The Virgin of Guadalupe in the North American Context

By Michael Phillips

Some use the term Latino diaspora to describe the recent migration of people from Latin America and the Caribbean to the industrialized countries of the north. Since the United States is the closest neighbor to Latino America, the vast majority of immigrants find their way here, and make a life for themselves. There has always been a significant Hispanic population along the border states from Texas to California, but today with ease of transportation Latinos are finding jobs and making homes in all 48 of the lower states.

As the Episcopal Church responds to the call issued in Matthew 25 – “I was a stranger and you welcomed me. . .” – we recognize that Spanish-speaking immigrants are living in every diocese. Immigrants are working not only in rural settings, but also in small and large cities, performing service-level jobs such as landscaping, restaurant work, housekeeping, and in factories. The question before diocesan leadership therefore is not whether we welcome these “strangers” but how are we to go about this ministry of welcoming.

Latino Ministry in North America is a hybrid which seeks to establish a worship life that is familiar enough to function as a place of authentic prayer while orienting the newly arrived immigrant to the dominant (and foreign) culture he or she encounters every day.

There is a ministry in Latin America which is Spanish-speaking, parish-based, and is exercised within its local context. There is also a ministry in North America which is English-speaking, parish-based, and is exercised within its local context. Latino Ministry in North America is a hybrid which seeks to establish a worship life that is familiar enough to function as a place of authentic prayer while orienting the newly arrived immigrant to the dominant (and foreign) culture he or she encounters every day.

I believe that the following two stories, both fairly well-known and from Mexico, provide us (Anglos, Latinos, and others called to this ministry) with helpful models of how, and how not, to proceed with Latino Ministry. The two stories occur just ten years apart, but stand in stark contrast to each other, and represent two distinct ways of functioning in the world. They are instructive for us as we set our course faithfully today.

The first story begins in the village of Tlaxcala (pronounced “La Scala”).

The state house on the village square in Tlaxcala hosts an enormous mural depicting the entire history of Mexico. The colors are bright and bold. The scenes are lavishly painted. The whole thing is the work of a single artist who has been working on it for over 50 years. Early on, the mural shows the Spaniard, Hernan Cortez, in full battle gear and helmet, embracing four local chieftains, whose tribes lived in the vicinity of Tlaxcala, and were under the thumb of the Aztecs and their empire. Every few months the four tribes were required to pay tributes of food, manufactured goods, and human beings for sacrifice to the powerful Aztecs in Mexico City.

Cortez formed an alliance with the four chieftains and the members of their respective tribes. In the deal, Cortez would gain hundreds and hundreds of seasoned warriors, along with their local knowledge of the Aztecs and the Mexican terrain. In turn, he would supply advanced military technology in the form of gunpowder and the horse, (the sixteenth century version of the Humvee). If victorious, the four chieftains stood to win their freedom, and perhaps a little revenge on the Aztecs, and Cortez would be able to send gold and other forms of wealth to his patrons sitting on the Spanish throne. Off they all went to conquer the Aztecs!

Cortez was clever. Rather than march directly into Mexico City, he went out of his way so that the army would approach the city by passing between two beautiful, enormous, snow-capped, and sacred volcanoes. His entrance would be both dramatic and intimidating.

The last town before the volcanoes was Cholula. Cortez tried to convince the Cholulans to join them in their conquest, making them members of the coalition. But the Cholulans were suspicious of these bearded strangers who spoke a bizarre language and controlled these massive beasts called horses. By the rules of hospitality, Cortez and his men were put up in the central plaza while his Tlaxcalan companions camped outside of town. Unbeknownst to Cortez, a Cholulan runner was dispatched to the Aztecs for advice about what to do with the strangers. The powerful and somewhat arrogant Aztecs were not at all threatened, but nevertheless, replied that it would not offend them if the Spaniards were simply eliminated.

That night, 4,000 Cholulans, including women and children, were slaughtered and later placed in mass graves for burial. Since the victor typically writes the history books, Mexican schoolchildren are taught to refer to them as the “Cholula traitors.”

A late night raid on the plaza ensued. As the fighting escalated, the Tlaxcalans heard the battle and rushed in from their camps, trapping the Cholulans in the middle. That night, 4,000 Cholulans, including women and children, were slaughtered and later placed in mass graves for burial. Since the victor typically writes the history books, Mexican schoolchildren are taught to refer to them as the “Cholula traitors.” Cortez and his alliance continued on their quest to defeat the Aztecs, and after a two-year siege of Mexico City, celebrated victory in the year 1521.

Just ten years later (this is now the second story), a few miles north of the Aztec capital, on the morning of December 9, 1531, an Aztec peasant who had converted to Christianity, named Juan Diego, awoke before the sun and started out on his daily rounds. Passing by the hill of Tepayac he was drawn to its summit by an unusually haunting chorus of birds. At the top of the hill a vision appeared of a woman dressed in blue with golden stars in her shawl, and standing on a crescent moon. The Virgin of Guadalupe told Juan Diego to forget about his other chores and instead, go directly to the bishop, to the powerful Spanish bishop, the bishop of the conquerors, telling him that it is her will that he build a magnificent cathedral on the top of Tepeyac for the poor and defeated Mexicans.

The bishop listened to Juan Diego but told him he needed assurance. He needed a sign that the instructions truly came from the Virgin herself. Three days later, on December 12, he returned to the bishop's residence with the sign – roses in full bloom – in the middle of December! As Juan Diego opened his poncho ( tilma ), allowing the roses to cascade to the floor, the bishop saw, imprinted on the inside of his poncho, an image of the Virgin, exactly as she had appeared to Juan Diego on Tepeyac. Shortly thereafter, construction began on the cathedral.

This is a story of cooperation between and across divisions – as the bishop, the virgin, and the peasant all must learn to trust each other in order to literally build the church in the Americas. Let's assume that the Virgin has the ability to appear to whomever she chooses. If all she was concerned about was getting a cathedral built, her most expedient option would have been to go straight to the bishop, appear in his residence herself and tell him to get the job done. He was the one with the power, the money, the clout, and the authority to build a new cathedral. He had access to the architects and engineers.

But look what she does. She appears to a middle-aged peasant, well outside the walls of the conquered city. She interacts with the defeated, the downcast, the oppressed and the native. She gives him her message, and instructs him to get the powerful bishop involved in the project. It will require courage on the part of Juan Diego. It will require trust and humility on the part of Bishop Juan de Zumarraga if the church is going to be built. The Virgin had a plan for building the Christian community in the Americas. In spite of all their differences: language, culture, economic level, religious background, race, etc., they are able to work through all of it and accomplish their task together.

By contrast, the story of Cortez and the four chieftains is about building alliances with some, and setting oneself against others, in order to increase power for domination and control. Cortez learned shortly after his arrival in Mexico that his forces on their own would not be sufficient to defeat the vast Aztec military. He would also need to gain knowledge of the local landscape and the particulars of the Aztec nation and culture. You have to know your enemy to defeat him. In the end, the Spaniards, the four chieftains, and their tribes come out victorious and wealthy. But thousands upon thousands of others were slaughtered, and tens of thousands more enslaved. The legacy of Cortez is 500 years of poverty for the vast majority of the Mexican people, eventually leading to the mass migration of Mexican workers to northern developed countries such as the United States in the later part of the twentieth century and the first part of the twenty-first.

If the strategy is effective and the power is superior, victory will follow. With victory comes control of the losers, which is usually followed by wealth. The underlying problem with this method is that is requires a constant maintenance of power to keep the losing population under control, because no one likes to lose.

These two stories then highlight two basic ways of working with others across cultural lines. The story of Cortez is all about strategizing to amass as much power as possible so that those involved can get what they want by force. It is a way that creates “us's” and “thems” and then risks winning or losing. If the strategy is effective and the power is superior, victory will follow. With victory comes control of the losers, which is usually followed by wealth. The underlying problem with this method is that is requires a constant maintenance of power to keep the losing population under control, because no one likes to lose. Those who lose will plot and plan and sacrifice so that someday they can garner the power to overcome their oppressor, and turn the tables. This method sets up an ever-recurring struggle for who is on top, and who is on the bottom.  

The second story (“the story of the two Juans”) shows us an alternative. It requires much more patience and maybe even more work, for to truly work beside someone who is wired differently from you requires a great deal of energy to listen, understand and respond in ways that moves everyone forward together. But this method and its hard work pays off because it creates a world in which there are only “us's.” It creates bonds of mutual respect and understanding. It creates mutual reliance, so that everyone has a stake in victory. It also requires commitment, as the great risk is that one party will become frustrated, turning to vilify a former partner.  

A unified church must be built, using the labor of all those who are called to participate in it. The Virgin of Guadalupe made sure that both the defeated indigenous and the victorious newcomer found a way to find common purpose based on courage and trust. Unity cannot be forced upon, legislated, or coerced at the point of a sword. It must be built, like a cathedral, stone by stone, following the plans of a master architect, and utilizing the skills of various laborers. And what is built glorifies a God who creates every person in the divine image.

The Rev. Michael Phillips is incoming rector of Holy Trinity Episcopal Church in New York, N.Y. He has served parishes in Poughkeepsie, N.Y., and Palatine, Ill., working with both Spanish-speaking and English-speaking congregations. Michael may be reached by email at Mike72541@aol.com .