Blood Canticle - Anne Rice [31]
This tilma, a garment made from cactus fibers, with its glorious picture of the Virgin Mary, still hangs intact in the Cathedral in Mexico City, and thousands flock to it every day. It is called Our Lady of Guadalupe, and there is no one in Christendom who has not seen this depiction of Christ’s mother at one time or another in his or her life.
Okay. Now, I love this story. I always have. I think it’s neat what happened to Juan Diego. When he was first trudging over the mountain, the Blessed Mother called to him: “Juanito!” Isn’t that touching? And touching that thousands of Indians converted to Christianity after these miracles. And certainly it is wonderful that Pope John Paul II, ailing and eighty-two years of age, made it to Mexico to canonize Juan Diego.
But the Pope’s critics aren’t so happy. There are rumblings, says the press. Malcontents say there is no proof that Juan Diego ever existed.
Now, that is really rude!
And it points to a real misunderstanding of what the great spiritual wealth of Roman Catholicism is all about.
If nobody can prove that Juan Diego existed, then obviously nobody can prove that he did not.
But let’s suppose for a moment that Juan Diego doesn’t exist, or didn’t. The Pope is still infallible, right? “Whatever you shall bind on Earth shall be bound in Heaven,” Christ said to Peter. Okay?
Even the worst critics of the Papacy admit that it’s a modern marvel, no?
Therefore, without doubt, and without rumblings, at the instant that John Paul declared Juan Diego a saint, the little guy popped into existence in Heaven! Now think about what probably went through Juan Diego’s mind. And don’t forget that this is “an indigenous person” of the Americas no less, and here he finds himself in a Heaven which is, by anyone’s description, totally beyond description.
In fact, if the latest crop of mystics are correct and the Heaven to which we go when we enter the Light is very much shaped by our own preconceived notions, Juan Diego, endowed by the full definition given him through the arguments and decisions of the Roman Curia is probably roaming around in his tilma made of cactus fiber, picking roses. I wonder if he has shoes.
Is he going to be lonely? Of course not. Only an atheist would entertain such a notion. Take it from me, the indescribable Heaven is an indescribable hurricane of magnificence.
But let’s tone it down for our Foot of Sinai senses. Surrounded by his ever blooming garden, Juan Diego can if he wishes keep company with dozens of other saints who spent no time on Earth whatsoever, including the Blessed Virgin Mary’s famed parents, Joachim and Anne, and St. Veronica whom I have personally met.
But it is much more likely that Juan Diego will find himself besieged by prayerful petitions. The voices from “indigenous persons” on Earth as well as the descendants of colonists will bring him in contact with the suffering and the misery of the planet he escaped.
What am I talking about?
Simply this. Whether he existed on Earth or not, Juan Diego is probably hard at work, dipping down through the astral layers in his human-shaped soul, listening earnestly to the faithful and relaying their petitions to the All Knowing One. He has to be. He is a saint of immense importance. And no doubt Our Lady of Guadalupe is looking down benevolently upon a whole new stream of tourists and venerators in Mexico City.
And the Pope has gone home to the Vatican, having canonized in his lifetime 463 saints.
I wish I was one of those saints. Maybe that