Se Quedó - For Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God
A friend of mine has six children. One night, it was my job to get the 2-year-old, Frances, to sleep. I sang “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” while she rested on my shoulder and, when I finished, she smiled and whispered: “again!” It was the same after the second time: “Again!” And so on I went more and more softly each time. And still: “Again! Again!”
It didn’t put her to sleep — it’s never that easy. But, as the song went on, she became soothed and settled and her eyes got heavier. I assume the constancy — “again!” — was part of what calmed her.
It might be odd to say, but I think Frances taught me something here about the Virgin Mary and about the reason Catholics cling to her.
I once heard a story about an old Mexican abuelita who was challenged to defend her devotion to Mary. “Why do you love her so?” After a moment, she replied: “Se quedó. Se quedó ― She stayed. She stayed.”1
That might also seem odd. When pressed, many Catholics will offer points from the Scriptures or from the theological Tradition to defend their love for Mary. That’s all fine and good. But there are also earthier, more human reasons for Marian devotion — ones that I think both Frances and the abuelita were tuned into.
I think that, in the song, what Frances clung to was the fact that someone was with her. Someone was near her, singing to her and soothing her. It was the constancy, the presence, the sureness that settled her. Like the abuelita, Frances wanted someone to stay. “Don’t stop! Again! Stay!”
Catholics have always known Mary as this same kind of unfailing presence. In the Catholic world, she’s everywhere. Churches are named after her; songs are sung about her; statues are put up. At home, her picture is on the wall; the children have tangled up and strewn rosaries across the floor; she’s tattooed on our arms.
But it’s not just because we keep her around. Mary, too, has decided to stay. Again and again, the faithful have encountered her across the world ― Fatima, Lourdes, Guadalupe, Kibeho, Akita ― dressed and looking like the people to whom she’s appeared. That is part of what makes Mary, Mary. She has a motherly instinct, an ability to be there.
It’s worth noticing that, when Mary has appeared, it’s often been to those who are poor or alienated, or to children. This is true for us too. Mary is with us particularly in our poverty — when we’re broken or scared, when we’re begging for help, when we’re unable to go on. In those times, “se quedó, se quedó; she stayed, she stayed.” In our churches, at her shrines, on our walls, on our arms, Mary is that earthy reminder that God continues to draw near to us in our pain and in our weakness.
This is a constancy we all crave. It’s not unlike what Frances sought as I sang to her ― the assurance that someone would be near her, that someone would stay, no matter what. Frances understands why Catholics embrace the repetition of Mary’s rosary, why, as soon as we finish ― “now and at the hour of our death” ― we start (“again!”) at once: “Hail, Mary!”2 With each one, Mary is among us and present to us. She is there to hail, to greet, to rush to — because she stayed and because she always stays.
See Roberto S. Goizueta, Christ Our Companion (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2009): 11.
See Hans Urs von Balthasar, The Threefold Garland (San Francisco: Ignatius, 1985), 23 for a similar way of thinking about the rosary's use of the Hail Mary, but from a different angle.