This article was sent to Rorate by a young man who participated in the recent 17th annual pilgrimage of traditional Catholics in Argentina—their version of the Chartres pilgrimage, so to speak, taking place in the middle of August. We are glad to publish it and to bring more attention to the youthful strength of the traditional movement in that great country. -PAK
Not long ago, I had the honor of going on a pilgrimage to the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Luján, whose devotion in Argentina emerged around 1630. I traveled along with more than two thousand people almost 100 kilometers from Rawson (a small village in the Buenos Aires Province) to the imposing Neo-Gothic style basilica of the city of Luján, which defies the flat landscape of the Buenos Aires countryside.
Entire families, priests, religious, and young Catholics marched through open fields from five in the morning until well into the afternoon, with the solemn Tridentine Mass and short breaks in between. All in three days. Dozens of religious banners, flags waving and defying the wind, reminded me of those popular Christian feats that I only know as old stories now.
It is perhaps the closest thing to a crusade I have experienced so far. At times, I felt that we were marching like heroes of a distant past, under the watchful eyes of passersby in each town or city where we announced ourselves with songs and prayers. Without a doubt, no one reacted indifferently, whether for good or for ill.
Despite this, I could not help but think, during the time that such an arduous but joyful march lasted, that everything I was experiencing barely exists today in the world around us. Where did that religious, patriotic, and shameless fervor go, which can now only be projected in black and white? Where are those light blue and white flags that once adorned the streets? What about those majestic Catholic processions of yesteryear that brought together tens of thousands of worshippers in the streets?
If my questions are valid, then we are missing something, or worse: We have lost it. We have forgotten one virtue: magnanimity. Saint Thomas Aquinas, in his magnum opus, the Summa Theologiae, defines it as “a tendency of the mind towards great things”. Being closely linked to the virtue of fortitude,“it inclines one to undertake great, splendid, and honorable works in every kind of virtue”, as the so-called Angelic Doctor indicates.
It is regrettable, in turn, that we often confuse it with pride, as if a man could not be worthy of great accomplishments, which is what God calls everyone to do. And indeed, contrary to magnanimity, we sin by pusillanimity. He who is fainthearted, wrote the aforementioned Doctor of the Church, gives up using his ability to do great things.
Many times as Christians we confuse pride with magnanimity. In other words, we believe that if we raise our voices or show pride in the great deeds of God and his saints, we are committing a sin. Or we also mistakenly believe that acting cowardly, keeping one's virtues and gifts to oneself, is actually being humble, not believing oneself to be more than one is and not seeking the attention of others. Well, in both cases we are falling into a serious lie. Since when was virtue meant to be hidden?
To be honest, I have never known a nation which does not glorify its heroes or remember its patriotic deeds. Would epic novels appeal to us if the hero hid from the villain instead of confronting him to defeat him in fierce combat? I do not think a lamp is meant to be hidden in a drawer.
The time has come for us to understand, once and for all, that being humble is also showing greatness. To recognize one's limitations, of course, but never forgetting that every person is made for the great and infinite. And if we Christians fail to communicate this, then we are not worthy to call ourselves such. I'm not trying to point the finger at everyone in an accusatory way. I can attest to my own mistakes, precisely because occasionally I found myself to be the coward.
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| The author of this report |
There were many times when I failed to properly respect certain people, moments when someone expected more from me and I disappointed that person, because I wasn't the man I was supposed to be. As Paul of Tarsus rightly put it in one of his epistles:“For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do”.
However, I do not believe in a God who abandons his children: his grace is greater than my sin. One of the most notable characteristics of the magnanimous is trust, as stipulated by Aquinas. If there is one good thing the pilgrimage reminded me of, it is that there are still Christians willing to march from sunrise to sunset for the True, the Good and the Beautiful. Christians who arrive at this long-awaited destination with nothing more to offer than their weary bodies and humble prayers, far from any worldly concern but trusting in His Divine Mercy.
Holiness was never about being popular or pleasing others: It does us no good to gain the world if we lose our soul. So let us put an end to the shame, the unease, and the fear of showing ourselves as the "salt of the earth" that we are. On the day of our judgement, no other opinion will matter besides the Lord’s. “I did not come to bring peace, but a sword”, Matthew the Apostle heard Jesus Christ say. In other words, He never promised us comfort or the approval of others, but weapons to wage war on evil. It is true that holiness involves struggle, but guess what: the battle has already been won. Christ has conquered death; what more shall we fear?
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