By Fr. Benjamin Holdren
Director of the propaedeutic year of formation at St Gregory the Great Seminary
We read in the Psalms, “Lord, what is man that you are mindful of him? Why does your heart go out to him?” From this St. Bernard pours out his heart: “The more He lowered Himself for me, the dearer He is to me.”
On Dec. 9, I found myself second guessing a decision to take nine first-year seminarians to Mexico City. I had been on mission to the City twice before, and was greatly looking forward to being back. However, this year our friend and mission leader, Craig Johring, had encouraged me to come down during the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. I knew that the feast day brought many pilgrims to the Basilica of Our Lady, but since booking the tickets I found out that the estimated influx was 18 million pilgrims.
Eighteen million??
We safely landed, checked into the convent where we were staying, and began the short 15-minute walk to the basilica. All my fears evaporated as we walked onto the plaza of the basilica to trumpets, snare drums, and tubas. Exuberant bands of pilgrims were serenading our Blessed Mother from the high steps of the upper plaza gazing upon the turquoise dome of the main church where the tilma bearing the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe is housed. My heart was filled with unexpected joy. I was deeply moved by the heart of Our Blessed Mother welcoming her children coming in the millions; streaming into the city to be with her.
For much of 5,000 years, the native Mexican people offered up to 200,000 human sacrifices each year. They were steeped in the worship of a god of death and war, symbolized by a serpent, who demanded human blood. Their god needed to be appeased because he was hateful, vengeful, and lusted for humans to pour out their blood for him. Satan inverted their understanding of the Father. They were a symbol of humanity trapped in the darkness and violence of sin.
On Dec. 12, 1531, our Blessed Mother appeared to a native Indian, Juan Diego, and gave him the miraculous tilma. Over the next five years, 9 million native people converted to Catholicism. There has never been a bigger conversion in any religion, in any age of humanity. What was it about the tilma that shined so brightly into the darkness?
In the tilma, Mary is not masked, unlike all the gods that were known to the Indians. In the Aztec culture, someone unmasked is clearly human, not a god. Yet despite this, she is more powerful than their greatest gods. She stands on the moon. She covers the sun. She wears a heavenly mantle, bluish green, which was reserved solely for rulers. This woman is a powerful queen. She is surrounded by clouds and mist, which point to her divine origin and mission. She has come, bringing a message of great light from heaven.
Mary’s hair is loose, which in Aztec culture signifies virginity. Around her waist is a black sash tied with a bow, which signifies a pregnant woman; she is a virgin who is with child. Over her womb is a flower of five parts—four elements meeting in the center, the Aztec ideal of harmony and beauty. The number 5 symbolizes the meeting of man and God. This lady is a virgin who bears the true God in her womb.
The angel at the bottom of the image holds the brown of Mary’s clothing and the blue of her veil: the child in her womb is both man (from the earth) and God (from heaven). She stands on the moon, which is the color black. Her foot is crushing the darkness; the child in her womb has come to conquer sin, death and war. He has come to bring a new era in human history; a civilization of love has begun in Our Lady’s womb. “Lord, what is man that you are mindful of him? Why does your heart go out to him?”
For 5,000 years, the Indians had offered human sacrifices. The next five years—comparatively overnight—they were converted to Catholicism. This was a nuclear explosion of grace. Almost 500 years have passed, and still, an estimated 18 million people came through the basilica on the feast day of Guadalupe. Hundreds slept on the concrete sidewalks around the basilica. They were wrapped in simple blankets, trying to rest on the cold hard cement in the Mexican winter, where temperatures approach freezing at night. Their lives have clearly been deeply affected by the reality of God. He sees them. He knows them. He loves them deeply. He has come into our world seeking each of us.
Mary’s words to Juan Diego are for each of us. She said, “I am honored and joyful to be your mother.” Even in the darkness of our sins. Even in the weakness of our humanity. Even here, we find the joy of a Mother who desires to lead us to the transforming Mercy of her Son; to Jesus, the one who saves; to Emmanuel, God with us.
During Christmas, we remembered that the first moments of Jesus’ life were spent in a cave filled with the stench of animals. There was no room at the comfortable inn. From the first moments of His time on earth, Jesus reveals that He has come to enter into the darkest parts of our humanity. We all sin, and we all feel shame. Do we realize that Jesus is not put off by this part of who we are? Jesus is not put off by the mess of our sins, but comes bringing His light to wash these parts of us again and again, making us new.
Anyone who takes the time to really internalize the beauty of this truth is never the same. We are seen by God. He knows everything about us, darkness and all. And yet, He still chooses us. This year, may we say with St. Bernard and the millions of Guadalupe pilgrims, “The more He lowered Himself for me, the dearer He is to me.”
