A tilma (or tilmatli) is an article of clothing that Aztec men wore in the early days of Colonialism in central Mexico. It was either worn like an apron or draped over the shoulders. The richest men in the upper classes wore tilmas made from cotton, poor men's tilmas were made from ayate--a fiber made from cactus. Men would carry things in their tilma as they walked; rich men would wear theirs like a cloak.

Juan Diego was a Indian man in who lived in a village North of where Mexico City is today, he was a farmer and a weaver--he was the kind of guy whose tilma would have been made from the rustic cactus fiber. These things don't last forever, as they age and dry out, the cloth just kind of falls apart. Even if they were never used, they only last about 15 or 20 years before they disintegrate.

He was lonely and quiet in the years after his widow died--he spent a lot of time in silence walking to and from Church on Saturdays and Sundays. On one Saturday morning in December of 1531, he was walking alone when he heard birds on the hill and someone calling his name--and a woman who looked like an Aztec princess appeared in front of him, but Juan Diego recognized her as the Blessed Virgin Mary. She asked him to tell the bishop that she wanted a shrine to be built on top of that hill in her honor, saying:

"I wish that a temple be erected here quickly, so I may therein exhibit and give all my love, compassion, help, and protection. Because I am your merciful mother, to you, and to all the inhabitants on this land and all the rest who love me, invoke and confide in me; to listen there to their lamentations, and remedy all their miseries, afflictions and sorrows. And to accomplish what my clemency pretends, go to the palace of the bishop of Mexico, and you will say to him that I manifest my great desire, that here on this plain a temple be built to me."

So he ventured back to town and asked His Excellency, Juan de Zumarraga, Bishop of Mexico to do what Mary had requested.

Bishops are important people. They've got a lot going on and a lot to do. Bishop Zumarraga was a Basque from the Castille region of Spain--he had a reputation as a kind hearted but no-nonsense administrator. The job as Bishop of Mexico was no small task--it had political importance, spiritual authority and secular power. It was a big job. Mexico was important to the Spanish and to the Church, Zumarraga was in the middle of power struggles and controversies that held stakes for the Spanish crown as well as the Catholic Church. So when a poor, old and lonely native man shows up on his step saying that he saw a vision of Mary and she wants a church to be built in some hill in the country--I understand why Bishop Zumarraga didn't spend a lot of his time listening to Juan Diego's pleas. There's a lot of people who say they see visions of the Blessed Virgin in their backyards or in the patterns on their waffle syrup or whatever. Of course the Church doesn't want to miss an important appearance of Our Lady if she's got something important to say--but professional religious people have to spend a lot of time sorting our credible appearances from people who are willing to zone their garages as small shrines with corresponding gift shops. So Bishop Zumarraga sent Juan Diego away and told him that if he comes back with some evidence that the Diocese can review, they'll look into it. It was a polite way to get rid of him. And understandably so. Juan Diego left.

Some people might think it is strange that Juan Diego thought that Mary looked like an Indian woman. In a lot of European Art or traditional imagery, she looks fair skinned--almost alabaster white. In real life, Mary was a poor middle-eastern Jewish woman--probably not alabaster white, but certainly not like an Indian princess! But Our Lady often appears to people in a way that they would recognize. When Mary appeared to Bernadette at Lourdes, she appeared dressed in the way that the girls dressed at the nearby Catholic school--in a white dressy robe with a blue waist sash. Mary also has a tendency to find very humble and simple people. People who are poor and who have a very poor education. (I want to say that they're often not even very bright. But most of the people who have seen Our Lady have gone on to be Saints of the Church, so I'm going to not say that sometimes Our Mother appears to people who aren't very bright). But for years and years later, they can repeat back the exact details and retell exact conversations they had with Mary with remarkable clarity--as if each moment was etched into their brain.

Juan Diego went back to Tepeyac Hill and told the Blessed Virgin that the bishop wanted a miraculous sign for proof, then asked her to send someone else--he was an unworthy messenger whom the bishop would never believe. Mary told him to go to the top of the hill on the next day and she would give him a sign. She has a thing for unworthy people.

When he returned to Tepeyac the next day, he found a field of roses in full bloom--in the middle of a December winter. In case you're not a gardener, you should know that roses do not bloom in the winter. They thrive in the warm summer sunshine and go almost totally dormant in the short days and cold winter air. The roses on the hill were the kind that only grow in the Castille region of Spain, Bishop Zumarraga's home. So Juan Diego started cutting roses and gathering them in his ragged tilma. This would be proof enough to take to the bishop of his apparition--and Mary told him not to show anyone what he had in his tilma until he got to the bishop. He gathered up as many roses as he could handle and trekked the long road back to town. When he finally made it in front of the bishop, Juan Diego stood upright and dropped open his tilma and poured out the roses at His Excellency's feet... the good bishop fell to his knees.

Emblazoned on Juan Diego's simple cactus fiber tilma was the image of the Blessed Virgin Mary, in every detail that Juan Diego described. She stood in the center of glowing rays of light, crushing the horns of evil and cloaked in a mantle the color of night blue sky covered in starts. She wore a black sash--like the maternity belt that Aztec women wore when they were with child and her hands were joined in prayer. It was not the roses that Juan Diego was to bring to the bishop, Our Lady wanted him to bring this image on his simple rugged tilma.

Bishop Zumarraga built the shrine.

Construction began in the year 1531, but would not be totally finished until 1709. I don't know why it took so long, but I think that there's something to be said for a Protestant work ethic. Juan Diego's tilma with the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe hung in this church from its completion in 1709 until 1974. In this church, it was simply tacked up aside the high altar and hung out in the open-- subject to temperature changes, humidity, incense and candle smoke, and the kisses of thousands of those paying homage; it survived the bomb explosion of a terrorist protestor in 1921 that destroyed a large part of the marble altar and tore up a lot of the interior of the basilica. A few decades later, it occured to someone to encase the tilma in bulletproof glass.

In 1974, the Diocese opened an ugly round spaceship church next door and hung the tilma there instead. The wall on which it hangs has a certain jenga-like quality that can only be explained by saying out-loud these words:

"1970's church architecture is stupid".

Go ahead and say it. I'll wait.

"1970's church architecture is stupid"

Some things you just can't explain. I guess that's what happens when you hire the same architect who built Aztec Stadium in Mexico City.

Outside of the Vatican, no Catholic shrine gets more visitors, adorers and pilgrims than Our Lady of Guadalupe. Over 30 Masses are offered in the Basilica and her 9 chapels every day. There are hundreds of baptisms every week. And as if the world is taunting me with awesome confession times everywhere in the universe except Johnson County, confessions are heard every day of the year from 6:00 AM to 6:00 PM. The main basilica space seats 10,000 people and can expand up to 40,000 with temporary seating for major events. The atrium of the basilica is also a marketplace for local merchants who sell local traditional food there. It's a pretty busy place from what I hear. There's even some expectation of a Domino's Pizza opening up in the atrium, though it's sparked some controversy. Hey, it makes sense to me. Benedictus Domino means "Bless the Lord", maybe Our Lady would like a Brooklyn style sausage pizza. I'm just sayin'.

But the main attraction is not the beautiful old basilica or the strange new spaceship basilica. It is not the pizza stands or the fiestas on the atrium plaza. People flock to Tepeyac hill to see the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe. The image, still as bright and as clear as the day Juan Diego showed it to the bishop in 1531, is the star of the show. A poor man's tilma only lasts a handful of years before it falls apart in disintegration. But the same poor man's cloak that brought the bishop to his knees over 477 years ago still brings Catholics to their knees today.

Nobel laureate Octavio Paz wrote in 1974 that "the Mexican people, after more than two centuries of experiments, have faith only in the Virgin of Guadalupe and the National Lottery".

Today is the Feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe. It is the only officially recognized appearances of the Blessed Virgin Mary in North America--and one of only a couple to occur outside of Europe. Under this name, she is given the title of Patroness of the Americas and we are entrusted to her love, compassion, help, and protection. It's nice to know she's looking out for us.

Our Lady of Guadalupe, pray for us!