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Two Franciscan monks, who were shipwrecked at sea, clung to a plank for two days, were saved by a man of venerable appearance who miraculously brought them to shore. When they asked who he was, he replied, “I am Joseph, and I desire you to honor my seven sorrows and seven joys.” This was the origin of the devotion to the sorrows and joys of St. Joseph. Each Sunday, the Eucharist is taken in his honour and a sorrow and a joy of St. Joseph’s life is contemplated. The sorrows and joys go as follows: 1st Sunday – Sorrow (Mt 1:19) The Doubt of St. Joseph Joy (Mt 1:20) The Message of the Angel 2nd Sunday – Sorrow (Lk 2:7) The Poverty of Jesus’ birth Joy (Lk 2:10-11) The Birth of the Saviour 3rd Sunday – Sorrow (Luke 2:21) The Circumcision Joy (Mt 1:25) The Holy Name of Jesus 4th Sunday – Sorrow (Lk 2:34) The Prophecy of Simeon Joy (Lk 2:38) The Effects of the Redemption 5th Sunday – Sorrow (Mt 2:14) The Flight into Egypt Joy (Is 19:1) The Overthrow of the idols of Egypt 6th Sunday – Sorrow (Mt 2:22) The return from Egypt Joy (Lk 2:39) Life with Jesus and Mary at Nazareth 7th Sunday – Sorrow (Lk 2:45) The Loss of the Child Jesus Joy (Lk 2:46 The Finding of the Child Jesus at the Temple
It is Saturday 9 December 1531 in a small village near Mexico City. Juan Diego, a 57 year old peasant farmer (known as Cuauhtlatohuac before his conversion to Catholicism), is making his way through the dim early morning light to attend Mass. As he walks past Tepeyac Hill, the site of a former Aztec temple, he suddenly hears the most exquisite yet somehow unearthly music, which he takes to be the sound of the first birds of the day. Drawn to the sound, he takes a few steps aside from his path and comes face to face with a radiant vision – a beautiful Indian maiden dressed like an Aztec princess, surrounded by a cloud of light. Juan is dazzled yet, understandably, startled. The princess calms him, telling him that she is in fact the Virgin Mary. She asks Juan to visit his Bishop and tell him what he has seen, adding that she wishes a temple to be built on the site of her appearance where she can hear the petitions of the Mexican people and ease their suffering. Juan is bemused as to why Our Lady should have chosen him for this task – a poor and insignificant man, widowed and living with his elderly uncle –but he obediently visits Bishop Juan de Zumarraga with Mary’s message. The Bishop is patient but dismissive and Juan can tell that he is sceptical of his motives in coming forward with such a tale. Perhaps he thinks that Juan is seeking attention or money, or has been deceived by a diabolical hallucination... Downcast, Juan begins to doubt himself. He creeps back to Tepeyac Hill, where the vision appears as before, and tells Our Lady his sorry tale. Mary reassures him and instructs him to visit the Bishop again the next morning. The second visit goes no better, with the Bishop becoming agitated by Juan’s persistence. He tells Juan to ask Our Lady for a sign that this vision is truly of divine origin and can be trusted. Juan promises to do so and to visit the Bishop again the very next day. However, when he returns home that evening he finds that his uncle has become suddenly and violently ill with a burning fever well known to the local people. It is almost always fatal, especially for a 68 year old man. Juan cannot bring himself to leave his uncle’s bedside and stays with him for two days, missing his appointment with Our Lady. When it becomes apparent that his uncle is on the brink of death, Juan, agitated and upset, hurries to find a priest for the Last Sacraments. As he runs, weeping and short of breath, who should stand in his way but Our Lady. Upon Juan’s explaining himself, she replies with the most beautiful and comforting of words: “Hear me and understand well, my little son, that nothing should frighten or grieve you. Let not your heart be disturbed. Do not fear that sickness, nor any other sickness or anguish. Am I not here, who is your Mother? Are you not under my protection? Am I not your health? Are you not happily within my fold? What else do you wish? Do not grieve nor be disturbed by anything.” Juan feels ashamed of his lack of trust but, emboldened by Mary’s reassuring words and presence, belatedly asks for the sign requested by the Bishop. Mary tells him to climb to the top of Tepeyac Hill and gather the flowers he will find blooming there. One might imagine that Juan would once more feel sceptical at this point – it is the middle of December and cold and besides, nothing but cacti grows on the top of the rocky hill. However, he hurries to obey and finds a mass of roses in full bloom, which he gathers up into his tilma (cloak). In the meantime Mary visits his uncle and restores him to health, telling him too about her temple and, furthermore, that she wishes to be known as ‘Santa Maria de Guadalupe’. Juan finally returns to Bishop de Zumarraga, opens his cloak and lets fall the flurry of vivid roses. The once-sceptical Bishop sinks to his knees in reverence. It is not just the roses that have astounded him. A beautiful and miraculous image has imprinted itself upon Juan’s humble tilma. It is a picture of Our Lady just as Juan had seen her, a native Indian princess. Her hands are folded and her head bowed as she prays to God. She wears a blue cloak upon which the stars are arranged exactly as they were in the sky at the time of her first appearance. Our Lady’s radiance blots out the sun and she crushes under her feet a great crescent moon – both symbols of gods found in the ancient Aztec religion. The imagery is clear to the Mexicans present, and also to those of their people who will flock to view the tilma over the following years: this lady is more powerful than any god of the old religion but she is not herself a god, rather she is paying homage to the True God. When asked who she is, Juan replies ‘Te Coatlaxopeuh’ meaning ‘she who crushes the stone serpent’, a reference both to the protoevangelium in Genesis 3:15 and to a specific Aztec deity, the feather serpent ‘Quetzalcoatl’. The princess in the image being pregnant, another Biblical image is brought to mind: the ‘great portent’ of Revelation 12, the ‘woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and on her head a crown of twelve stars. She was pregnant and was crying out in birth pangs, in the agony of giving birth’ (.2)
I am honoured to share an account of my journey into the Catholic Church, and I will begin with a quick recap of how it all happened. This is the second instalment of my homecoming story, the first being published in ‘The Faith Companion’ March/April 2020 issue. In November 2019, Mother Mary called me into the Catholic Church – and she did it in awe-inspiring style. I was flying at 35,000 feet on a plane headed for Rome when the unthinkable happened. I was sitting quietly, holding a Rosary in my hands. The prayer beads were an unexpected gift from a friend and I wanted to take a close look at them. So, I examined the Crucifix and then focused my attention on the image of Mary’s face. As I studied the Rosary, I was suddenly face-to-face with Mary herself. It’s so hard to put into words, but I seemed to be looking right into her Immaculate Heart. I could feel the immense power of God’s Love, like a blazing fire in her soul. In that sacred moment, Mary introduced herself: “I am your Mother, and I want to take care of you.” Whoa, just a minute, Mary. Is that really you? Are you talking to me, Lyn Peterson, a Protestant girl? When I’m hurtling through the sky? Yes indeed, Mama Mary had spoken; and in that moment, shredded my theological assumptions. “I am the Mother of the Church and you are one of my children. I am your Mother. I know you have lost your earthly mother. Let me comfort you.” “Yes, Mary”, was my silent response. I knew I had been missing my mother. “I am your Mother, and I want to take care of you.” Silent tears rolled down my face. Waves of God’s Love and a sense of joy filled my soul. Mary was beautiful and glorious beyond words. I knew she wasn’t God, but I also knew that she wasn’t an ordinary Saint. And she wanted to look after me. I knew I needed a mother like Mary. As soon as I heard the Blessed Mother speak, I realised that the Catholic Church was correct in its teachings about her. “The Church is right to venerate Mary. She is no ordinary Saint but a unique creation”, I thought to myself. She is Mother of God and Mother of the Church. There was such a sense of homecoming in my spirit, and I knew that the Catholic Church would become my spiritual home. In bed that night, I had another vision. I saw Mary standing next to Jesus on the Cross and pointing towards her beloved Son. I knew that she would always lead me closer to Jesus, and never away from Him. My encounter with Mary was the beginning of a year-long transition from my Protestant Faith to my Confirmation in the Catholic Church. It was quite a journey, a real roller-coaster, because as soon as I returned from Rome, my brain went into overdrive. My heart had responded to Mary with gratitude and love, but my intellect was in a state of shock; I had so many questions. My friend Anthony Evans from ‘EveryDay Christian Marketing’ answered many of my queries and referred me to the book ‘Rome Sweet Home’ by Scott and Kimberly Hahn, who are among the most famous converts from Protestantism to Catholicism. As they are theologically gifted, I found many answers in the Hahns’ book. But on my July/August 2021 return home, I read many other books and spent a lot of time in prayer, as well as talking to trusted Catholic and Anglican priests. I also watched a lot of videos of Catholic converts telling their conversion stories on YouTube. I wanted to be sure that I understood The basics of Catholic doctrine and that I could give my intellectual assent to them. ‘It wouldn’t be good to make a monumental decision based solely upon my experience with Mary in Rome’, I told myself, even though I knew that my vision had been real. Back in England, I found it a little uncomfortable worshipping in my normal church, which was a nondenominational mix of former Anglicans, Methodists, and various other Protestant denominations. I loved my Brothers and Sisters in Christ, but I knew that they would be stunned if I told them that Mary had communicated with me. So, I felt quite conflicted, and it went on for a few months. I did share my story with a handful of friends and received mixed reactions. Some of my Protestant friends were extremely supportive and believed that I had genuinely encountered Mary, but others were incredulous and even indignant. On one occasion I left the church in tears. This painful situation with my Protestant family reminded me of the sceptical responses I had had from my natural family when I first gave my heart to Jesus at the age of 26. It felt remarkably similar on an emotional level I just didn’t like to hear people dismissing Mary as someone not very important … after all, she was my Mother and the Mother of the Church! One video that I watched on YouTube really hit home with me. The title was ‘A Harvard Professor’s Conversion to Catholicism’, and it was Roy Schoeman’s story.1 An atheist from a Jewish background, Roy was blessed with visions of Our Lord and Our Lady. After that, he went to a Protestant Church and asked the pastor about Jesus and Mary. The pastor didn’t seem to have any respect for Mary, and Roy knew that he couldn’t belong to a Church that didn’t appreciate Mary for who she really was. I knew that I had the same kind of feelings. I wanted to be where Mary would be honoured.
On the Feast of the Annunciation last year, Mgr. John Armitage, the Rector of the National Marian Shrine at Walsingham, rededicated England as the Dowry of Mary. Prior to the Reformation, devotion to Mary was particularly strong in England. Every King of England was expected to go on pilgrimage to the Shrine of Walsingham. Even Henry VIII as a young man walked barefoot from East Barsham to the Shrine to offer prayers. Pre-Reformation Catholicism was as much a cultural tradition as a theological belief. Cathedrals and monasteries were social hubs, and the year was punctuated by Saints’ days and religious celebrations. These were an excuse for feasting and celebrating as much as for praying. With the majority of the people illiterate, Faith was shown by participating in Christian worship, going on pilgrimages and taking part in processions. Faith was seen very much as a community experience rather than an individual or interior spiritual experience. Every village, town or city had its own Patron Saint who would advocate on its behalf. The greatest of these was the Blessed Virgin Mary. This honouring of Mary was not confined to sacred buildings but every area of life. Hundreds of flowers were named after her and Marian Gardens were created in her honour. These included some of our most common species – Buttercups (Our Lady’s locks), Dandelion (Mary’s Bitter Sorrow), Foxglove ( Our Lady’s gloves), and Lily of the Valley (Our Lady’s tears). One estimate puts the number at 1,100 species. All this changed after the Reformation. ‘A Garden For Our Lady’,1 written by Felicity Surridge and illustrated by her husband, Malcolm, tells of what happened and how 800 years of floral Marian connections and symbolism disappeared from the national consciousness. In recent times, however, they also note the resurgence of the idea of planting gardens for Mary – quiet sacred spaces filled with flowers named after her. One of the latest is at the Rosary Shrine at St Dominic’s Priory, Haverstock Hill in North London.2 It is not only flowers that are named after Our Lady. I found out recently that the bright cheerful ladybird is also named after the Virgin Mary. In Medieval times, Our Lady was often depicted wearing red, and the seven spots on the ladybird’s back were a reminder of the seven sorrows and seven joys Mary experienced. When I was a child, it had always been considered lucky if a ladybird landed on your hand. Realising this link with Our Lady I could now see why. I was ecstatic as I was trying to find a suitable emblem for the Readies, a band of children wanting to do good, who were lead characters in a children’s book I was writing, called ‘The Little Witch Who Wanted to Be Good’. Learning about this association of ladybirds with Our Lady felt like a blessing from God on my book and the project generally. It was a subtle way of bringing Mary’s presence into the book. My vision behind the book was to use the interest in witches as a way to subvert the genre, and encourage children on a path of virtue, but done in an amusing way. Hence Esmeralda, the heroine, is considered naughty for wanting to join the Readies and do good. The response among children so far has been great as they not only enjoy the book but understand the message too. To find out more see ‘The Readies Club’ website www.thereadiesclub.com Article 1st published in the Faith Companion Magazine - July/August 2021 Edition Kristina Cooper is a Catholic journalist, speaker and writer. She edited Goodnews magazine for 35 years. Since her retirement she has been concentrating on writing children’s books as a way of transmitting Christian values in a fun way to the younger generation. The Little Witch Who wanted To Be Good’ was published in February 2021. It is available on Amazon and her web site www.the readiesclub.com
INTRODUCTION Mary stood at the foot of the Cross and suffered in silence with Christ – united in love, the pain must have been immense, unbearable – to see her Beloved One suffer, to feel helpless, but to still stay by Him. There is much power in offering up such pain as this for the healing of the world. If we can remember that in the heart of our own grief, we can still give a gift of love; nothing is wasted, and love returns multiplied. Mary’s love for her Son brings her the grace of God and because she suffered so closely with her Son, how closely can she empathise with us in our pain, especially when it arises from a feeling of helplessness and abandonment.
Holding her newborn child, Our Lady knew that at some point she would have to give up her child to suffering and death as a sacrifice for us.
Your child's life was threatened with death by King Herod; with St. Joseph, you took to the desert road and embarked upon your new journey to Egypt.
The unexpected pain and anguish that you suffered during the separation from your child, trusting in God that all would end well.
When you saw your son, our Lord Jesus with flesh torn and scourged, carrying His cross; the sorrowful exchange when your eyes met - confirming the unspoken pain necessary for His sacrifice as an atonement for my our sins.