A Letter to Maria Lucia

I originally published this letter
in a blog that I have since dismantled. 
Juan Diego was a widower.
He and has wife,
Maria Lucia,
were converts to faith.
I wrote this letter
to her.

Enjoy!

- Rubi.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

April 16, 2009

My Dearest Maria Lucia,

I have, so very often,
thought of writing you this letter.
To be honest,
I do not know what has kept me
from such an important task.

I have thought of you
often throughout my life.
You, my dear Maria Lucia,
are one of those women
who inspire me beyond measure.

It sometimes saddens me
that people forget you existed.
Why is that?
Why do people chose to remember
only certain things,
only certain people?

It seems as though some consider you
optional to the story,
optional to history,
optional to Salvation history.
But I know well
that you are not
an optional woman.

And why do people opt you out?
Could it be
because you are not a biblical character?
Or is it because you are not canonized?
Why do people forget you?

Like Coyolxauhqui,
the aztec moon goddess,
some important women
are buried and forgotten,
buried deeper and deeper
with the passage of time.
But being forgotten
is a worse fate
than Coyolxauhqui
having been murdered
and dismembered by her younger brother.

Why do people choose to forget
those who were enslaved
to build the cathedral of Mexico City?

You know,
in today’s modern world
if we were to destroy
someone else’s house of worship,
well let me just say
that it is a horrifying thing.
But,
destroy their house of worship
and then force them to build a church
out of the ruins of their temple?
It is an ugly history
but it is real.
And yet,
Christianity tends to forget
that she did the very same thing
to you,
to your sacred temples.
Christianity recalls the miracle of Tepeyac
because it is, in fact, a miraculous story.
But she tries to erase,
she tries to bury where and how
she dismembered
those who were here before her.

Why do people choose to forget
the barbaric way the indigenous were slaughtered,
but manage to remember aztec human sacrifices?
The thing is
there was human sacrifice.
And it was all in the name of
the One True God.

But I don’t need to tell you that.
You, my dear lady,
were there.

Maria,
I remember
those who were sacrificed.
I remember
who destroyed the houses of worship.
I remember
whose enslaved hands built the cathedral.
I remember
who evangelized whom.

I remember, Maria Lucia.
And I remember you.

They tell us
that your husband was a weaver by trade.
Tell me, Maria,
did you assist him
in his handiwork?
Tell me, Maria,
did he weave that garment
that would later become
the miracle of Tepeyac?
Or was the Tilma of Tepeyac
the work of your hands,
a gift
for your beloved husband?
Could it be
that while most of Christendom
doesn’t even remember you existed,
doesn’t even know your name,
Our Lady remembered you
by the garment
sacredly and secretly
woven by your hands?

Tell me,
what was it like for you
watching your husband from heaven?
Was there a celestial joy
when your Juan Diegito
dared to enter the house of the bishop
to bring to him Our Lady’s message?

You know,
to this day it scares some people
to tell the bishop
what he really needs to hear.
I wonder why that is.
To tell the truth,
I wish we had more Coatlatuatzins around today!
I wish we had more people like your Juan,
unafraid to Speak Like An Eagle.

I’ll bet you laughed when Juan was questioned by the bishop!
“What was She wearing,”
Fray Juan de Zumarraga asks.
And your Juanito replies,
“El Sol y las Estrellas.
She wore the sun and the stars.
She stands on the moon. . .and oh, yes,
Su vestido era el color de una princesa azteca. . .
Her dress is color of an Aztec Princess. . . .”
An azteca in your earthly life
you knew well that stars symbolize not only the end of an era
but the beginning of a new one.
That poor bishop never saw what was coming!
I’ll bet you’re still laughing
because some things just never change!

And I’ll bet anything
that when Juan Diego found those roses
he immediately thought of you,
his beloved Maria Lucia.
He probably wished you were there with him
to witness the miracle.

But you were with him.
You were with him in a much grander way
than if you had physically stood at his side.

Tell me, Maria,
during your earthly time,
did you have any idea
that your Juanito
was going to be called
to such a great task?
Did you have any inkling whatsoever?
You know,
we women sometimes know these things.
We don’t know why we know.
We don’t know how we know.
We just know that we know.
My guess is
that while on this earthly plain
you may not have had the full picture,
you probably knew
that something wonderful was to be.

You and Juan
survived the diseases that came with the Spaniards.
And you know,
everything happens for a reason.
You and Juan survived the plagues.
That is the first Guadalupe miracle.
Sadly, it is a miracle story
that never gets told.

Tell me, Maria,
what was it like watching your kinfolk
suffer and die?
It must have been painful and agonizing,
not only for those who suffered the illnesses,
but also for those, like you,
who witnessed it all.

But you and Juan survived.
That must have been your first hint
that The Merciful One
had great plans.

When your ancestors died
did it not fill you with a great sadness
knowing that some of their great teachings
died along with them?
Did it sadden you to lose those
who most understood and appreciated
and celebrated
the gift of flor y canto?

Tell me, Maria Lucia,
what was the war was like?
Tell me of the great Aztec warriors.
Tell me how they died for their faith
and how many suffered,
how they suffered
during the battle.

I can’t imagine anyone destroying my church.
I know a church isn’t the building.
I know a church is the people.
But you know,
that building is sacred.
It holds sacred memories.
You saw them, Maria.
You saw them destroy your temples.

I know that just because you accepted a new faith
well,
that doesn’t erase all of the memories
of your old faith.
Places have power
in that they evoke memories.
Watching those temples destroyed
must have been
like witnessing the death of something sacred.
I mean,
I cry when I find out another church has been closed.
And closing a church is no where near the same
as destroying a temple,
demolishing a belief system.
Closing a church hurts me profoundly.
I can’t even begin to imagine witnessing
the purposeful destruction of one.

Death, disease.
Destruction.
The rape of your culture.
An attempted annihilation of your history.
Tell me, Maria,
why did you ever convert to Christianity?
You experienced all of this
and yet you came to the faith
before Our Lady made her presence known.
How is it that you converted?
That conversion,
my dear Maria Lucia,
is another miracle story
that has been buried,
hidden, forgotten.

How were you called home, Maria?
In the end,
was it one of the many illnesses
brought by the Spaniards?

Or did you die of a broken heart,
accepting this new faith,
but mourning the temples crushed
at the hands of the conquistadors?
Yes,
you probably died of a broken heart.
Embracing this new faith,
all the while realizing
that the very ones who brought this faith to you
were the ones who didn’t get it.
You knew then
what I am coming to know now.
Sometimes those who most need evangelizing
are the very folk who think that they are already evangelized.

I often wonder
why you were called home
before this all took place.

Maybe it was because
Juan Bernadino
was needed to bring the miracle full circle.
Maybe Diosito and Lupita knew full well
that the world would forget to tell the full story
about the death and destruction.
So Juan Bernadino’s illness
served to show and remind the world
of the miraculous healing power
of Tepeyac.

Maybe you were called home so early
because your Juan Diegito
had to do this on his own,
without the gentle nudging of a spouse.
Or maybe it was
so that you could give your gentle nudges
from the heavens,
accompanied by the angels.

Or maybe,
just maybe,
it was so that several centuries later
women like me
could ponder
what it was like for you.

You were a woman
who witnessed devastating disease and destruction.
You were a woman
called forth to abandon the faith of your parents,
of your ancestors.
You were a woman
called to walk against the grain
of the society of your time.

You were a woman
called to seek a new way to believe
in things eternal,
even choosing a new name: Maria
-the same name of She
who would choose your spouse as Her messenger.

Maybe
you were called home before
the miracle of Tepeyac took place
so that through your story
women like me can see
and understand
that we may not always see
through these earthly eyes
that which we give birth to.
Yet,
we must continue to conceive
and
we must continue to create nonetheless.

Tradition tells us
that Juan Diego was on his way to mass
when Lupita first came to him.
Tell me, Maria,
was Juan Diego on his way
to a mass in your memory?
You know,
we give Lupita Dec. 12th.
And Juan has is own special day of Dec. 9th.
Somehow, we are still missing something.
When would you like your feastday to be celebrated, Maria?
Even if Mother Church
never ever formally remember you,
I will always remember you.

Finally,
my dearest Maria Lucia,
tell me what I can do
so that others will remember you,
will remember your name.
What can I do to unbury your story?
Once you are truly remembered,
once the pieces of your story are in place
you deserve a place of honor.
Yes,
a place of honor,
just like Coyolxauhqui,
who now lives at the Museum of Templo Mayor.
And just like Coatlicue,
her mother,
who makes her residence
at the Museum of Anthropology.
María Lucia,
you deserve a place of honor
at the hill of Tepeyac
with the woman
whose name you share:
Maria de Guadalupe.

Eternally Yours,
Rubi.

The Road to Juquila - Part 4: What is a Procession Anyway?

I’ve said it so often throughout this blog:
Liturgy is Life
and Life is Liturgy.
These are not separate entities.
That being said,
what is a procession anyway?

Is it the ministers
finding their way to the sanctuary
during the entrance song?
Is there an order to these ministers?
I remember once discussing
the order of procession
with a gentleman who insisted
that the order was:
cross, candles, ministers, lectionary, priest.
When I suggested he place the lector with lectionary
before the ministers he had a bit of a conniption.
Why is that?
He began quoting the liturgy documents
(which I know like the back of my hand)
and he began telling me about symbolism.
“In my life,” I told this gentleman,
“I try to march with the Word of God ever before me.”
At the time I let it go
because it just wasn’t worth the energy.
I think it’s all because we don’t understand
what a procession is.
Not to mention the fact
that we sometimes get territorial in our ministries.

When one of my niece’s made her first communion
the children were not in the procession.
I think this was only because
it was too much work for the catechists
with so many children.
How sad.
Laos Ergon: Liturgy IS work.
But so many just don’t get it.
The children were, figuratively and literally,
marching onward toward Christ
but weren’t permitted
to march in for liturgy.
Yeah,
we don’t understand processions
very well in the U.S. of A.

We think it’s great
when we leave the back door of the church
on Palm Sunday
only to re-enter via the front door.
And it’s really grand
if we march around the entire church grounds.
But if the weather is bad
we’ll just do a ring-around-the-rosy
inside the church.
We get up and leave
only to return to the place where we started from.

But do we ever dare
to process through the neighborhood?
Or down a major street?
What if we took up the whole road?
Wouldn’t we need a parade permit or something?
Wouldn’t we need to notify police departments
or city hall?
And so what if we did?
Why don’t we do this?
We don’t do this because
we just don’t understand processions.
We don’t do this
because we are afraid to be a witness to the faith.
We don’t do this
because we are just plain lazy.

When I go to Mexico City
I stay at the Hotel Samil Plaza.
It’s right there on the Calzada de Guadalupe.
I stay at this hotel
because I get to watch the processions,
which begin in the wee hours of the morning
and continue all day long.
The people process to the Basilica
of Our Lady of Guadalupe.
People walking
outside
in public
down a major street
singing
and praying
for several miles
journeying toward the sacred.
Yes,
one of the reasons I love Mexico so much
is because know how to be public about their faith.

In 1985,
I visited Our Lady of Guadalupe for the first time.
This was about one month after that big earthquake
that had just devastated Mexico City.
At the time
we didn’t think
we were even going to be able to take the trip.
I remember being in procession,
walking down the Calzada de Guadalupe.
Some who were in our group complained
that the bus did not drop us off
at the entrance of the Basilica.
They just didn’t get it.
They wanted to visit Her,
but didn’t want to be in procession.
In fact,
I was a little perturbed at the time.
Many of us want to pray the rosary
and sing.
“Pray for us sinners,”
kept being interrupted by quiet grumbling.
At the time,
just after the earthquake and all,
and having witnessed a lot of the devastation,
after having witnessed much of the suffering,
we certainly had more than enough
to be praying about.
And these others just complained.
I sort of felt like they wanted the glory
without the work.
Liturgy IS work.
Period.

A procession is a journey toward the sacred.
It is a movement that brings us ever closer to God,
“nearer, my God, to thee.”
A procession is not just the priest and ministers.
A procession is a movement
by the entire Body of Christ.

Perhaps it is true
that in the formal liturgy of Sunday
the formal procession
is made by the priest and ministers.
But there is a procession that begins
when we awaken Sunday morning
and decide to go to mass.
We decide that we are going to move toward the sacred.

For me, the procession to Juquila
formally began
when I got in the car
and drove to the long term parking.
The procession continued
when we boarded the shuttle to the airport.
A major stint of the procession was made
via Northwest Airlines.
Once in Mexico City,
the procession continued via several bus rides:
to Teohuacan, to Oaxaca, and finally to Juquila.
The entire trip
was about a journey toward the sacred.
And the journey toward the sacred
is the stuff of our daily lives.

And if we are moving toward something
it also means
that we are leaving something behind.
It means that once we reach the intended destination
we will be forever changed.
And changed I was.

I witnessed some outstanding young people
on the Road to Juquila
who truly understood what a procession is.
About three hours into the bus ride up the mountain
(around 8:00a.m.)
We came upon a major group of youth,
several hundred I would venture to say,
making their procession via bike.
It would take us two more hours
to arrive to the municipality
and I wondered how long it would take them
and what physical state they would be in
once they arrived.
But the youth quickly slipped my mind
once we arrived.
I was so excited to be there
and so happy that I didn’t give them a second thought.

As we walked through the neighborhood
the sound of fireworks could be heard.
The tradition is
that as a group of pilgrims entered the area
they would shoot off fireworks
to announce their arrival.
The fireworks marked the end of the procession
and the arrival to the sacred.
Upon hearing the fireworks
someone at the church would ring the bell
to welcome them into the church proper.
What a beautiful thing!
This wasn’t a church bell on a timer.
This wasn’t a ficticious church bell
on a CD with speakers.
This was an actual church bell
rang by someone whose ministry it was
to welcome the pilgrims.

We witnessed several such large groups of pilgrims
with fireworks and bells
while there at Juquila.
After a few hours
we decided to leave the church
and go have lunch
as none of us had breakfast that morning.
It was now 2:00p.m.

As we were leaving the church
the bicyclists arrived,
some six hours after we had first seen them.
I had already cried several times
during our stay in the church
and about the church grounds.
But upon seeing them
I realized that this group of youth
really knew something about sacred journeys.
I cried in thanksgiving
for this wonderful group of young people
who perhaps,
without evening knowing it,
witnessed to me that day.

In Xochimilco there are bike taxis.
In Mexico City,
Dominio’s and KFC deliver via bike.
A bike isn’t a means for exercise or a past time.
A bike is a means of transportation
and even a means for one’s livelihood.
And this being the case,
a bicycle is a sacred, sacred thing to many.

These young people
got off of their bikes
as they arrived near the back of the church.
They hoisted their bikes over their shoulders
as they went up the stairs.
One of the older boys took his bike up
and then returned to help a younger girl,
who I guess was only about eight years old.
But he took his bike and then came all the way back down
to help someone else.
It didn’t matter that he was tired.
Someone needed his help and freely offered it.
He assisted someone in arriving to the sacred.
When they arrived to the main entry
they walked their bikes into the church
with church bells tolling to welcome them.
Now that is a procession.
That is liturgy:
Laos Ergon - A work of the people.
And you know,
sometimes it’s hard work.
Sometimes it is very, very hard work, indeed.
And sometimes
we are called to help someone else
to do their work.
These young people know what a procession is.
And this was only the procession.
What of the rest of the liturgy?
Yes, true liturgy
is work indeed.

I would later learn
that many travel for days on foot
to reach Juquila,
camping out in the mountains
as they make their way.
And while I, myself,
encountered many obstacles
on the Road to Juquila,
it is nothing compared
to what others must overcome
as they make their sacred journey.
I began to realize
that I have much to learn
about recognizing
and embracing the sacred work
that is all around me.
I have much to learn
about the work that is liturgy.

There are those,
who, perhaps,
would make the argument
that I confuse “pilgrimage” with “procession.”
You know,
I really don’t think so.
All of life is a pilgrimage.
We are in procession
through the whole of our lives.
During the whole of our lives
we are in constant movement
toward the sacred.
At least, I hope that we are.

Liturgy and processions
are not just the stuff of Sunday.
The movement toward the sacred
is the stuff of our daily lives.
Every day we move
just a little closer,
nearer, my God, to thee.

Processions are sacred.
Work is sacred.

Laos Ergon:
The Work of the People.
What a beautiful, beautiful thing is Liturgy.
Yes, a beautiful thing, indeed.

About the video:
Just a little something I recorded with my digicam (not my video cam), as we were about to leave Juquila. If you listen closely, you will hear the fireworks going off as this group of musicians and pilgrims near the church.

- - - - - - - - - - -

About the photos:
The first two photos are of the front of the church, Santa Catalina Juquila.
The second photo is of the church bell.
The third is of a truck, whose driver was also making procession, with a small statue of Our Lady leading his way!

Advent: Joyful Expectation

Well, we just celebrated Gaudete Sunday.
We lit the pink candle.
But,
I don’t think we got it.
One child in the choir told me
that he thought the pink candle
didn’t get lit until Christmas.

So,
we celebrated Gaudete Sunday.
Did we, in fact, rejoice?
Really,
how is our advent going?
Somehow,
I think we just don’t get the Advent Season.

As far back as I can remember,
Advent has been described
as a time of “joyful expectation.”
It is a time of looking toward
the Second Coming.
But you know,
we don’t often get that.

Several weeks ago,
as I was reviewing music for the Advent season
I went to the internet.
For those of you who don’t know me all that well,
I live on the internet.
Anyhow,
I saw a liturgy planning website
that actually had song suggestions for Advent
that were really more Lenten.

A “joyful expectation,”
and sometimes we can turn it
all somber or even dismal.

True,
there is a penitential character during this time,
but it is certainly not the penitence of Lent.
And you know,
even Lent shouldn’t be dismal.

And liturgy people
still challenge each other
over such things
as Purple or Advent Blue.
Perhaps we don’t understand
the color of Advent
because we don’t understand Advent.

. . .and, if may digress,
many don’t have a clue about color
and the power of color to begin with. . .
let alone, the reasons why
one liturgical season is one color
and other liturgical seasons are other colors. . . .

But back to the season of Advent. . .

Advent: Joyful Expectation.

During Advent we celebrated
The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe,
for whom I have an ardent devotion.

Without detailing the whole story,
we can, at least,
focus on something in the Guadalupe story
that is so ultimately Advent:
Our Lady of Guadalupe
appears to St. Juan Diego pregnant.
What an absolutely beautiful image
for the Advent season:
Our Lady in Joyful Expectation!
It doesn’t get any simpler than that.
Our Church has a feastday built into the season.

Just think of a young couple
as they await the birth of their first child.
Will the child be a boy or a girl?
Will he be healthy?
Will she arrive on time?
Do we have all we need:
crib, car seat, stroller. . . .
Which hospital will she be born in?
Is my doctor the best doctor?
So many details,
and yet,
such joy as they wait.
For nine months,
the young couple waits.

This is joyful expectation.
This is Advent.

Joyful Expectation.
We can also liken Advent
to a surprise birthday party.
There we are,
in the dark,
awaiting the guest of honor,
to surprise him or her
on their special day.
The party isn’t here yet.
There won’t a party
until the guest of honor arrives.
But we’ve ordered the cake.
We have prepared the meal.
We have a variety of refreshments.
We’ve cleaned and decorated the house.
We are ready!
All we need is that special guest!
And there we are anxiously waiting
in the dark, but ready!

And such is Advent.
We are joyfully awaiting
The Second Coming.

When will He arrive?
What day and what time?
Will we be ready?
Will we fall asleep waiting for him in the dark?
Do we realize that while sometimes we walk through the dark
we are actually people of light?
And is our house in order?
Are we ready to embrace the moment?
Will we be ready to sing at that moment?
Are we aware of who is with us as wait?

But let us remember that
the joy does not culminate with Christmas.
The Nativity celebrates
Our Lord’s first coming.
But even after the Christmas season
comes and goes,
we should be living an Advent life,
full of expectation,
joyfully awaiting that day
when Christ Shall Come Again!

Happy Advent!

Mananitas for Our Lady of Guadalupe

Yes. . .I was one of those crazy people
that get up in the wee hours of the morning
to go to church to "wake " Our Lady of Guadalupe on Her feastday.
Here are some photos I took this morning.
Pictures include Mariachi, Band,
and choir and singers from the parish.
A few pics of people
who participated in the "open mic" as well,
including a very young child.
Sorry.
No photos of children's choir.
I can't accompany
and take pictures at the same time!
Pictures taken at the mananitas this morning
at Detroit's St. Gabriel parish.
And sorry not to spend too much time cleaning photos up.
I just wanted to get them up today!
Happy December 12th!

Three Hail Marys

"There is always enough time to pray three ‘Hail Marys.’"

"There is always enough time
to pray three ‘Hail Marys.’"

That’s what Mary G. would always say.
She was one of those church ladies.
You know the ones I mean.
She did everything:
serve as Eucharistic Minister,
fill in for the secretary on her day off,
stuff the church bulletin,
count the collection money. . . .

She was very staunch in her ways,
often making me very angry
because she always thought
that her point of view
was the only point of view to have.

God has already called her home.
But her words
stay with me:
"There is always enough time
to pray three ‘Hail Marys’"

This really isn’t a hard practice for me to follow.
I have always had a devotion to our Blessed mother,
particularly under the tile of
Our Lady of Guadalupe.

I found myself
practicing this "Three Hail Marys" devotion last night
as I drove home from St. Gabriel parish
after a rehearsal last night.
As I neared the intersection
of Outer Drive and Fort Street,
where the cities of Lincoln Park and Detroit meet,
I found myself with more than enough time
to pray "Three Hail Marys."

A few years ago,
my eldest son was car-jacked there.
I suddenly realized
that I had been praying "Hail Mary"
every time I drive through that intersection.
Last night I realized
that the intersection is calling me to prayer.

At the time when my son was car-jacked,
I found my prayers were three-fold.
Of course,
I offered prayers for my son.

But I also offered prayers
for the young man
who held a gun to my son’s head
and shouted at him,
"Get out the ride."

What could have happened
in this young person’s life
that he chose to do this?

Where did he get the gun?

What did he want the car for?

Even as I write this
I offer prayers to Our Lady for him.
And I remember him
to St. Monica as well.

At the time
I also offered prayers up
for this young man’s mother.

Was she a good mother
whose son went down the wrong path?

Was she a bad mother
who just didn’t care?

Was this young man’s mother deceased?

Whoever she was
and whatever the situation
I found that I needed to offer prayers for her as well.

You know,
it isn’t just sacred space
because we worship there,
because the church building is there.

It’s sacred space
because we walk on it.

It’s sacred space
because we drive through it.

Outer Drive and Fort Street.
It’s a sacred land
because no matter how many times
I drive through that intersection
I always feel the sudden desire to pray.

Thank you, Mary G.
This time your point view
truly proved to be the only point of view to have.

There IS always enough time
to pray three Hail Marys.

About the photo:
Our Lady of Guadalupe Feast Day 2007
St. Hedwig Parish
Detroit, MI

Litany of Our Lady of the Americas

Our Lady of Guadalupe,
Empress of the Americas;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Lugan,
Patroness of Argentina;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of The Valley,
Patroness of Argentina;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Copacabana,
Patroness of Bolivia:
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Aparecida;
Patroness of Brazil;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of the Cape,
Patroness of Quebec, Canada;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Carmel of Maipu,
Patroness of Chile;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Chiquinqui,
Patroness of Columbia;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of the Angels,
Patroness of Costa Rica;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Charity of Cobre,
Patroness of Cuba;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Presentation of Quinche,
Patroness of Ecuador;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception,
Patroness of the United States;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Peace,
Patroness of El Salvador;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of the Rosary,
Patroness of Guatemala;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Suyapa,
Patroness of Honduras;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Agualeguas,
Patroness of Agueleguas, Mexico;
Pray for us.

Virgin of Juquila,
Patroness of Oaxaca, Mexico;
Pray for us.

Virgin of Octlan,
Patroness of Tlascala, Mexico;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Roble,
Paroness of Mexico;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of San Juan de los Lagos,
Patroness of Jalisco, Mexico;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of El Viejo,
Patroness of Nicaragua;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Caacupe,
Patroness of Paraguay;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Evangelization,
Patroness of Peru;
Pray for us.

Virgin of the Well,
Patroness of Puerto Rico;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Divine Providence,
Patroness of Puerto Rico;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Monserratte,
Patroness of Puerto Rico;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of High Grace,
Patroness of the Dominican Republic;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Mercedes,
Patroness of the Dominican Republic;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of the Thirty Three,
Patroness of Uruguay;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of Coromoto,
Patroness of Venezuela;
Pray for us.

Our Lady of the Valley of the Holy Spirit,
Patroness of Venezuela;
Pray for us.

Pray for us, Holy Mother of God,
That we may be worthy of the promises of Christ.
Amen.

Litany compiled by Rubi Martinez-Bernat.

En español: Letanía de la Virgen de las Américas

Celebrations en Honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe

It is true that this blog entry is a little overdue. The fact of the matter is, I had many photos in my digital camera and I just kept putting off uploading them to my PC and doing the crop and irfanview thing. That’s the thing about digital cameras. One must really be religious about uploading them or you end up with a ton of photos!

These photos are from recent masses in honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe. I had the great honor of serving as a pastoral musician for both of these celebrations.

The first mass was held in Dec. 11th at St. Alfred parish in Taylor. The procession began and went through St. Alfred school. You know, that school building is a lot larger than she looks from Telegraph Road! The school children had adorned the halls with "Ojo de Dios" and "Papel Cortado," as well as with other fine art work.

We processed through the halls with the parish’s deacon carrying the image of Our Lady. The community sang "Las Apariciones Guadalupnanas" and ended the procession with "Las Manañitas a la Virgen de Guadalupe."

It really was a wonderful celebration with the parish’s newly formed Spanish choir. Kudos to Teresa P. for organizing the choir. Congrats, Tere, on the parish’s newest little Guadalupana!
The second celebration I had the honor of serving for was held on Dec. 12th at Detroit’s Most Holy Trinity Parish. Located in Corktown, this historic church is one of the most beautiful in the City of Detroit. The acoustics are phenomenal. The stations of the cross are huge and beautiful paintings. Trinity houses many lovely statutes, including one of St. Patrick. (This parish is THE place to be for St. Patrick’s Day Mass!)

The organ itself is one of the oldest pipe organs in the city. . . .The couplers on that instrument can offer a challenging touch to those of use who are so accustomed to playing electronic organs! Yes, it’s a beautiful instrument indeed there at Most Holy Trinity!

The Guadalupe celebration at Most Holy Trinity was bilingual. And I must say, Fr. Russ really does have a way with bilingual celebrations as these can challenge even the best of presidors.
The thing is, I prefer a mass that is bilingual. I mean, for those of us who are 2nd and 3rd generation in the States, being bilingual is a very natural state of our being. We’ll flip flop between the 2 languages all the time. I realize that sometimes this can frustrate folks. . .especially when the not so well informed want to repeat everything about mass in the other language. Anyhow, my point is that Fr. Russ really has a handle on celebrating a good bilingual liturgy. The mass in Honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe is a perfectly good example.

The photos above show Our Lady in each of these parishes. The first iImage of Our Lady of Guadalupe is St. Afred parish in Taylor, MI. The other image is at Most Holy Trinity in Detroit, MI.

Español/Spanish Here

Welcome to Liturgy House

Hello and welcome to Liturgy House. Here I hope to muse, reflect and perhaps even challenge others, especially those of us for whom worship, liturgy, the bible, church life and ministry are a part of the very fiber of our being.

Liturgy is life. What’s more, Life is Liturgy. Liturgy, with a capital "L", should reinforce and lock in time in a public way and before God that which already is (life). If a young couple is in love and they choose to spend the rest of their lives with each other (and they choose a church wedding) they make it a public and formal ritual by celebrating the sacrament. That is to say, through the liturgy. In a sense, they were already about "the work" of the wedding liturgy by developing their relationship. Their life is a liturgy, small "l".

This hypothetical wedding, and indeed all Worship and Liturgy, cannot and should not be planned in a fashion that is disconnected from the lives of the assembly who gather. Liturgy is more than just ritual. I repeat what I stated in the previous paragraph: Liturgy is Life & Life is Liturgy.

Sometimes, however, a worshiping community can be disconnected from what is going on in their own neighborhoods, in their own backyards. . . .indeed, disconnected from "the work" that is life. This disconnect can cause a disconnect in the work of Liturgy, a disconnect in the manner and fashion in which Liturgy is celebrated. Slowly but surely I’ll expound on these thoughts through "the work" of this blog.

And so, I have created this blog because there are so very many thoughts dancing around in my head. Oh, and somewhere along the way I’ll surely write about dancing in the Liturgy. And art and environment. And Music. And I’ll surely write on one of my favorite subjects: Cultural Adaptation!. . . .and before anyone starts writing and commenting and calling me a heretic, let say publically here and now that I can barely imagine a Dia Doce celebration without Matachin. For those of you who don’t know what Matachin is, what Dia Doce is, well. . .you’ll just need to trust me and check in on this blog every now and again!

Having said all of the above, let me simply state that it is sometimes just plain cathartic to write, to just release the words from one’s mind!

And when, in fact, we release those words and place them on parchment (albeit, electronic parchment), they often return to us with ideas from others. And so, the dialogue begins.

And isn’t liturgy celebrated best in dialogue, when all respond, participate?

Welcome to my house, to our house, to Liturgy house.
Mi Casa es Tu Casa.
Peace to all who enter here.

Espanol Aqui / Spanish Here

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About the photo: I have a particular devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe. Can you tell? I've visited the Basilica in Mexico City several times and even had the honor of serving with my friends as guest choir. Yes, we'll surely discuss popular piety here at Liturgy House!