As religious and cultural traditions are pretty intermingled here, I am often not sure whether I am experiencing a Mexican or Catholic custom. Such was the case on Friday evening, when I went to Mass to see the Dormition of the Virgin Maria.
It was the eve of the Assumption of Maria, the day that celebrates Maria's` entrance into heaven. In Catholic teaching, there is debate as to whether it was her just soul that entered or if God raised up her whole body. For Mexicans, there is little doubt that she went cuerpo intact. Thus she is put to sleep the night before the Assumption (the Dormition) and she is raised up while sleeping.
As the Dormition was something new for Jess and me, we were pretty excited to go. However, right before Mass was to begin, we had to wait out a massive downpour. Once things settled down, I donned flip-flops, we both rolled up our pants legs and we waded through the streets of Santa Fe in order to see the Reina.
As so happens during major religious feasts, the atmosphere in Santa Fe was the opposite of what the cause of celebration would imply. The Feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe was full of chaos and revelry and Good Friday was an excuse to excessively eat and drink. On the day when one is meant to reflect on the purity and chastity of a woman, a dozen men stood in the market place street catcalling females.
``Fire,`` one man called to us, which was a cue for the rest to try and sing the lyrics of a song and fail, and instead slur ``Babies lights my fires.``
``If you`re going to speak in English, learn to speak it correctly,`` Jess shouted at them in perfect Spanish, allowing me to walk away smugly. (If I had tried to yell the same thing in Spanish, it would have come out like `When you speak English, tried talk correctly` and the effect would have been lost.)
We plodded past them and into a church gone dark--not because it was bedtime, but due to a power outage. Aside from a bed surrounded by apples and angel statues in front of the altar, Mass was typical. Afterward, Padre instructed various baptism classes to go to different rooms and neither Jess or I could figure out what big thing was going to happen--usually for these types of events the statue of the Virgin is paraded around town after Mass.
While I was changing out of my flip-flops in anticipation of going outside, Jess and our friends seemed to disappear on me. Now, I hadn`t heard any instructions, the church was dark, and lately I have been wearing pair of glasses with an outdated prescription as I`m awaiting a new shipment of contacts. Sensory-deprived, I stumbled out of church (the Friday nights I spent leaving bars in such a manner are a lifetime ago) and began looking for the Virgin. In the middle of the marketplace street, I stopped to telephone Jess but she didn`t pick up. Contemplating what to do, I looked up to encounter of the previously-mentioned drunk men who (not looking for a virgin) offered ``Drink, Guerita?``
Thus was the cue for the rest of the men to begin shouting at me. It reminded me of a cartoon scene whereby someone seemingly finds safety in a cave, only to see one set of yellow, glowing eyes , and than notices about 20 more wolves waiting to pounce on them.
``Baby, baby, I love you,`` they all screamed in English. I didn`t feel nervous but it was rather embarrassing to be in the middle of a big scene. It was like sitting outside at the parish--the dozen dogs that Padre keeps there always crawl all over me because Jess is nice to them and they smell her scent on me--and it attracts unwanted attention.
I hurried out of the marketplace and looked around a few blocks before heading back to the church. Apparently Jess had never left and the Virgin had only been taken off the altar. She was put in a special room, her garments were changed and she was laid in bed. A group of parishioners stayed up all night keeping vigil over the statue. I left early for my own personal dormition.
The next day, I woke up at five a.m. to the sound of fireworks. Jess and I headed back to church, where eight Virgin statues had been placed on the altar. Overnight, people had taken out their Virgin statues from roadside shrines, changed their clothes and brought them to church. For three hours various mariachi and rondella bands played to them in a crowded church. Outside, sweet bread and coffee was served. I don`t know if it`s common in other Catholic countries to give such attention to Virgin statues, but I do think Mattel would be highly successful were it to market a Virgin Maria Barbie in Mexico.
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Having witnessed the glorification of motherhood, it was only fitting that in the afternoon I experienced its pitfalls. After a long morning nap, I went to work at the convent, where residents, nuns and others where outside for Mass. I was upstairs visiting with the babies when Sister Estrella came to me with Carolina (half of a set of developmentally-delayed twins who can` t talk yet,) who was kicking and crying.
`` Here, if you want to take her somewhere you can,`` said Sister Estrella. ``Take her.``
``Oh...So, do you want me to take her to Mass?" I asked.
``Mass or wherever,`` Sister shrugged. ``Just take her somewhere.`` We each took a hand of Carolinas` and she jumped downstairs and outside.
(Some background-- a few weeks ago Carolina`s twin began attending daycare while Carolina remains at home, restless. Carolina can`t go because she is aggressive and overactive if she were to attend, the nuns are afraid that she would hurt the other children or be disruptive. On Friday, I asked Sister if Carolina could to the guardaria a few afternoons a week if I were accompany her. Sister Estrella had reservations about this, but did say I could probably take her out on walks or to the park. I hadn`t expected our outings to begin so quickly.)
Carolina sat through a minute of Mass before getting up to run around. I followed her closely, feeling as if I were being tested somehow. I took her a little further down the street, where a makeshift carnival was being set up and we looked at the games and rides.
Carolina was difficult-- she tugged and grabbed at games and toys. Even when I held her hand tightly, she would run up to strangers and wrap herself around them. I held her in my arms and she cried, squirmed and tried to climb onto strange woman. The only thing that made her calm and attentive was taking off my glasses and putting them on her face, which was unsafe for us both. Carolina is rather fair-skinned and as I clutched her and she wailed, people on the streets stared at us as if I were a really bad mother. I wondered how for the second time in less than 24 hours, I was part of another spectacle.
I wanted to bring her over to Sister Estrella and say ``Here, you can take her now,`` but I felt like it would be giving up to easily so I held on to her. It made me wonder what sort of mother I would be. With my own possessions, I am careless and tend to break and lose things and I have always worried I`d be like this with my own kids. However, being with Carolina made me think I`d be overprotective parent who would imagine harm at every corner. I wondered how she could be so fear less when there was so much danger awaiting her.
Eventually, Carolina got so fussy that I took her back to the convent grounds, and it was better because I could let her roam around. She found some sweet bread which she ate happily and slowly while sitting in my lap as we listened to choir music, rainfall and fireworks. That type of moment keeps motherhood in business.
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That evening, I attended Mass for the Feast of the Assumption, special because the bishop was there and Jessica`s children`s choir sang . At the end of Mass, Padre announced that a statue of the Virgin would be crowned eleven different times by people representing various community members. While representatives of nuns, church workers (Gallo did the honors in this group and drew the applause of a rock star) and families crowned the Virgin and said a few words, I watched nervously. Padre had mentioned something about either Jess or me participating in the Coronation of the Virgin, but I had figured Jess would handle it and it would take place during Sunday Mass.
However, Jess was way up in the choir loft and Padre saw me near the front of the church and asked me to crown the Virgin as a representative of missionaries. I have a certain amount of public speaking anxiety, so I was proud of myself for being able to muster up a few words in Spanish thanking the people for Santa Fe for their hospitality and for the presence of nuestra madre.
One of the nice things about this blog is that I was able to back at the blog entry I made at this time during Orientation. I wrote about how it was unusual for me to celebrate the Feast of the Assumption but that I anticipated doing even more out of the out of the ordinary things.
That has come to pass as I have found myself in unanticipated situations here. Though it may sound like I spend all my time struggling with small children and Spanish I have also witnessed a lot of cool things--this weekend for example was a huge celebration for the Assumption and I watched fireworks after Saturday Mass and Aztec dancers on Sunday. My difficult experiences here has been made easier because I have found some many people who have been loving and accepting.
Despite struggling to accept a different way of life and witnessing very sad situations, I still feel blessed to be here. I wrote last year that my goal was to make the most of things I didn`t expect. To a certain extent I have done that and I have to give myself credit for being able to take things that are (certainly in the case of small children) thrown at me. While day-to-day life presents a certain amount of stress, I hope that in the coming year I`ll be able to take what I`ve learned over the past year and better enjoy and appreciate the people around me.
Showing posts with label virgin mary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label virgin mary. Show all posts
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Ven Con Nosotros!
The title of this posting refers to the lyrics of one of the only religious songs (in Spanish) that I have memorized, due to the fact that I hear it so often . It goes Ven con nosotros a caminar, Santa Maria Ven and roughly translates to 'Come with us and walk, Saint Mary, come!'
Lately, Santa Maria has been doing a lot of walking with the people of Santa Fe. As I've mentioned before, the Virgin Maria is revered by most everyone here and the Feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe (commemorating the day in the 1500s when she appeared as indigenous women outside of Mexico City) is amongst biggest holidays of the year. I recently learned that locally the Feast of the Assumption of Mary is almost equally as significant due to the fact that our parish is named in honor of her.
This means that since the beginning of August there have been processions, fireworks and fiestas in her honor which are leading up to the August 15th feast day. Certain groups have their own special celebrations. The other day, a statue of the Virgin was displayed in the marketplace along with welcoming signs and flowers. As I was walking home from work that day (irritated by the noisy, daytime fireworks being set off), a woman whom I had never met before grabbed me asked me why I wasn`t taking part in the parade that was going to be had with the statue. She begrudgingly accepted that I couldn't go because I had a class to teach.
No matter. Santa Maria came to me, as a group of paraders dressed in white carried her statue past my home. They returned a half hour later, stopped in front of our chapel, and a woman more or less demanded that I open up its` doors. Trumpets and hornets were blasting, participants sang, and friends of ours went up on the roof to ring the church bells. Little children trooped in and out of our house to use the bathroom. It seems my frequent singing the song worked and Santa Maria (and her followers) walked to me.
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How does it affect girls growing up in a country where there is such devotion to a figure whose three most well-known qualities are that she is a virgin, she is a mother and she is without sin? I began thinking about this a few months ago when I brought two sisters from our parish youth group to a procession that the Missionaries of Charity (the nuns who live with disabled, abandoned women in the convent where I work) held in honor of the Feast of the Sacred Heart of Mary. Despite it being a cold, dreary rainy day, we marched alongside the nuns and other devoted persons while carrying a statue of the Virgin Maria.
The nuns ordered us to form lines and sing and encouraged passersby to join in the march. At random spots, Sister Maria stopped us so that we could pray and Rosary and convinced taco-stand diners and tired shopkeepers to join in. At one point, we were praying near the highway and I looked up past the Virgin and saw a huge billboard featuring Hugh Hefner surrounded by three young beautiful blond women--an advertisement for a television show called `The Girls Next Store`. (Although in Mexico the program is called `The Girls of the Playboy Mansion because the irony of the true title would be lost here.)
The moment was a literal synopsis of Gender Studies 101 class that I took ten years ago at a small women's college. Society and the media largely promote the idea that for a women to be looked up to, she must either be a blond, white sex object or as pristine as the Virgin Maria. In the United States, there is much more promotion of beautiful, white women, while in Mexico (at least in the part where I live) images of the Virgin predominate. Mexican women can relate to the morena Virgin of Guadalupe but it would be impossible and superfluous to try and be like skinny, white playboy bunnies.
In general, I think this makes women more nurturing because while they can`t completely be like the Virgin (she was born without original sin), they can emulate her motherly qualities. Thus, senoritas often stop me on the street and ask where I am going, why I don’t have a sweater on, and if I need anything eat. When I visit the house of a woman, she generally lists off or pulls out the contents of her refrigerator and cupboards until she comes upon something to feed me.
The tendency towards caring starts at a young age. The other day, I woke up an older man who was passed out drunk on a sidewalk and I sat chatting with him in order to assess his condition. He was bleeding and I thought he should go to a hospital. A thirteen-year old girl and her seven-year-old sister approached me and asked if I needed any help. While they went to look around for taxis, a police officer walked right past by the man and ignored me when I tried to get his attention. (He was escorting someone delivering a large order of beer to a shop.) Eventually I realized the drunk man could talk cohesively and a local tortilla shop-owner who knew him said he would watch out for him. Coincidentally, I ran into the girls later on that afternoon at the convent, as they were volunteering there as well.
Personally, while I reap the benefits of girls and women who are motherly, it can also be difficult. As a young women associated with the church I feel like I`m expected to be offer unconditional affection as well. At work, I am surrounded by orphans and handicapped people who are constantly in need and I accept this. Even outside of that, life can be heavy as I often find myself trying to be patient while listening to the problems of strangers on the street or trapped in one-sided conversations with parishioners at church. Some burdens are ones that I have placed on myself, because as I missionary I feel more of a duty to help the neglected that I come upon in the street than I would have in the United States. (More and more it seems, Jessica and I find ourselves stumbling over people passed out in the street and we recently went to our first AA meeting in order to figure out how we can help the situation.)
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While walking on the day of the Feast of the Sacred Heart of Mary , the two sisters who I had brought along held hands and huddled together to shelter each other from the rain. In general, the bonds among females are stronger here, perhaps to protect each other against a culture of machismo, perhaps because they identify with each other caretakers, or perhaps because they cling to each other as they would Maria. It`s rare to see a girl or young woman alone, they are almost always with a friend, mother or sister. When Jessica and I are not together, we are constantly asked about where the other one is. It's partly out of interest but the implication is: what are you doing by yourself and why are you leaving your friend alone?
I spend my days with nuns who have formed an insular but powerful community. At parties, I see females family members who function smoothly together in cooking and serving meals. In Santa Fe, it`s the norm for sisters or single mothers and daughters to share not just bedrooms but beds. Jessica and I have formed a tight-knit household as we not only live together but spend most of our social time with one another, we work on projects together and for a long time, I relied on her heavily in order to communicate with others. Women gain strength from each other here.
In a few weeks, two new missionaries will joining us in Santa Fe, doubling the size of our household. (Jackie left way back in October due to the health problems of a family member. I was too sad to write about it, but we miss her everyday.) Though I am little leery of sharing a room for the first time since college, I am excited not just for more company but because new-comers mean that the missionary presence continues even after Jessica and I end our time here. Thus being part of this program makes me feel like I am something bigger than just the work I am doing over the course of two years.
Jessica and I talk about the new girls (Melissa and Lisa, both fresh out of college) like parents expecting newborns--we wonder what they will look like, how they will react to their surroundings, and what they will think of us. We even speculate about their names as Mexicans tend to make adjustments to English names. I am excited for the experiences they will have, nervous for them because I know the hardships they will face, and eager to help them through the tough times and share what I have have learned from my year here. August, it seems, is a month of walking together.
Lately, Santa Maria has been doing a lot of walking with the people of Santa Fe. As I've mentioned before, the Virgin Maria is revered by most everyone here and the Feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe (commemorating the day in the 1500s when she appeared as indigenous women outside of Mexico City) is amongst biggest holidays of the year. I recently learned that locally the Feast of the Assumption of Mary is almost equally as significant due to the fact that our parish is named in honor of her.
This means that since the beginning of August there have been processions, fireworks and fiestas in her honor which are leading up to the August 15th feast day. Certain groups have their own special celebrations. The other day, a statue of the Virgin was displayed in the marketplace along with welcoming signs and flowers. As I was walking home from work that day (irritated by the noisy, daytime fireworks being set off), a woman whom I had never met before grabbed me asked me why I wasn`t taking part in the parade that was going to be had with the statue. She begrudgingly accepted that I couldn't go because I had a class to teach.
No matter. Santa Maria came to me, as a group of paraders dressed in white carried her statue past my home. They returned a half hour later, stopped in front of our chapel, and a woman more or less demanded that I open up its` doors. Trumpets and hornets were blasting, participants sang, and friends of ours went up on the roof to ring the church bells. Little children trooped in and out of our house to use the bathroom. It seems my frequent singing the song worked and Santa Maria (and her followers) walked to me.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How does it affect girls growing up in a country where there is such devotion to a figure whose three most well-known qualities are that she is a virgin, she is a mother and she is without sin? I began thinking about this a few months ago when I brought two sisters from our parish youth group to a procession that the Missionaries of Charity (the nuns who live with disabled, abandoned women in the convent where I work) held in honor of the Feast of the Sacred Heart of Mary. Despite it being a cold, dreary rainy day, we marched alongside the nuns and other devoted persons while carrying a statue of the Virgin Maria.
The nuns ordered us to form lines and sing and encouraged passersby to join in the march. At random spots, Sister Maria stopped us so that we could pray and Rosary and convinced taco-stand diners and tired shopkeepers to join in. At one point, we were praying near the highway and I looked up past the Virgin and saw a huge billboard featuring Hugh Hefner surrounded by three young beautiful blond women--an advertisement for a television show called `The Girls Next Store`. (Although in Mexico the program is called `The Girls of the Playboy Mansion because the irony of the true title would be lost here.)
The moment was a literal synopsis of Gender Studies 101 class that I took ten years ago at a small women's college. Society and the media largely promote the idea that for a women to be looked up to, she must either be a blond, white sex object or as pristine as the Virgin Maria. In the United States, there is much more promotion of beautiful, white women, while in Mexico (at least in the part where I live) images of the Virgin predominate. Mexican women can relate to the morena Virgin of Guadalupe but it would be impossible and superfluous to try and be like skinny, white playboy bunnies.
In general, I think this makes women more nurturing because while they can`t completely be like the Virgin (she was born without original sin), they can emulate her motherly qualities. Thus, senoritas often stop me on the street and ask where I am going, why I don’t have a sweater on, and if I need anything eat. When I visit the house of a woman, she generally lists off or pulls out the contents of her refrigerator and cupboards until she comes upon something to feed me.
The tendency towards caring starts at a young age. The other day, I woke up an older man who was passed out drunk on a sidewalk and I sat chatting with him in order to assess his condition. He was bleeding and I thought he should go to a hospital. A thirteen-year old girl and her seven-year-old sister approached me and asked if I needed any help. While they went to look around for taxis, a police officer walked right past by the man and ignored me when I tried to get his attention. (He was escorting someone delivering a large order of beer to a shop.) Eventually I realized the drunk man could talk cohesively and a local tortilla shop-owner who knew him said he would watch out for him. Coincidentally, I ran into the girls later on that afternoon at the convent, as they were volunteering there as well.
Personally, while I reap the benefits of girls and women who are motherly, it can also be difficult. As a young women associated with the church I feel like I`m expected to be offer unconditional affection as well. At work, I am surrounded by orphans and handicapped people who are constantly in need and I accept this. Even outside of that, life can be heavy as I often find myself trying to be patient while listening to the problems of strangers on the street or trapped in one-sided conversations with parishioners at church. Some burdens are ones that I have placed on myself, because as I missionary I feel more of a duty to help the neglected that I come upon in the street than I would have in the United States. (More and more it seems, Jessica and I find ourselves stumbling over people passed out in the street and we recently went to our first AA meeting in order to figure out how we can help the situation.)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
While walking on the day of the Feast of the Sacred Heart of Mary , the two sisters who I had brought along held hands and huddled together to shelter each other from the rain. In general, the bonds among females are stronger here, perhaps to protect each other against a culture of machismo, perhaps because they identify with each other caretakers, or perhaps because they cling to each other as they would Maria. It`s rare to see a girl or young woman alone, they are almost always with a friend, mother or sister. When Jessica and I are not together, we are constantly asked about where the other one is. It's partly out of interest but the implication is: what are you doing by yourself and why are you leaving your friend alone?
I spend my days with nuns who have formed an insular but powerful community. At parties, I see females family members who function smoothly together in cooking and serving meals. In Santa Fe, it`s the norm for sisters or single mothers and daughters to share not just bedrooms but beds. Jessica and I have formed a tight-knit household as we not only live together but spend most of our social time with one another, we work on projects together and for a long time, I relied on her heavily in order to communicate with others. Women gain strength from each other here.
In a few weeks, two new missionaries will joining us in Santa Fe, doubling the size of our household. (Jackie left way back in October due to the health problems of a family member. I was too sad to write about it, but we miss her everyday.) Though I am little leery of sharing a room for the first time since college, I am excited not just for more company but because new-comers mean that the missionary presence continues even after Jessica and I end our time here. Thus being part of this program makes me feel like I am something bigger than just the work I am doing over the course of two years.
Jessica and I talk about the new girls (Melissa and Lisa, both fresh out of college) like parents expecting newborns--we wonder what they will look like, how they will react to their surroundings, and what they will think of us. We even speculate about their names as Mexicans tend to make adjustments to English names. I am excited for the experiences they will have, nervous for them because I know the hardships they will face, and eager to help them through the tough times and share what I have have learned from my year here. August, it seems, is a month of walking together.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Cadena de Amor
The last time I saw my grandmother, her tiny, frail body was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and machines. I was eight years old and my family was visiting her after Mass on a warm Autumn day. Before entering the sterile room, I was happily joking around with my sister, but as soon as I saw her and heard her heavy, labored breathing, I got quiet and uncomfortable.
My dad spoke to her about family news and world events as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He pushed me forward to greet her, and as soon as he did, my grandmother grabbed me with one of her bony hands. When I tried to pull away, she tightened up her grip on my hand, and I was surprised that someone so weak could summon up so much strength. I held her hand until a coughing spell forced us apart and we all had to leave the room.
My grandmother had emphysema for as long as I can remember, so it is hard for me to think of her in her prime. Holding her hand is one thing I will never forget and it sticks with me because it compels me to keep reaching out to the sick and the needy, even if it is in a small way and it makes me feel awkward.
I do recollect visiting my grandmother in her apartment, where she always seemed to be saying the Rosary. Even when she was wheelchair-bound and wearing a robe, she grasped a set of Rosary beads and said the devotion made up of sets of one Lord's Prayer, ten Hail Marys, and reflections on the Mysteries of the Rosary. Every time I hold a pair of Rosary beads, I feel that connection we had when I held her hands almost 20 years ago.
So, when a group of church members invites the three of us to attend a Living Rosary at a stadium on Saturday, I feel excited, though I do not know much about the devotion, and even Jessica isn't sure what exactly a Living Rosary will entail. Like other participants, we dress in red, and board a bus with about 60 other people and go into the city for the event.
We enter the Blue Cross Stadium around 5:00 and spend about an hour waiting for the event to begin. While we wait, a mariachi band plays, chips and popcorn are passed about, and the wave goes around the stadium several times. About 10,000 people are there, comprised of different groups of churches who have been told to wear specific colors. People unfold and display giant cloths containing the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe.
The event begins and the whole stadium chants Hail Marys and Our Fathers. Between sets, various Mysteries of the Rosary (events in the lives of Jesus Christ and Mary) are acted out. Trying to figure out what Bible passages the mysteries come from is like putting together a jigsaw puzzle to me, as I have to piece together what I know of the New Testament and Spanish. I hear "Isabel" and see two women hugging and deduce it is Mary's visit to Elizabeth during their pregnancies. When a group of angels surround Mary, Joseph and a donkey (acted out by a group of people dressed in white holding white umbrellas over them,) and then a baby comes up, I am pretty sure I am seeing Jesus' birth. My favorite part is when a group of white doves are released during the Ascension of Jesus.
Despite being a little unclear as to what is going on, it is moving to see so many people praying to Mary. I imagine that like me, many attendees have seen older relatives participating in the devotion, and that increases their love of the Rosary. Additionally, as Mary is a compassionate figure that Catholics look to for comfort and try to emulate (both my mother and all my aunts were named after her), I think that when people honor Mary, they also remember other Catholic women in their lives.
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The other reason that the Virgin Mary is so popular among Mexicans is because an apparition of her appeared here during the 16th century. An indigenous man named Juan Diego saw her as a young native figure, and she asked for a church to be built in her honor. The bishop at the time asked for a miraculous sign to prove it was really her. Juan Diego returned to the mountain and she gave him a group of roses, despite the fact it was winter time. Additionally, her image appeared on his cloak, and to this day that image has survived, even though it should have worn out by now.
I saw Mexico's love for the Virgin of Guadalupe on Thursday, when Padre Salvador took us to the campus of the Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe. The site is comprised of over a half-dozen churches, chapels and baptismal spots. I had never before seen so many religious buildings in one contained place.
First we visited the new Basilica, a huge, round modern structure that contains seats for 10,000 people. The cloak with the image of the Virgin hangs above the altar, and on the floor beneath it, visitors ride on a conveyor belt to view it. After several trips to view it, we left the Basilica, but Padre ran into a priest friend who invited us to go up on the altar and view it. Upon hearing this, Lupita (a friend accompanying whose nickname is short for Guadalupe) became teary-eyed and she held her hand to her heart. We took an elevator to the top floor of the church and we where brought to the altar where we sat, in groups of three, and saw an up-close vision of the cloak.
We also went inside the small church originally built for the Virgin where Juan Diego lived. The first Basilica, a castle-like structure that took over 100 years to build during the 16th, 16th and 18th centuries, is sinking and falling apart. Additionally, we climbed up a huge, peaceful hill containing waterfalls and statues of the Virgin and children in order to visit another church built in her honor.
It is touching to think that reporting of sightings from a simple man such as Juan Diego could have inspired a site that is one of the most visited Catholic pilgrimages in the world. While I enjoyed sharing the experience with Padre and the other girls, the churches blurred together a bit. When I think of Mary, I will continue to think of holding my Grandmother's hand, and I believe it was the link we share extends to the children here that I spend my days hugging.
My dad spoke to her about family news and world events as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He pushed me forward to greet her, and as soon as he did, my grandmother grabbed me with one of her bony hands. When I tried to pull away, she tightened up her grip on my hand, and I was surprised that someone so weak could summon up so much strength. I held her hand until a coughing spell forced us apart and we all had to leave the room.
My grandmother had emphysema for as long as I can remember, so it is hard for me to think of her in her prime. Holding her hand is one thing I will never forget and it sticks with me because it compels me to keep reaching out to the sick and the needy, even if it is in a small way and it makes me feel awkward.
I do recollect visiting my grandmother in her apartment, where she always seemed to be saying the Rosary. Even when she was wheelchair-bound and wearing a robe, she grasped a set of Rosary beads and said the devotion made up of sets of one Lord's Prayer, ten Hail Marys, and reflections on the Mysteries of the Rosary. Every time I hold a pair of Rosary beads, I feel that connection we had when I held her hands almost 20 years ago.
So, when a group of church members invites the three of us to attend a Living Rosary at a stadium on Saturday, I feel excited, though I do not know much about the devotion, and even Jessica isn't sure what exactly a Living Rosary will entail. Like other participants, we dress in red, and board a bus with about 60 other people and go into the city for the event.
We enter the Blue Cross Stadium around 5:00 and spend about an hour waiting for the event to begin. While we wait, a mariachi band plays, chips and popcorn are passed about, and the wave goes around the stadium several times. About 10,000 people are there, comprised of different groups of churches who have been told to wear specific colors. People unfold and display giant cloths containing the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe.
The event begins and the whole stadium chants Hail Marys and Our Fathers. Between sets, various Mysteries of the Rosary (events in the lives of Jesus Christ and Mary) are acted out. Trying to figure out what Bible passages the mysteries come from is like putting together a jigsaw puzzle to me, as I have to piece together what I know of the New Testament and Spanish. I hear "Isabel" and see two women hugging and deduce it is Mary's visit to Elizabeth during their pregnancies. When a group of angels surround Mary, Joseph and a donkey (acted out by a group of people dressed in white holding white umbrellas over them,) and then a baby comes up, I am pretty sure I am seeing Jesus' birth. My favorite part is when a group of white doves are released during the Ascension of Jesus.
Despite being a little unclear as to what is going on, it is moving to see so many people praying to Mary. I imagine that like me, many attendees have seen older relatives participating in the devotion, and that increases their love of the Rosary. Additionally, as Mary is a compassionate figure that Catholics look to for comfort and try to emulate (both my mother and all my aunts were named after her), I think that when people honor Mary, they also remember other Catholic women in their lives.
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The other reason that the Virgin Mary is so popular among Mexicans is because an apparition of her appeared here during the 16th century. An indigenous man named Juan Diego saw her as a young native figure, and she asked for a church to be built in her honor. The bishop at the time asked for a miraculous sign to prove it was really her. Juan Diego returned to the mountain and she gave him a group of roses, despite the fact it was winter time. Additionally, her image appeared on his cloak, and to this day that image has survived, even though it should have worn out by now.
I saw Mexico's love for the Virgin of Guadalupe on Thursday, when Padre Salvador took us to the campus of the Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe. The site is comprised of over a half-dozen churches, chapels and baptismal spots. I had never before seen so many religious buildings in one contained place.
First we visited the new Basilica, a huge, round modern structure that contains seats for 10,000 people. The cloak with the image of the Virgin hangs above the altar, and on the floor beneath it, visitors ride on a conveyor belt to view it. After several trips to view it, we left the Basilica, but Padre ran into a priest friend who invited us to go up on the altar and view it. Upon hearing this, Lupita (a friend accompanying whose nickname is short for Guadalupe) became teary-eyed and she held her hand to her heart. We took an elevator to the top floor of the church and we where brought to the altar where we sat, in groups of three, and saw an up-close vision of the cloak.
We also went inside the small church originally built for the Virgin where Juan Diego lived. The first Basilica, a castle-like structure that took over 100 years to build during the 16th, 16th and 18th centuries, is sinking and falling apart. Additionally, we climbed up a huge, peaceful hill containing waterfalls and statues of the Virgin and children in order to visit another church built in her honor.
It is touching to think that reporting of sightings from a simple man such as Juan Diego could have inspired a site that is one of the most visited Catholic pilgrimages in the world. While I enjoyed sharing the experience with Padre and the other girls, the churches blurred together a bit. When I think of Mary, I will continue to think of holding my Grandmother's hand, and I believe it was the link we share extends to the children here that I spend my days hugging.
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