The Tabernacle of the Womb

When I went to Mass on St. Lucy’s day, I knelt at my regular pew. When I tried to look up at the tabernacle, I realized that the large portrait of Our Lady of Guadalupe, left out from the evening before with offerings of flowers around it, blocked my view. I wasn’t about to actually move from my regular spot, but I was little disappointed that it was blocking my regular view.

As Mass went on, I continued to look at Our Lady of Guadalupe. Her feast being the day before, I had been reading up on her and just recently learned that the image portrays a pregnant Mary. Throughout the Mass, my eyes kept darting to the position where I can normally see the tabernacle. Instead was the middle of this image. I couldn’t stop looking at her womb, knowing the tabernacle was just behind it.

I’ve never had the biggest devotion to Mary. I know she’s our mother, the Mother of the Church, the Mother of God. I usually attribute to my Protestant background; no aversion to her, but we keep a WASPy familial distance. I see others with their deep devotions to her, their daily rosaries, their consecrations. I know her, but not like that.

But there are brief moments like this when I see it—her power in our story of salvation. She said yes and bore God. She cradled him and nursed him and mourned him. She wants us to see who she sees. Unleavened bread and golden boxes don’t always seem so relatable. But she is. The tabernacle is in the womb. She cradles our salvation.