the late 1700s. The ancestor, José Francisco Ortega, rose to become commander of the presidio in San Diego.

Francis Sparagna Jr. moved here from Los Angeles with his wife, Diana, 10 months ago.

Mr. Martinez is bilingual. Mr. Sparagna, whose roots are in Naples, Italy, speaks only English. Mr. Escamilla and his wife, Ana, speak mostly Spanish.

Tickets to the canonization Mass were distributed primarily to Latino parishes. The Archdiocese of Los Angeles — the largest in the nation, with 287 parishes and about five million faithful — received 275 tickets.

San Buenaventura, which Father Serra founded in 1782, got nine of these. Its pastor, the Rev. Tom Elewaut, who is traveling to Washington, said the trip may have been too costly for many of his members anyway.

The Escamillas, who received two tickets, will fly east on Monday and stay with relatives in Gettysburg, Pa., 80 miles north of Washington. The Sparagnas, who received two more, will stay at the Four Seasons in Georgetown.

Ventura will commemorate its 150th anniversary in April, and a procession and bilingual Mass on Nov. 21, organized by San Buenaventura to honor Father Serra’s sainthood, has been included on the calendar of festivities. On Monday, Father Elewaut and Mr. Martinez walked the procession’s route, discussing street closings and other logistical details, such as when the Spanish soldiers in Mr. Martinez’s re-enactment group will fire their muskets.

About 800 people are expected, including the archbishop of Los Angeles, José H. Gómez, who has been one of the most ardent proponents of the canonization. In an interview on Wednesday, Archbishop Gómez pushed back against the critics, saying Father Serra provides “a great example of respect for the other, love and charity.”

In letters to the editor published by local newspapers, Father Serra’s story has received a different interpretation; one writer said he had “forced” his belief system on indigenous people “at the cost of their culture.” In an email statement on Thursday, members of several Native American tribes denounced him as the “architect of the California mission system,” whose policies “unequivocally led to atrocities against our ancestors.”

Mr. Olivas said he had tuned out the criticism. He did not try to get tickets for the Mass. He and Liz, his wife of 62 years, will be at the school auditorium on Wednesday, “with people who love Father Serra, like we do,” watching the canonization Mass on a big screen.

Until then, Mr. Olivas will continue to pray to him each morning — “not necessarily to be cured,” he said, “but to resign myself to the will of God.”