Like thunder in the distance, history rumbles in the background of life. Though often unnoticed or routinely dismissed, its lingering influence begs the question: Are you listening?
On a spring day on the campus of Mt. St. Mary Seminary in Cincinnati, storm clouds moved in from south of the border. As I kneel beside an outdoor statue of Our Lady, history’s lightning sparks like gunfire and booms loud as a cannon. Slowly, I lift my hand to touch the patched bullet holes that scar the back of the statue.
Are you listening?
For twenty years, I have served in predominantly Hispanic parishes in the Diocese of Amarillo, Texas. My parishioners’ devotion to Mary, their love of family and lives of hard work, have had a profound impact on me. Today, the rough texture of this war-damaged statue only deepens my honor and respect for them.
Details about the arrival of this statue of Mary are sketchy. Nevertheless, it was brought to the United States either during or shortly after the Cristero War which enveloped Mexico from 1926-1929.
“A sword will pierce your heart and the thoughts of many will be laid bare.” (Luke 2:35)
I count the number of craters on the surface of the statue. Seven. As in, the Seven Sorrows of Mary.
This year marks the centenary of the violent uprising against the Mexican government’s attempt to compromise religious freedom and diminish the influence of the Catholic faith. Anti-ecclesial articles placed into the 1917 Constitution by President Plutarco Calles, an atheist, led to the closing of religious schools, confiscation of church property, the exile of foreign clergy and the prohibition of clerical garb. Members of religious orders were prevented from wearing habits as well as professing vows. Public comment on governmental policy was outlawed and foreign priests were exiled.
The war resulted in approximately 90,000 deaths including soldiers, resistance fighters and civilians. From among the casualties, the Church has canonized twenty-five martyrs, among them, Sister Maria de Jesus Sacramentado, Father Miguel Pro and fourteen-year-old Jose Sanchez del Rio.
Memories of the war continue to reverberate within many Mexican families. A recent program that I attended at a church in rural Ohio, yielded stark testimony of the war’s devastation. One of the participants spoke about her grandmother having been baptized in secret to avoid execution. Another participant shared the story of a relative who hid two priests and twenty Franciscan seminarians on her ranch. When soldiers arrived to search the premises, the seminarians and one of the priests escaped. The other priest was apprehended, then tortured and killed. Yet another participant shared pictures of the church in his hometown, its bell tower pocked by artillery fire.
In many rural communities throughout the United States today, Anglos and Hispanics gather together for worship, fellowship and mutual support. This year’s centenary of the Cristero War provides an excellent opportunity to strengthen those bonds of faith, hope and community.
Following his Resurrection, Christ displayed his wounds and declared, “Peace be with you,” to his disciples. In a similar way, a war-scarred image of his mother pleads for an ever-deepening spirit of love among all God’s children.
