 |
By Óscar Méndez Casanueva
"Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven" (Mt 18:3-4).
There are images that vanish from altars but never from the heart. They are cast aside by an iconoclastic modernism that strips the faithful and their churches of their sacred images—seeking to make them resemble Lutheran sanctuaries—and drains the House of God of its sacred character, transforming it into something akin to a bare Protestant hall. Unnoticed by anyone, these images end up relegated to a corner, gathering dust amidst broken pews, old candelabras, and forgotten boxes. It is an iconoclastic attempt to alter a people's faith and devotion, transforming their very identity and memory by severing the bond with what had nourished their faith for years.
Yet, sacred images possess a mysterious capacity to wait. They do not wait for applause or accolades; they wait for the return of the one who once learned to pray in their presence.
I think of that old statue of the Virgin I used to gaze upon every Sunday as a child. Before her, I learned the Hail Mary, confided my earliest fears, and gave thanks for my first joys. Years passed. Then came the rush of life, changes, moves, and inevitable absences. When I returned to my childhood church as an adult, the image was gone from the altar. When I asked about her, someone replied indifferently: "She’s downstairs, in the basement."
Descending those stairs felt almost like a parable. There, among objects that seemed to have lost all utility, I found the sweet Virgin of my childhood. Dust covered her mantle; the paint was worn; a star was missing. Yet her face remained the same: serene, maternal, welcoming. There was not the slightest trace of reproach for so many years of abandonment. It seemed to say what it had always said: "Here I am—I am your mother."
I fell to my knees before Her, my eyes clouded with tears, and relived the feelings of my childhood: that steadfast faith, that infinite trust in the Mother, that immense tenderness she awakened in me. And I remembered that I must become like a child again to one day enter the Kingdom.
That iconoclastic onslaught of modernist heresy speaks not only of a religious image; it speaks of us, too. We often relegate to an inner "basement" the very things that once gave meaning to our existence: the simple prayers of childhood, trust in God, the peace of a silent church, the devotion learned from our parents or grandparents. We do not destroy these things; we simply let them get buried under our worries, successes, and disappointments.
But the Virgin possesses a patience that only a mother can have. She does not abandon the child who drifts away. She waits. And when that child, many years later, decides to seek her out, he discovers that She has not changed. The whole world may have changed; modernism may have tainted the faith of many without them even realizing it; the heart may be wearier; life may have left its scars. Yet She remains with the same smile, the same gaze, and the same readiness to welcome the one who returns, reminding us that the deposit of faith is immutable—it does not change or transform according to the times or prevailing tastes. The faith remains the same, just as She remains the same.
There are churches that hold great artistic treasures. Sometimes they are found hidden in a corner or a basement, where an ancient image continues to remind us that true love does not depend on the spotlight. The Virgin will always remain our Mother. Always the same. Always unchanged.
Perhaps we should all, at some point, descend into the "basement" of our memory. There, amidst memories we thought long forgotten, that first gaze of Mary still awaits us. And perhaps we shall discover, with deep emotion, that it was never She who lost sight of us; it was we who ceased seeking her.
Lady, conqueror of heresies, vanquish the modernist heresy and pray for us, that we may fully regain that vivid faith, that love, and that trust we once placed in you during our childhood. May our Catholic faith remain steadfast despite the world's attempts to undermine it, so that we may remain faithful to Christ until the end of this life.
Posts
