I often wonder what it would be like to place historical figures into dialogue with one another. And at this moment in our human history, I find myself recalling my experiences meeting two impressively iconic women on different shores in my youth who I like to imagine admonishing, reflecting, and counseling all of us today.
First, as a teen, I recall looking up to the Statue of Liberty on Ellis Island, her tarnished copper robes seeming to catch the gusts off the Atlantic. It was almost impossible to not get goosebumps envisioning all the “huddled masses yearning to breathe free” she was ready to receive. Then, I remember how a few years after that encounter, I met the 17th century “Virgen de Guadalupe” in Mexico City. Totally mesmerized, my eyes were transfixed on the celestial veil on this humble peasant’s tilma. It was as if her eyes saw all and remembered everything, as if time was truly kairos, a divine unfolding of past, present, and future on a simple piece of cloth.
From inked tattoos to street murals of the Virgin Mary to postcards and collectibles of Lady Liberty, the mantles (shawl-like fabric) are such an emblematic part of their mystique. In the Gospels, we hear that “if someone asks for your tunic, give them your cloak too.” Scholars have noted that such a garment was vital in its multipurpose function, being a potential tent, blanket, and shield from the elements. Therefore, this act would not only be generous but life-giving.
Refuge in the Blessed Mother and Lady Liberty
This year, we have witnessed a threat to the very fabric of charity, justice, and the dignity of the human person. We have witnessed the cruelty and dehumanization of our migrant brothers and sisters, and the disintegration of justice and constitutional norms. We have seen the violence and rhetoric toward communities whose loved ones have been detained or deported without due process.
We have observed our neighbors, colleagues, and friends living in fear of the unknown—often terrified to return to situations of poverty and political violence. It is in these times that I find myself seeking out refuge under the mantles of Lady Liberty and the Blessed Mother, trying to find wisdom in their graces.
We have observed, helplessly in this dystopian reality, our neighbors, colleagues, and friends living moment to moment in fear of the unknown, and often terrified to return to situations of poverty and political violence. And it is in these times that I find myself seeking out meaning, solace, and refuge under the mantles of Lady Liberty and the Blessed Mother, trying to find wisdom in their graces.
Here in Southern California, my childhood depictions of Mary in the parishes of my youth were almost always of this Latin and Indigenous mother, the Virgin of Guadalupe. From beneath her mantle, I reflect on my regional culture. The iconic, brightly woven hand-crafted textiles from immigrant communities have threaded my own memory—stoles, altar cloths, table coverings—as an embrace of the enriching religiosity of the Latino community that has lovingly been woven into my own life.
I think of embroidered flowers and monarchs on traditional folklorico dress and block print florals of the Oaxcan region. I think of the rich colors in fabrics of Columbia and Peru, the vibrancy of Haitian and Venezuelan seamstresses in each ruffle and pattern. From under these mantles of Mary and Liberty, I lament the attempt to unravel these threads that have been shared by our migrant communities into the fabric of our towns, communities, and nation.
Grit and Grace
As I often feel on the verge of despair, unable to grasp a hold of meaning and light in this darkness, I’m offered an example to allow the Spirit to work through me in this hour. And in taking on these mantles in order to offer it to all those in need, I’m reminded of how St. Francis of Assisi accepted from the Lord “what is mine to do.”
Like the Virgin of Guadalupe, patroness to all the Americas, do I offer my cloak and tunic to provide spiritual, emotional, and temporal sanctuary to those most impacted in these troubled times?
Like Veronica wiping the face of Christ with her veil, do I offer relief to the undocumented person who is denied basic needs and facing an unknown future?
Like Christ with the hemorrhaging woman, do I notice if a neighbor is reaching out in desperation for support but unable to speak out of fear? Am I able to offer comfort and a loving presence that might inspire healing or a gift of treasure to help them in these circumstances?
Like Mother Cabrini, patroness of immigrants, in her simple habit, do I live and work simply so as to offer myself to the education, health care, and well-being of those navigating this unknown land?
Like the prophets forgoing their typical attire in exchange for a dramatic display of sackcloth and ashes, do I advocate and speak out about these injustices and serve as a witness to the sin and apathy around us?
Like the Holy Family in flight from persecution in Egypt, do I seek to understand the issues of our day and the geopolitical and humanitarian impact of our policies? When I see a child, regardless of their land of origin, do I see the Christ Child in them and create a “room” for them my heart? In the end, as Ephesians 2:19 states, “You are no longer strangers and foreigners but fellow citizens with the saints and members of God’s household.”
Raise Our Torches
For American Catholics, we trace our lineage to the patchwork immigrants throughout the centuries, stitched together with grit, grace, and a hope in a tomorrow. In our own desire for sanctuary and our roots as citizens in the family of God, under the mantle of Our Lady, may we hold that torch of Lady Liberty high in the storm so that others may find hospitality and home.
Rather than unravelling these bonds of community and human dignity, there is an opportunity to strengthen the threads of our common bonds as members of this common household with the mantles of liberty and justice as well as peace and every good, for all–para todos.
Lady Liberty, inspire us. Mother Mary, deliver us. And let us be your mantles for our sisters and brothers who come from distant lands to make a home with us. Amen.
Blessed Mother Blessed Mother Blessed Mother