Crossing the threshold at the mission in San Juan Bautista takes us back 450 years to the era of the Spanish conquest of the Aztecs followed by the occupation of what is now Mexico City. In La Virgen de Tepeyac, a gift from El Teatro Campesino, we’re called to imagine the times and setting of the miracle of Our Lady of Guadalupe.
The story unfolds with a gathering of full-throated singers, descendants of ancestors memorialized here, protesting the arrival of the invaders. Lean, muscular warriors dance fiercely, belying the beauty of their pigmented head feathers. To a menacing drumbeat, the Indian men scare us with their spears, only twigs compared to Cortez’s gun-toting soldiers.
Soon follows the pouring of water under the direction of the bishop, well protected by the monitoring eyes of the soldiers. What might shock the viewer are forced baptisms of the Indians, depicted here inside the very church of the perpetrator. Although quickly remembered is the recent public apology by the priest inside this very mission just a few months ago.
To the delight of the audience, more singing and dancing protests erupt, accompanied by tribal royalty. The queen attired in gold embroidery and purple-feathered headdress pronounces to the Spanish assembly that this incursion demonstrates great unfairness and cruelty. Cortez’s soldiers carry “spears” that pierce native bodies. Whereas the pointed tips of native spears merely bounce off the shiny bright metal protecting Spanish soldiers. She says that her people stay in their homes, terrorized. Unfazed, the Spanish continue their search for gold until another disturbance occurs.
A young man, whose water-poured name is Juan, requests to see the bishop. Yet his holiness seems never available. The bishop’s maid brooms him away like the dirt clinging to his rags. The soldiers think at least his clothing exceeds that of the warriors who wear scant hip-hugging animal skins. Young Juan persists because he has seen a lovely lady who sends him on a quest to the bishop. On successive trials, three friars prevent Juan from success. These friars disagree not because of the message for the bishop but because of the impossibility of anyone so insignificant having anything of value to say. They believe someone like Juan could be practicing witchcraft. “Where on earth could anyone see such a beautiful vision?” they chuckle.
Feeling dejected for his failure, the young man returns to the lady at the usual place near a hill called Tepeyac. He asks himself why the lady herself doesn’t go directly to the bishop with her request to build a shrine for her, for Juan Diego—his full water-poured name—desires with all his heart to please this lovely lady who wears colors exactly like those of his mother.
During the last visit between the superior bishop and the inferior nobody, the bishop requests a sign so that he can truly believe Juan Diego’s fantastic story, which he suspects is mere witchcraft. The bishop thinks surely this will be the last he will see of this pesky Indian who is wasting his time.
Juan Diego’s final visit at Tepeyac reveals the lady’s identity. She tells him she is the mother of God, the bishop’s own God. She wants the bishop to build a shrine for her to be known as Our Lady of Guadalupe. She instructs Juan to visit the bishop again, holding his mantle close and the corners tight. He is not to open it until he speaks to the bishop, only the bishop.
As tension builds among the frightened village, the invaders remain smug, confident the Indian will not be able to provide a meaningful sign. There are soldiers who seek gold, the maid who shoes away beggars, the friars who suspect native spirituality, and the disbelieving bishop. In this setting, the revelations emerge ever more astonishing.
In the miraculous climax, red roses overflow Juan Diego’s cloak and cascade to the feet of El Obispo. Now the fully open cloak clearly exposes an image of the Lady described by Juan. This astonishing portrayal exhibits colors as if just finished from an artist’s easel. To this day, this same cloak and image can be seen enshrined in the cathedral of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City.
Surely, this Lady stands firmly on the side of the oppressed, the invaded. She has chosen her people who believe fervently in the miracle.