Faith
Timeless Posada also tells the story of humanity’s search
By entering the rituals of the Christmas season, we step beyond daily worries and into a world of mystery and salvation. One such ritual open to all San Antonians is La Gran Posada at San Fernando Cathedral, a reenactment of Joseph and Mary’s search for lodging on the first Christmas Eve, a tradition in the city for more than 250 years.
Participants join the holy pilgrims at Milam Park and walk with them through downtown, stopping at various places to seek posada. Through this shared journey, people experience the rejection and disappointment familiar to all human lives, along with the hope of acceptance and salvation.
Those unable to walk in the procession can welcome the pilgrims at the cathedral, where the church also honors organizations that provide shelter and hope to the homeless—today’s innkeepers.
Stories woven into the Posada reflect this search for welcome. Immigrant families, the homeless, and those facing rejection recognize their own lives in the pilgrims’ journey. For many, La Gran Posada becomes a place of acceptance, healing, and belonging.
La Gran Posada is not only for parishioners. As people walk together through the streets, they become one community, holding on not just to tradition, but to something sacred.
Ultimately, La Posada is about searching and finding, rejection and welcome, and the shared human longing for acceptance and salvation.
Posada traces life journey
La Gran Posada at San Fernando Cathedral reenacts the pilgrimage of Mary and Joseph as they search for shelter, tracing a path across downtown San Antonio and through the city’s history.
Beginning at Milam Park, the city’s colonial-era burial ground, the procession moves from darkness toward light, winding through historic plazas and civic spaces before ending at the cathedral. Along the way, Joseph’s pleas for shelter are repeatedly rejected, echoing the traditional posada verses.
As the Rev. David García explains, during La Gran Posada “the city becomes Bethlehem.” Processions, he notes, remind us of the Exodus and of life itself as a journey marked by change, obstacles, and transformation. Walking together shapes who we are and becomes an act of faith.
While posadas are usually neighborhood celebrations, La Gran Posada invites the entire city to participate, crossing centuries of San Antonio’s history—from its early cemetery and marketplaces to its centers of civic life.
The pilgrimage ends at San Fernando Cathedral, darkened until Mary and Joseph are welcomed and the lights are turned on, symbolizing hope and renewal. Though the posada story includes rejection and disappointment, it ultimately affirms that journeying together gives strength.
In a fast-paced world, La Gran Posada restores the meaning of shared movement. Passing through the heart of the city and its history, the procession becomes a prayer—and a reminder that we move through life together toward fullness.
Holiday continues with “Los Pastores”
The Christmas season continues Saturday with the re-enactment of Los Pastores at 7 p.m. at Mission San José.
In this allegory, shepherds journey to visit the newborn Christ child, battling the forces of evil along the way. The play reflects the pilgrimage of life, in which humans confront weakness and the social forces that pull them away from their supernatural destiny.
The tradition was revived in San Antonio by early 20th-century Mexican immigrant Don Leandro Granados and preserved by West Side residents. It later passed to Father Carmelo Tranchese at Our Lady of Guadalupe Church, with parish members continuing the tradition. Today, the play is co-sponsored by the San Antonio Conservation Society and the San Antonio Missions National Park Service.
Don Leandro, who had performed Los Pastores in Mexico since 1884, rewrote the play from memory after arriving in San Antonio in 1913. His aim was not to preserve a “cultural treasure,” but to give life to a “mythic-sacred text” rooted in faith and devotion.
Although often attributed to Franciscan missionaries, the earliest reference to Los Pastores in San Antonio places it in the early 1800s within the San Fernando Mexican community.
As the play moved from barrio homes to churches and Mission San José, it became more formal. Its story remains simple yet profound: the archangel Michael announces Christ’s birth, devils attempt to thwart the shepherds, and divine grace ultimately prevails.
The shepherds endure everyday distractions—work, hunger, and human passions—yet are saved despite themselves, reflecting God’s saving love. The play concludes with the shepherds offering gifts to the Christ child and inviting the audience to share in the act of devotion.
Through Los Pastores, the Christmas experience continues.
Holiday has radical messages
Christmas is often presented as a celebration of family, children, and spiritual renewal, offering relief from materialism. Yet the Nativity also carries a radical social message rooted in the Gospels, as noted by Richard A. Horsley in The Liberation of Christmas.
The story begins with Mary’s call, highlighting the central role of women in God’s work. Mary’s song proclaims a dramatic reversal of power: the lowly lifted up and the mighty cast down.
The Roman census that brings Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem contrasts the rule of Caesar Augustus with the reign of Jesus. Jesus’ peace is not the Pax Romana enforced by military power, but one grounded in justice and freedom.
Jesus is born among the poor and laid in a manger, which the angels redefine as symbols of true royalty. Their announcement is made not to rulers or religious elites, but to shepherds, signaling God’s empowerment of ordinary people.
The Magi, political-religious advisers, recognize Jesus as the true king, a threat understood clearly by Herod, who responds with violence. This new king, however, brings liberation from oppression.
Christmas, Horsley argues, cannot be separated from social and political reality. It proclaims a vision of justice, peace, and transformation — a call not merely to private spirituality, but to changing the world we live in.
The reinvention of Christmas
Christmas traditions are shaped by imagination and history. Linked originally to the winter solstice, the holiday evolved as Christianity replaced Roman celebrations with the feast of Christ’s birth. Early Christians focused on Easter and Pentecost, and only gradually did Christmas emerge as a distinct observance.
Popular festivity never disappeared, however, and tensions between religious meaning and public celebration persisted. In response, groups such as the Puritans abolished Christmas, though it later returned as a quieter, family-centered holiday.
In the United States, Christmas remained largely private until the 19th century, becoming a national holiday in 1865. Its growing importance coincided with industrialization and the rise of the nuclear family.
Literature, especially Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, helped redefine Christmas around domestic affection and children, a theme reinforced by Catholic traditions emphasizing Mary’s humility and the Christ child.
Originally, Christmas proclaimed the arrival of the Messiah and a message of liberation and transformed values. Modern Christmas, the author concludes, reflects a reinvention shaped more by social change than by its radical religious origins
Weary of season’s traditions, family adopts a new one
Gilberto Hinojosa
As our daughters were growing up, Christmas in our home became a carefully crafted season. The house was filled with music, garlands, and books, and the tree was trimmed with decorations the girls made themselves. One unconventional decision stood out: we banished Santa Claus, finding the story too commercialized, and emphasized older, faith-based traditions instead.
An Advent wreath sat on the table, and a large nacimiento filled the living room. Beginning Dec. 1, small sorpresitas appeared each morning in an Advent calendar my wife devised. Each surprise was a figure from the nativity and a Scripture story tracing salvation history, intentionally including as many women of the Bible as possible. The daily discoveries were a source of wonder and excitement.
In time, however, the careful ritual felt overdone. As the girls grew older and our own lives grew more complicated, we passed through a difficult period and one year decided to “skip Christmas.” Decorations were minimal, the nativity was reduced to its simplest form, and there was no tree.
No one seemed to mind—until late on Christmas Eve, when our younger daughter declared it wouldn’t be Christmas without a tree. We rushed from one closed tree lot to another until, at the last, we found a discarded, shapeless tree tossed outside a fence. We gladly took it home.
Once decorated, the house transformed. Music played, garlands went up, and the Advent calendar was pulled from the back of the closet. Almost magically, Christmas arrived.
From that night on, a new tradition was born: the tree now goes up on Christmas Eve. The story of that late-night search has become part of our family history.
Today, our daughters bring home more than presents. They bring their own stories—of struggle and joy, pain and discovery. Like the sorpresita stories of Scripture, these personal narratives weave together our family’s shared life, reminding us that the telling and retelling of such stories is a tradition worth preserving.
Story of Christmas is story of eternal hope, new beginnings
Gilberto Hinojosa
At a Nativity reenactment in South Texas, the details were imperfect—shepherds in sneakers, a bespectacled Mary, a mustachioed Joseph, and a baby Jesus who looked two years old. Yet the pageant was deeply moving. However it is told, the Nativity is a story of new beginnings and the promise of change.
The star, the angels, and the signs in the sky point to a turning point in history and, potentially, in our own lives. Though these symbols come from different scriptural sources, they share a common message: Jesus is the Son of God and the Savior.
Bethlehem matters not only because it is the city of David, linking Jesus to Israel’s history, but also because it is an insignificant town. Its very smallness conveys a countercultural message. Angels appear to shepherds—people of no status—and a star guides foreign visitors, while others miss the event altogether.
Only Matthew and Luke include Nativity stories, each shaped for a particular audience. Matthew presents Jesus as the new Moses, rooted in Jewish tradition, yet he also includes the magi to remind readers of a mission to the wider world. Luke places Jesus’ birth within global history and gives Mary and other women central roles.
John offers no Nativity scene, but instead places Jesus in eternity as the Word made flesh. Mark, writing in a time of persecution, dispenses with birth stories altogether and begins with the urgent call of John the Baptist.
The Nativity narratives may charm children, but they were written for adults. Their enduring message is one of hope: through Christ, we can change ourselves and our world, and each of us can begin anew.
“Guadalupe tale mirrors Gospels”
In colonial San Antonio, the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe marked the start of Christmas celebrations — a tradition that continues today with early morning mañanitas at San Fernando Cathedral and Our Lady of Guadalupe Church.
The Guadalupe story fits the Advent season because it highlights three Gospel themes: God’s presence in human culture, a tender and personal divine–human relationship, and the triumph of the lowly over the powerful.
In 1531, Mary appears as an Indigenous woman to the humble Juan Diego at Tepeyac. She asks him to request that a church be built in her honor. The bishop dismisses Juan Diego twice, but Mary persists with gentle encouragement. She provides a sign — roses gathered in Juan Diego’s tilma — and her miraculous image convinces the bishop.
The symbolism of the image blends Indigenous and European elements: the blue-green of divinity, the sun and moon, and an angel beneath her feet. Mary identifies herself as mother of Jesus, God of both Spaniards and Aztecs, yet speaks to Juan Diego with warmth and affection.
Her choice of Juan Diego and the barren hill of Tepeyac challenges centers of political and religious power. By favoring the humble and shifting attention away from imperial capitals, Guadalupe echoes the Gospel message. She joins heaven and earth with tenderness, embodying the presence of the Savior whose coming Christians celebrate at Christmas
“A radical figure for all time”
Our Lady of Guadalupe has been continually reinterpreted since her 1531 apparition. Scholars such as Virgilio Elizondo note that she remains relevant today because she brings together a diverse society in which women and minorities seek equality.
From the beginning, Guadalupe drew on Indigenous understandings of the divine. Aztec communities associated her with powerful feminine deities such as Tonantzin and Tlazolteótel, and with the Nahuatl title Tecuauhtlacupeuh. These associations, however, made her difficult for early Christians, whose theology had shifted toward a masculine God as patriarchal structures grew stronger.
Guadalupe’s feminine qualities — forgiveness, care, healing, sustaining life — contrasted with European tendencies to reduce goddesses to sensual figures. Yet these qualities resonated with agricultural and Indigenous societies and continued to shape devotion.
Spanish colonizers also brought with them Marian traditions, especially the Immaculate Conception and an Extremaduran Virgin named Guadalupe. These images blended with Indigenous symbolism in the famous icon of Guadalupe of Tepeyac.
The cult of Guadalupe gained early support from diocesan clergy and appealed strongly to Indigenous people facing disease, oppression, and cultural upheaval. Over time, as New Spain evolved, Guadalupe came to symbolize mestizaje, then criollo identity, and later Mexican national identity.
In many retellings — including Mexican American versions — Guadalupe affirms the dignity of women. In societies where women faced rape, subjugation, and legal inequality, Guadalupe offered a counter-image of divine female strength and compassion.
Despite her gentle appearance, Guadalupe has long been a radical figure: one who bridges cultures, challenges hierarchies, and offers a model for building a just, multicultural society in which women and minorities claim equality.
“Story of Our Lady of Guadalupe stresses faith, dignity, love”
The story of Our Lady of Guadalupe, whose feast is celebrated on Dec. 12, is more than an account of conversions. It offers a timeless message about God’s love, human dignity, and the meeting of two cultures.
In 1531, the Indigenous man Juan Diego encounters a “heavenly Lady” on Tepeyac, a site sacred to the mother goddess Tonantzin. She identifies herself as Mary and asks him to tell the bishop to build a temple as a sign of God’s love for all people. Though dismissed and humiliated by the bishop, Juan Diego persists. After a miraculous sign—out-of-season roses and Mary’s image on his tilma—the bishop finally believes.
The narrative blends Indigenous and Spanish religious worlds, portraying Mary as both morena and Mother of Christ. It also breaks down social hierarchies: Juan Diego learns that his humanity and faith make him the equal of church authorities. The story further affirms women’s dignity, countering the oppression and violence they experienced during and after the conquest.
Most of all, the Guadalupe story highlights the tender relationship between humans and the divine. Mary addresses Juan Diego with affection—“Juanito,” “Juan Dieguito”—and he responds with familial warmth. At its heart, the tale is about faith, trust, freedom, dignity, and love.
The violence, extremism, and social division in our society reflect a fractured community. It's no surprise that Pentecost Sunday, once the second-most important Christian feast, has largely faded. Today’s culture prioritizes individualism over community, undermining the core meaning of Pentecost.
Originally a Jewish harvest celebration, Pentecost evolved to commemorate the covenant between God and the faithful. For Christians, it marks the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, uniting believers as the body of Christ — a community.
Modern culture, with its emphasis on materialism, individual fulfillment, and fragmented churches, works against this ideal. Churches often confuse institutional survival with communal well-being.
To reclaim Pentecost’s meaning, we must focus on four themes:
- Responsibility and responsiveness: True community considers everyone’s needs, not just subgroup interests.
- Culture: The message of salvation must be expressed within diverse cultural contexts, all of which should be respected.
- Individual and community: We must value personal gifts while placing them in service of the common good.
- Empowerment: Pentecost empowers individuals not just for expression, but for mission and service.
Pentecost calls us to rebuild community. By living as a Pentecostal people, we can renew our lives, serve one another, and transform the world.
Women, the Stars of Sacred Stories
When Abraham took his son Isaac to be sacrificed on a mount on God's command, his wife Sarah, according to one Jewish tradition, had a vision of the event, and "her loud scream was the voice of the angel that stopped Abraham from killing his son."
"Can women scream loud enough to stop the senseless sacrifice of violence and war?" Sister Martha Ann Kirk asks in her recent book, Women of Bible Lands: A Pilgrimage to Compassion and Wisdom (Liturgical Press, 2004).
Kirk, professor of religious studies at the University of the Incarnate Word, recently studied in Israel and toured the sacred places in the Holy Land with her sights on women's stories.
The “pilgrimage” included Rachel’s Tomb. Rachel was Jacob’s wife, and the Scripture labels her as one who has a pillar at her grave, near where she died as she gave birth to Benjamin. "Rachel," Kirk points out, "can be translated as ‘mother love’ ‘womb’ or ‘compassion.’"
In the fourth century, men and women gathered (near today’s Church of the Nativity) to pray and study, as did Jerome, who translated the Bible from Greek to Latin, a major accomplishment that brought the Word of God to the people of the Roman Empire.
Jerome speaks of Paula, a wealthy woman who supported his work financially and used her money to help the poor and preserve the site of Christ’s birth for inspiration.
Jerome writes of Paula not only as someone who financially supported him but also as someone who, with her daughter, studied the Scriptures.
She studied Hebrew and succeeded so well she could chant the psalms in Hebrew and could speak the language without a trace of the pronunciation peculiar to Latin.
At the El-Aksa mosque, an early eighth-century structure, author Kirk evokes Rabi’a, a Muslim "saint" respected for her wisdom and mysticism. Rabi’a defied the social norm that the only role for women was that of being a wife.
Her mystical prayer: "My peace ... is in solitude ... Thou was the source of my life ... My hope is for union with Thee, for that is the goal of my desire."
Most of the stories of women in the Middle East, as elsewhere, are written by men, but Kirk manages to peer past this — and past denominational lines and political boundaries — to discern a feminine perspective and provide stories that are instructive and inspiring.
Avoiding "big questions" of might and power that daily whirl in this region, Kirk’s reflections upon visiting the shrines and holy places in Israel and the surrounding areas are on the things that matter in God’s eyes, inviting readers — men as well as women — to explore sacred stories in new ways.
ExpressNews, 05/24/2005
Abridged Version:
César Chávez, whose birthday is today (March 31), was able to dedicate his life to the rights of farm workers and justice for the poor because he had a profound spirituality.
“A fast is first and foremost personal,” said Chávez, according to the official Web page of the United Farm Workers of America (www.ufw.org). “It is for the purification of my own body, mind and soul. (But) the fast is also a heartfelt prayer for purification and strengthening for all those who work beside me in the farm workers movement.”
This prayer was also for the oppressor, he said, calling it “an act of penance for those who are in positions of moral authority and for all men and women activists who know what is right and just, who know that they could and should do more.”
Fasting was symbolic of a transformation of suffering. Chávez summarized this when he observed that “it is a question of suffering with some kind of hope.”
Chávez received this profoundly strong faith from his mother, according to Sister Martha Ann Kirk, a professor of religious studies at the University of the Incarnate Word. His mother’s faith was directed at helping the poor and included the courage and strength to turn the other cheek.
Later, Chávez learned that his mother’s philosophy had been articulated by Pope Leo XIII, who wrote, “If a man falls, he should be helped by another man.”
Chávez lived this out. “God knows that we are not beasts of burden, agricultural implements or rented slaves, we are men (and women) locked in a death struggle against man's inhumanity to man…and this struggle itself gives meaning to our life and ennobles our dying,” Chávez declared to a writer.
Prayer, fasting, and suffering – so central to Chávez’s life and work – produced not emotional “me-and-God” good feelings but deep convictions of how we are related to those around us and how that relationship obligates us to act on their behalf.
In his words and his actions, Chávez lived for something
greater than himself.
La Fe de Césr Chávez Alimentó Su Labor
César Chávez,
cuyo cumpleaños es hoy (31 de marzo), pudo dedicar su vida a los derechos de
los trabajadores del campo y a la justicia para los pobres porque tenía una
profunda espiritualidad.
“El ayuno es,
ante todo, algo personal”, dijo Chávez, según la página oficial de los United
Farm Workers of America (www.ufw.org). “Es para la purificación de mi propio
cuerpo, mi mente y mi alma. (Pero) el ayuno es también una oración sincera por
la purificación y el fortalecimiento de todos aquellos que trabajan a mi lado
en el movimiento de los trabajadores del campo”.
Esta oración
también era por el opresor, dijo Chávez, llamándolo “un acto de penitencia por
aquellos que están en posiciones de autoridad moral y por todos los hombres y
mujeres activistas que saben lo que es correcto y justo, que saben que podrían
y deberían hacer más”.
El ayuno era un
símbolo de la transformación del sufrimiento. Chávez lo resumió cuando observó
que “se trata de sufrir con algún tipo de esperanza”.
Según Sr. Martha
Ann Kirk, profesora de estudios religiosos en University of the Incarnate Word,
Chávez recibió esta profunda fe de su madre. La fe de su madre se manifestaba
en ayudar a los pobres e incluía la valentía y la fortaleza de poner la otra
mejilla.
Más tarde, Chávez
descubrió que la filosofía de su madre había sido articulada por el Papa León
XIII, quien escribió: “Si un hombre cae, debe ser ayudado por otro hombre”.
Chávez vivió
conforme a esta creencia. “Dios sabe que no somos bestias de carga,
instrumentos agrícolas o esclavos alquilados. Somos hombres (y mujeres)
atrapados en una lucha a muerte contra la inhumanidad del hombre hacia el
hombre… y esta lucha en sí misma da sentido a nuestra vida y ennoblece nuestra
muerte,” declaró Chávez a un escritor.
La oración, el
ayuno y el sufrimiento, elementos centrales en la vida y el trabajo de Chávez,
no producían simplemente sentimientos emocionales de “Dios y yo”, sino
profundas convicciones sobre cómo estamos relacionados con quienes nos rodean y
cómo esa relación nos obliga a actuar en su favor.
Con sus palabras
y sus acciones, Chávez vivió por algo más grande que él mismo.
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