Something about Mary
By the time you read this, the hoopla over the saltwater stain Madonna on the wall under the Kennedy at Fullerton may have faded away.
Or not. (Perhaps depending on when the TV cameras leave.)
In the meantime, supporters and detractors have been bashing each other’s opinions about the Mary-shaped mark on the wall affectionately dubbed “Our Lady of the Underpass.”
Charges have flown—in the secular media, not here, thankfully—that the mark which has attracted candles, flowers and prayers over the last couple of weeks is (take your pick) a manifestation of the mother of Jesus or the human tendency to recognize familiar patterns as something more than they are.
Whichever, crowds have gathered at the site (drawn by media, as well as by faith) ever since the Mary-like pattern—or venerated apparition—first appeared. While I don’t like diminishing such events to something as dull as pattern recognition, I will concede that from the right angle the mark does bear an uncanny resemblance to Our Lady of Guadalupe.
Mary, however, does seem to get around.
Several years ago devout crowds gathered in Northwest suburban Carpentersville to see Mary in the shadow cast on an apartment wall by a nighttime security light. Images of Jesus’ mother have appeared in the discoloration of a window in Clearwater, Fla., etched into the paint of a Chevy Camaro and even in a tortilla in Texas. And who can forget the madonna of the grilled cheese sandwich that sold for $28,000 on eBay?
I was among the crowds at the Carpentersville event as a reporter and was struck not by the image, which was rather indistinct, but by the demeanor of the crowds: quiet, faithful, respectful. All of which goes to prove we CAN do it when we want to. (The miracle would be whether such behavior can extend to the parking lot after Mass.)
Full disclosure is necessary here. Several years ago I wrote a forgettable book called “Mary Miraculous.” Subtitled “Extraordinary Stories of Ordinary People Touched by Our Lady,” the book was a spinoff of a more successful (and a better read) volume called “Small Miracles.” The Mary book plowed much the same ground: people who discovered in their everyday lives a connection to God through Mary.
The premise was quite simple: the presence of God is where you find it. In that, I have to give the Our Lady of the Underpass crowd a nod. If the image brings you closer to the Lord, so be it. And don’t let anyone reduce the image to “just” a salt stain.
On the other hand, if the image becomes the idol and God takes second place, that’s a problem.
Still, I’m willing to bet that many of those awed by Our Lady of the Underpass and who have taken the appearance as a sign of either God’s favor—or anger—haven’t sought the place at least as appropriate for such an experience—the inside of a church.
(One letter to the editor in the secular press maintained the stain has graced the underpass for decades. And in a previous generation, he wrote, the local priest would come by to tell the gawking faithful that church was a better place for such devotion.)
That’s probably why the church hasn’t done much about the image under the Kennedy—except to observe. The church believes in miracles … the big ones, certainly. But also the small ones … when it doesn’t really matter exactly what happens, only whether you can see the hand of God.
I know from the personal experience, as well as writing about hundreds of people whose “small miracles” became an opportunity for conversion. The church, after all, is about conversion. If an image of Mary on a wall accomplishes that, it’s worth it. If not, well, it’s just a salt stain, no matter how real it looks.
Tom Sheridan
Editor and General Manager
