Our Lady of Charity finds a home in Atlanta

I used to think that all the driving around I did was because I was always hauling children — mine, and other peoples’ kids — all over the place for the multitude of activities in which they participated (and by default, I ended up as team mom, concession director, stage mom, booster minion, ticket master, chaperone, chief cook, and bottle washer).

No.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I just like to drive. And I like adventures.

Which brings me to today’s mission: I drove into the city of Atlanta to visit a tiny statue squirreled away in a side altar. You know there has to be a story here because even I have my limits.

Well, not really, but there is a story. It started last month when I was in Miami for my birthday and took a little trip to the Ermita de la Caridad, the national shrine of Our Lady of Charity, patroness of Cuba. A dear friend accompanied me, and asked more questions than I could answer, which led to some more things, and suddenly I found myself exchanging emails with some very interesting people.

In one of the exchanges was a request to find anywhere in the world where there is a statue of Our Lady of Charity. Well, I knew there was one in the Archdiocese of Atlanta because of the annual celebration, but I didn’t know where. A friend of mine, a newly ordained deacon who happens to be Cuban, told me she was on one of the altars at the Cathedral.

Impossible, I think. I grew up going to that church. The altars are gold mosaics with bas relief images. No virgencita there, my friend.

So I went to the Cathedral of Christ the King to find out for myself. I walked into the beautiful cathedral and was suddenly transported back to my childhood when I was a student there. I stood in the back, taking it all in and letting that wonderful feeling of being home wash over me.

I realized that Mass was going to begin soon and I didn’t want to be a distraction (and I wanted to stay, too) but I also wanted to find the statue. Was she really at an altar? Was she in the hall behind the sacristy? I panicked a little, thinking I was going to have to get permission to wander around.

Suddenly, she revealed herself to me. It was so strange. I happened to be standing in just the right place, at just the right angle to look between the columns towards the altar on the right, and there she was, beckoning me. If it’s possible to make eye contact with a statue, I accomplished it. That’s quite a feat, too, cuz boy am I near-sighted.

Do you see her? On the right?

Better? No? Here you go, then…

Isn’t she just like our moms, patiently waiting in a corner watching for when we get home?

This particular statue has a fascinating history. The Archdiocese of Atlanta has celebrated September 8th, the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary — also celebrated as the feast of Our Lady of Charity  by Cubans– since the 60’s when Cubans began arriving in Atlanta in large numbers. It was a beautiful way for these exiled Cubans, alone — very alone in this new country, to connect with each other, and connect with the community and the Church under the welcoming and comforting mantle of their beloved virgencita.

Many years ago, a woman, a young wife and mother, came to Atlanta with her small children to visit her husband who was incarcerated at the federal prison here. She had traveled with the statue, and upon learning that the Archdiocese was using only a painting of the Blessed Virgin, offered the good people from the office of Hispanic services the use of her statue for the annual event. Grateful, some representatives from Catholic Social Services went to her home to pick up the statue. After the celebration, they returned to her home with the statue and discovered that there was no sign of the woman. Further investigation revealed that there was no person by her husband’s name incarcerated in the area.

Her appearance…and subsequent disappearance have remained a mystery for decades, but thanks to that miraculous appearance, Our Lady of Charity has found a permanent home in the cathedral.

A Lenten Prayer

on my key chain…

Thank you, Jesus, for your heart. Thank you for letting me believe more every day, hope more every day. Lord, take my heart and let it become a heart filled with your love. Amen.

~ Henri Nouwen

a weird but delightful lenten challenge

I have a friend, Mary, who has announced her intent to out-Catholic me this Lent. It’s a task, and not because I am an uber-Catholic. Oh, Lord, no, I am struggling there, taking every day a little at a time with the help of my friends.

No. This mission to out-Catholic me tickles me because my friend is Methodist (am I allowed to say that? oops).

Dear dear Mary — you already have a great name — what could you possibly be doing to out-Catholic me?

I proceeded to pull out my new favorite rosary, a birthday gift from a dear friend. “Look,” I said, beaming with joy, “it’s from Fatima. In Portugal!”

I was absolutely sure that I had her.

She took the rosary, still warm from my pocket, and held it in her hand, nodding her head in approval before returning it to me. I stared her down, letting the soft tinkle of the beads fill the room with the power of my assertion.

She didn’t miss a beat, this Mary, this woman whose grounded spirituality and love of liturgical music fills my days with smiles. She merely used her pencil to point to the small bulletin board on her office door:

A few years ago I met an old professor at the University of Notre Dame. Looking back on his long life of teaching, he said with a funny wrinkle in his eyes: “I have always been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I slowly discovered that my interruptions were my work.”

That is the great conversion in our life: to recognize and believe that the many unexpected events are not just disturbing interruptions of our projects, but the way in which God molds our hearts and prepares us for his return. Our great temptations are boredom and bitterness. When our good plans are interrupted by poor weather, our well-organized careers by illness or bad luck, our peace of mind by inner turmoil, our hope by a constant changing of the guards, and our desire for immortality by real death, we are tempted to give in to a paralyzing boredome or to strike back in destructive bitterness. But when we believe that patience can make our expectations grow, then ‘fate’ can be converted into a vocation, wounds into a call for deeper understanding, and sadness into a birthplace for joy.

— from Out of Solitude by Henri J. Nouwen

Ah, Mary. We’re all together on this journey. I placed my rosary back in my pocket and went back to my office, smiling.

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