Guadalupe Pilgrimage: Understanding A Mother’s Love

In early July, fourteen men journeyed south from the U.S.A. and made pilgrimage to the neighboring lands of Mexico to pray before the tilma of Our Lady of Guadalupe. There are a few familiar expressions that capture a moment concisely and completely for its meaning to be understood directly. Consider this blog not one of those. Yet, two expressions that deemed applicable for an accumulative depiction of our experiences are, “A painting is worth a thousand words” and “Love is a universal language”.

One of the common joys of living life through the lens of Faith is being wondered by occasions that are seemingly coincidental but in reality are Providential. So it was that on the first day while journeying to the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe, our group was met by a seminarian of Mexico City named George whom our pilgrim leader, Fr. Ivany, had encountered earlier and unplanned. You cannot love what you do not know. Hence, it was a grand blessing to begin our pilgrimage with George fixing our minds and hearts to the story of the apparition of Our Lady to St. Juan Diego. With confidence, conviction, and occasional comic translation, George explained how our “Our Lady ‘tackled’ – no, other American football term… ‘intercepted’ Juan Diego” along Tepeyac Hill and gave him instruction of her wishes.

It was during this exchange when one of the most beautiful expressions of her motherly love was voiced: “…Am I not here, I, who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the source of your joy? Are you not in the hollow of my mantle, in the crossing of my arms?...” As George continued, we grew in further understanding and depth of appreciation for the many, many significances of the intricate designs imprinted on the tilma (cloak worn by St. Juan Diego), which were immediately grasped when he first unfolded it on December 12, 1531.* The story eventually passed down from the mouth of St. Juan Diego through the ages to George, and from George to us. From George’s retelling, we were brought to a fuller realization of God’s unique love for the individual, His acute attention to detail and the small things, and that He thirsts for particular relationship with each of His children.

On the second day, while holding this encounter and knowledge in our hearts, we were brought to a place where the trash from a city of 21.2 million people is daily disposed. Our bus rolled through dirt paths brushed between bulking heaps of garbage and waste forming eight to ten stories high. The air became rank and each breath was repulsive. After several minutes driving through passages surrounded by junk, the bus stopped and its doors opened. We stepped outside and were met by a frenzy of flies swarming in countless numbers, and packs of sickly dogs skittishly scurrying about us.

Why were we here? Our accompanying missionary, Zac, explained that approximately 1,000 families live among these flies and dogs and heaps of filth. Our missionary provided us with the privileged opportunity and honor to be a guest in their home, shake the palm of their hands blackened with muck and grime, share our food, play games with the children, and sing. Laughter and song filled our particular corner of the junkyard. Together, we were graced and unified underneath a grotesque and shabby shelter where Christ was made our most beloved Guest at the command of the priest in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Although all fourteen pilgrims could not speak Spanish, the language of love was universally understood. Love was communicated and reciprocated, and the truth of each person’s dignity being recognized as precious and valued resonated in every gleaming eye. St. John summarizes the visit precisely: “Little children, let us not love in word or speech but in deed and in truth.” (1Jn 3:18)

We concluded our last day in Mexico City by spending our time visiting the hallowed sites of two people who embodied this love and truth: Blessed Conchita, a mother and mystic, and Blessed Miguel Pro, a priest and martyr. Early the next morning, we made our flight and returned home to the United States of America in time to celebrate the freedom declared by our country two hundred and forty-five years after the apparition of Our Lady of Guadalupe. We ventured our way to the local brew pub and reminisced of the deeper freedom resounding in our souls from the knowledge of being loved by such a God and such a Mother.

*For further information of the beautiful meanings of the depictions on the tilma read Carl Anderson and Msgr. Eduardo Chavez’ book, Our Lady of Guadalupe: Mother of the Civilization of Love