A thousand forms of Mary

A few years ago, when I was researching a story
in Veracruz, Mexico, the proprietor of a small cantina and I struck up a
conversation. When talk turned to religion, Señor Gonzalez shyly asked if I
would like to see one of his most highly prized treasures. He led me to the
upstairs banquet room, where an errant barbeque had left a smoke stain on the
wall.

"Do you see her?" he asked me anxiously. A lifelong
Protestant, I wasn't immediately clear to whom he was referring. (I hadn't been
in Mexico long.) I stared at the smoke for a while, and with Señor Gonzalez's
help, I was eventually able to see her: the face of the Virgin Mary appearing
to him in smoke.

During the rest of my visit, these appearances of Mary were
shown to me frequently: on rocks, on moss, in food, on walls. I learned quickly
that Mary's appearance was a mysterious commonplace, a way to see God in
everything.