December 10, 2004

Both the Wall Street Journal and the Los Angeles Times have in recent years interviewed Lydia Lopez, an Episcopal lay leader from Pasadena, California, about why Christians of many denominations are increasingly finding meaning in the story of the Virgin of Guadalupe - whose traditional feast day is December 12. Indeed, artistic renderings of "La Morenita," as the Virgin is also known, are displayed in a growing number of churches, Episcopal included. While not all Mexican Anglicans share the same views about the Virgin, she remains a symbol of cultural and religious significance that reaches beyond Roman Catholic origins, says Lopez, who is communications associate in the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles and an honorary canon of the Cathedral Center of St. Paul. To draw meaning from the story of the Virgin is not to worry whether it is fact or legend, says Lopez. Following is Lopez's reflection on the "Undocumented Virgin."

'The Undocumented Virgin'
by Lydia Lopez

In the 16th century, while Indians were demoralized by the routing of their gods, and millions of Indians were dying from the plague of Europe, the Virgin Mary appeared, pacing on a hillside, to an Indian named Juan Diego - his Christian name. He spoke no Spanish; she spoke to him in Nahuatl because she was a very smart virgin. He hears beautiful music. It was December 1531.

She was dressed in Indian garb covered with Aztec symbols and wearing the Aztec sash of a pregnant woman. To one like Juan Diego, Mary's attire communicated powerful messages. Her rich blue mantle spoke of royalty, while the gold stars emblazoned on it signaled prophecies of a dying civilization that would soon experience a new birth. She wore both a Christian cross (on her brooch) and an Aztec cross (centered on her womb). Her splendor was greater that the sun which framed her, a symbol of the Aztec deity..

At the Virgin's request, this Indian must go several times to the bishop of Mexico City to ask that chapel be built on Tepeyac (the nearby hill) in her honor. Juan Diego visits the Spanish bishop. The bishop is skeptical. The bishop wants proof. The Virgin tells Juan Diego to climb the hill and gather a sheaf of roses as proof for the bishop. He finds Castilian roses among Tepeyac's native cacti: impossible in Mexico in December 1531.

Juan carries the roses in the folds of his cloak, his tilma, a pregnant messenger. Upon entering the bishop's presence, Juan parts his cloak, the roses tumble, the bishop falls to his knees as he sees the picture of Guadalupe. That same tilma is today enshrined in the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe at the foot of Tepeyac in Mexico City. The sight of that image is said to have motivated the conversion of 8 million Indians.

The legend concludes with a concession to humanity - proof more durable than roses - the imprint of the Virgin's image upon the cloak of Juan Diego. A Spanish trick? A recruitment poster for a new religion? Why do we assume Spain made up the story? The importance of the story is that the Indians believed it.

The Virgin chose to be the brown-faced Mary. All elements spoke directly to the Indian, and the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe - Mexicans call her "La Morenita" - has become the unofficial flag of Mexicans. The Virgin appears everywhere in Mexico; on dashboards and calendars, on playing cards, on lampshades and cigar boxes - even tattooed upon the very skins of Mexicans.

Nor has the image of Guadalupe diminished: she has become more vivid with time, developing in her replication from earthy shades of melon, Aztec orange as author Richard Rodriguez has said, to bubble gum pink.

Every December 12 in Mexico feels like a religious Woodstock. I tried getting near the Basilica recently but I had to make my way past 7 million others who had the same idea. I decided to come back the next day.

In La Virgen, I see myself. I call her the first mestiza, the original Chicana, and because she crosses so many borders I call her the undocumented virgin, the virgin of many immigrations.

Juan Diego tells us La Morenita is at the center of the Mexican soul. Would that this spiritual matriarchy were Mexico's political and economic reality, but - alas - Guadalupe has yet to storm the halls of macho power.

In El Salvador, it was the radical Catholic laity that laid the ground work for the revolutionary movement of the 1970s and 1980s and in the process convinced key church authorities such as the martyred Archbishop Oscar Romero to resist the military dictatorship.

Cesar Chavez carried the Virgin of Guadalupe in front of his march for social justice for the farm worker. Again she led the way as warrior goddess.

What many fail to see is that the crisis in Mexico is the crisis in California and vice versa. Mexicans are at the center of this whirlwind of history, agents of change. They are scorned on either side of the border. Chicanos and immigrants are treated like Indians in California while in Mexico the Indians are seen as stumbling blocks to the latest neo-liberal schemes: the Indians of Mexico are treated like the Chicanos or immigrants of California.

Creating understanding and justice remains the mission and the strength of communities of faith. Calling us forward on this journey is the Virgin herself, she who is prized for giving birth to new possibilities.

Episcopal News Service