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The Feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe
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16th Century Image of the Virgin of Guadalupe
Today is the feast day of the Virgin of Guadalupe…or, to put it another way: Hoy es el día de la Virgen de Guadalupe.
In Mexico, today is a very important holiday—even more important than Christmas. At midnight, as December 11th becomes December 12th, millions of people from all over Mexico converge on the great church, the Basílica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe in Mexico City, to celebrate the Virgin’s feast day. Because there are so many Mexicans living in New York now, it’s become an important day here, too.
But—much as I hate to admit it—this morning I had no idea today was any sort of holiday at all. It wasn’t until sometime around 8:00 a.m. that I first got an inkling something special was going on.
While sitting drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, I suddenly heard loud voices in the street. I dashed to the window, just in time to see a group of people dressed in white, running behind a man carrying a flaming torch.
Who were these people? And where were they going? I wondered. I looked, but I couldn’t find the answer in The New York Times.
Only in the afternoon, when Mari, a Mexican woman I know, told me about her busy morning, did it all become clear.
“I went down to the church of San Patricio to see the Virgin of Guadalupe,” she told me.
“San Patricio? Which church is that?” I asked in my bad Spanish. (I need all the practice I can get and—luckily—Mari is very patient.)
“The big one on Avenida Quinta,” she answered.
Sometimes I am a bit slow, and it took me a minute to realize she was talking about the landmark St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Fifth Avenue.
“Ay! It was beautiful! There was music. And there were so many people. So many Mexicans! I saw the big painting of the Virgin, hanging over the altar. And did you hear about the runners who came with a burning torch? The torch came all the way from Mexico.”
“I saw the runners!” I told her excitedly. “I saw them from my window!”
Mari was very pleased that I had at least seen the runners. “But, since you know nothing about this, I must tell you the story of the Virgin of Guadalupe!” she said.
Of course I had heard the legend before: how long ago in 16th century Mexico, the beautiful, dark-skinned Virgin of Guadalupe had appeared before a barefoot Aztec man named Juan Diego, as he walked up the hill of Tepeyacac, near Mexico City.
But Mari didn’t seem to believe me and insisted on recounting the whole tale once again. As it turned out, hearing a summary of the story and watching Mari act it out—and do all the voices—were two different experiences altogether.
“Juan Diego needed proof that he had seen the Virgin,” Mari said, in Spanish, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together to mime the concept, in case I didn’t understand.
“So the Virgin told him, ‘Little Diego—my son—go up the mountain, and there you will find roses. You must pick them and put them under your cloak and bring them to the Bishop. That will be the proof that you have seen me.’”
When Mari did the Virgin’s voice, she sounded just like a mother, speaking to her child. And for a moment I wondered whether—minus the jeans and T-shirt—the Virgin of Guadalupe might have looked something like her.
“So Dieguito went up the mountain, and there he found many roses growing. And he cut them. And he put them under his cloak, and he brought them to the Bishop,” Mari continued, holding her arm across her body, as if she were holding the roses.
“But when Dieguito opened his cloak to show the Bishop his flowers, they were gone!” Mari paused dramatically. “And inside the cloak was the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe. It was a miracle!”
Mari smiled broadly. “Next year you must come to San Patricio to see the Virgin,” she concluded.
I thanked Mari for telling me the story—and in such vivid detail. “Next year, I will certainly go,” I promised.
And I plan to do just that—not because I am Catholic, which I am not, but because I want to understand and appreciate my neighbors, these new, New Yorkers, who are now such an important part of the big, wonderful international crossroads that is our city.
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