As we walk down the street near the Palacio Bella Arte, Ines turns and says to me,
“Don’t look ahead of us.”
“Why?” I respond.
“Those people are protesting.”
Ines is referring to a large group of bohemian types who have completely undressed and are running through the streets butt naked.
“What are they protesting?” I ask.
“They’re just angry about something.” Ines replies.
“Huh...” I reply, acting as if to ponder. “Mexico must be a really angry country.”
“Why is that?”
“Because on every street corner, there are guys selling magazines of people who are protesting in the very same way!”
Ines turns her head to me to discern if I am seriously as innocent as I pretend to be. I flash back a child-like smile which further perplexes her over the charade of my naiveté.
I couldn’t be happier to be in the presence of Ines, her sister, and her friend. We head off to dinner, followed by a visit to the church of St. Francis. If you have downloaded Google Earth onto your computer, you can view my pictorial of the parish by clicking here.
My real goal of the day was reconnaissance. The big festival of Our Lady of Guadalupe is coming up, and about the worst thing I could do to prepare for the experience was to visit the shrine when two million people descend upon it in a single day. I needed to know something about the place before the big event. So I went to have a look.
There was a certain uneasiness looming over me as I approached the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe. I had made an ultimatum to Our Lady of Guadalupe a few days ago. I said that I wanted a miracle when I came to the shrine. More acutely, I said that I expected a miracle.
I visited the old basilica, the chapels that adorn Cerro de Tepeyac, and then I finally went to the new basilica. I was getting a feel for the lay of the land. When I entered the new basilica, it was the middle of Mass, and I sat down somewhere in the middle of the crowded church. It felt good just to set my bag down and rest. After a little while, the Mass had reched the rite known as the Sign of Peace, and soon after, I felt a tap on my back.
It was Ines.
Ines is a parishioner at St. Ignatius parish, where I work in Chicago. There are close to seven million people who come to this basilica over the twelve days leading up to the Solemnity of Our Lady of Guadalupe on December 12. Ines and I had never spoken to each other since I left in January. I had no idea that she would be in Mexico, though she did have the advantage of looking out for me, knowing that I would be here. We just happened to go to Mass on the same day, at the same time, in the same church. She saw me walk into the Church, and came up to me at the Sign of Peace. It made the Sign of Peace feel like a sign from God. It is difficult to express how overjoyed I was to see her. I gave her a big hug and sighed out, “Paz.”
It got my miracle.
If it had been my own mother, I’m sure that I would have been even more excited, but Ines comes pretty close. She is one of several women in the parish who have unofficially adopted me as their own son.
“Do you need to stay to take more pictures?” Ines asks after Mass.
“No. I’m coming back to the Basilica at least two more times before the Solemnity. This visit was just reconnaissance.”
“Good. Then you’ll come to dinner with us.”
As I said… unofficially adopted me.
I have made a lot of friends along this whole journey. It is a natural byproduct of human relationship when you can’t hide behind things, and have nothing to offer but yourself. Making new friends has been wonderful, but it has been exhilarating whenever I could reunite friends that I have known before. The last time I had that luxury was in Ecuador, over a month ago, but on such a long journey, it seems like it has been even longer.
So for a brief while, I have an old friend, and surrogate mother, with me in Mexico, someone to make sure I have a good meal, and protect me from naked protesters at the Palacio Bella Arte.
The good meal is nice bonus, but having someone to protect me from the naked protesters is truly the miracle of friendship.