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That evening was a sacred moment for me. That mud floor, I’m certain, was holy ground. Even today I remain touched by the tenderness with which the boy caressed his mother’s face in one last gesture of love. I remain moved by this young woman’s slipping away from this world so quietly. Since that evening I’ve been comforted by the thought that although she was a stranger to even the people who lived in Ocosingo, she was known and loved by God. Since that evening I have thought of that bedroll; I have remembered that box. Years later I served as a pastor in Los Angeles and attended or presided at many burials at some of the most exclusive cemeteries in the world, the final resting place for some of the world’s most famous people. But even as I stood in those lush settings, surrounded by extremely ornate statuary, my mind returned to that field in Mexico. My hand again felt the rock I had used to pound those nails. Not a sparrow falls from the tree without the Father’s knowing it, Jesus told us. That little sparrow – that wife, that mother, that woman whose name I never heard – is known and is loved by God. He cherishes her. She is wrapped in a petate of infinite love. Originally published in Liguorian, November 2002, reprinted with permission from Liguorian, One Liguori Drive, Liguori, MO 63057. 
Prayer: Triduum of Saint Martin de Porres How can you help? |
