Almost five centuries ago, the Virgin Mary appeared in Mexico to an Indigenous convert named Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoatzin. She entrusted him with a mandate: that a church be built at the site of their encounter, the hill of Tepeyac. There, she explained, she would offer maternal love, compassion and healing for all “the people of these lands.” Her image, imprinted miraculously on his cloak, now hangs in the Basilica of St. Mary of Guadalupe at the foot of Tepeyac.
Nearly five hundred years later—on both sides of the U.S./Mexico border—Our Lady of Guadalupe continues appearing, albeit in new ways. Devotional groups like the one I belong to, Misión Guadalupana, based at a parish in Beacon, N.Y., share her story and her likeness (a framed picture or a statue) with other Spanish-speaking Catholics. Usually, this takes place over a novena of nine days of rosaries leading up to her feast day on Dec. 12.
Nearly five hundred years later—on both sides of the U.S./Mexico border—Our Lady of Guadalupe continues appearing, albeit in new ways.
However, 14 years ago, a member of our group, a woman named Pilar, proposed a much more ambitious idea. Before returning to Mexico, Father Tomás Bobadilla, our beloved spiritual guide and the founder of our group, had left Pilar a manual for continuing our mission in the Hudson River Valley. Written by the late Joaquín Gallo Reynoso, S.J., the book Pascua Guadalupana: 50 Dias con Nuestra Morenita provides an outline for prayer sessions for 50 days straight.
In rural Mexico, I had heard of the custom of praying the rosary for 46 days—one day for each of the stars on Our Lady of Guadalupe’s mantle—in the days leading up to her feast day. The adaptation created by Father Reynoso substitutes readings and reflection for rosaries. It also adds four more days, three of preparation and one of closure, for a total of 50 days.
“It will never work,” I said. “How can we maintain such a grueling pace?” Members of our group—and the recently arrived immigrant families we visit—work in construction, factory and farm labor, and house cleaning. They have exhausting jobs with demanding schedules.
“Our Mother will give us strength,” responded Pilar.
The name Pascua is Spanish for Easter and so recalls when Jesus reversed the conquest of death. It also recalls Pentecost, which celebrates the descent of the Holy Spirit and is celebrated 50 days after Easter.
She was right. On Oct. 25, 2010, carrying our enormous framed images of the Virgin of Guadalupe and St. Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoaztzin, we embarked on our first “Pascua.” The name Pascua is Spanish for Easter and so recalls when Jesus reversed the conquest of death. It also recalls Pentecost, which celebrates the descent of the Holy Spirit and is celebrated 50 days after Easter.
Word had spread among the families we had gotten to know through our Misión Guadalupana, and people had signed up to be part of the Pascua, which we capped at 46 homes. We went out into the communities, night after night, usually in a caravan. Despite many wrong turns, we found our way (with the help of cellphones) to the homes of the families who had requested a visit.
Arriving at these homes, members of the core group and others who joined us would wait outside for the arrival of the family that had hosted the Pascua the previous night. At times, so many people came along with us on the Pascua that we did not fit into hosts’ cramped apartments or trailers; we gathered in garages, basements or even outside in the bitter New York winter—warmed by hot beverages and fraternity, or calor humano.
The previous hosts delivered the images of the Virgin and of Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoatzin. As they placed the images on their home altar, the new hosts shared the reasons they had requested the visit. In homes overflowing with music, flowers and candlelight, the new hosts of the Pascua often overcame shyness and spoke from the heart.
“Tonight, our home will be her sanctuary,” said one host. Just as Juan Diego met the Mother of God on Tepeyac in an encounter of mutual love and respect, through the Pascua each home becomes a new Tepeyac.
In homes overflowing with music, flowers and candlelight, the new hosts of the Pascua often overcame shyness and spoke from the heart.
Every night, a gold star cut from poster board was presented to the hosts. On it was written the day’s title for the Blessed Mother, drawn from the apparition story or wider Marian tradition. The Pascua Guadalupana manual cites Psalm 147:4, “He numbers the stars, and gives to all of them their names.”
A star given to one family bore the word reconciliador (“reconciler”). The family later revealed how apt the star was for them, as they had argued earlier that day.
Another star was named consoladora (“consoler”). Often, people spoke about loss made more painful by our broken immigration system. They cannot go back home to see family members one last time or attend funerals, even after decades of living and working in the United States.
“It is as if the Virgin knows what they need and has a message for each home, each family,” said Doña Romelia, a rezadeira (traditional prayer leader) who belonged to the group along with her husband.
“It is as if the Virgin knows what they need and has a message for each home, each family.”
Each night after the day’s star was given, a short section was read from the Nican Mopohua (“Here It Is Related”). This is the narrative of the apparition of the Blessed Mother to Juan Diego. Centuries before the narrative was written down, scholars have suggested, the account was passed down through oral tradition. Listeners’ understanding of the Guadalupan story is enriched by Father Gallo Reynoso’s brief written explanations of symbolism and historical context.
In the story, when Juan Diego’s uncle is taken ill, for example, we discussed the important role of elders in Indigenous societies and remembered the epidemics that wiped out entire Native populations. The Guadalupan story was meditated upon, line by line, step by step. Participants were then given questions for reflection that related the day’s teachings to their own lives.
Another core member of our group, Agustín, along with his wife, hosted the Pascua one night during the first year. They attended all the remaining days and every year afterward, rarely missing a session.
“Walking day by day, you realize there is so much to learn,” said Agustín. The characters come to life, he said, in particular Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoatzin.
Typically, Juan Diego is depicted one-dimensionally as a meek, colonized figure. In contrast, the Pascua lays full claim to his legacy as a respected leader. His name in Nahuatl is translated “Singing Eagle.” Juan Diego’s testimony was instrumental to his people’s evangelization.
Typically, Juan Diego is depicted one-dimensionally as a meek, colonized figure. In contrast, the Pascua lays full claim to his legacy as a respected leader.
“He is our older brother,” said Oswaldo, who coordinated our core group with his wife, Teresa, speaking about Juan Diego. As Ecuadorians, Oswaldo and Teresa strongly identify with their Indigenous identity. Juan Diego is transformed and empowered by his encounter with the Virgin, who approaches him directly, speaking his own Nahuatl language. She not only chooses him as her messenger but becomes one of his kin. Our Lady of Guadalupe is a mother of the First Nations. While most families we visited were from Mexico, our Pascua also reached people from several Central and South American countries.
Visiting the homes of these families was fertile ground for evangelization. Father Gallo Reynoso’s carefully selected biblical readings shed light on each day’s teachings. The sequence when the Virgin offers Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoatzin reassurance, “Am I not here, who am your mother?” is paired with the crucifixion passage in St. John’s Gospel, when Jesus tells another John (Juan), “Behold your mother” (Jn 19:27).
The more experienced churchgoers in the sessions helped others connect this Marian devotion to the Scriptures. The Scriptures opened the door to evangelization, while singing and fervent prayer brought solace to communities well acquainted with suffering.
"The Virgin will be there for you when you need her. She’ll never forget you—and you’ll never forget her.”
One family started hosting the visit when their young daughter was diagnosed with cancer. They grew closer to the church as a family during that difficult time and asked to receive the Pascua for three years.
A college student named Sharai remembered the Pascua coming to her house beginning when she was 12 or 13 years old. One especially meaningful visit was when her father faced deportation. “When my dad was detained, that was a really trying time,” she said. “But seeing how we came together, not only as a family but as a community, I learned my faith makes me stronger.”
"The Virgin will be there for you when you need her. She’ll never forget you—and you’ll never forget her.”
At other times, hosts wanted to give thanks for the Virgin’s intercession. In the years since we started the Pascua, the community has witnessed milestones together: Children graduated from high school and then college. Families bought houses. New immigrants gained residency.
The Pascua became a way to acknowledge the Virgin’s accompaniment through life’s penas y alegrías (“joys and sorrows”). The 46 stars were spread out, year after year, against the winter night sky.
In 2021, we completed our 11th Pascua, which meant we had carried out more than 500 visits in 22 towns and cities in the Hudson Valley. Once I had worried we would not be able to do 50 visits, but the Pascua had cast a mantle of 500 stars.
