In the Gospel (Lk1: 26-38) for the Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord, Gabriel addresses the young Mary: “Hail, full of grace!” Hail Mary! Ave Maria. 
    Five years ago before any of us could imagine that Italy could become such a sad place, I would hear Romans greet each other “Bon Giorno!”, “Ciao”, and, catching my attention, “Ave”, “Hey, Ave!” I always thought that was a strictly religious word, but the Latin word “Ave” originally meant “Be well”. Over the years it became a salutation for emperors and monarchs, therefore “Hail” in English. In the Spanish version of the prayer, “Dios the salve Maria,” we are saying “God save you”, as in “God save the Queen”.

    In prayer, I often imagine Our Lady wrapped in the glory and power of God, indeed a Queen, the Queen Mother. Her crown is the greatest crown: “Jesus Crown of Saints.” But at other times, the crown that I see on her brow is the crown of thorns that her Son wore. The Glorious Queen walks in quiet humility among the poor and stricken, a Lady of Sorrows, saying to us “Ave: Be well.” This is a definition of the virtue of Charity: “ Wishing or willing the good of the other.” Therefore, she can also be called Our Lady of Charity.

    Last night I made the mistake of reading these two articles on the internet regarding the coronavirus pandemic. One article talked about the final stages for the critically ill, how suddenly the air passages are flooded with hard phlegm and the use of a respirator is immediately necessary. The other article talked about the lack of enough respirators in some Italian hospitals, how the weakest (oldest?) patients were allowed to quietly suffocate and die. These articles disturbed me and made me feel helpless, helpless, helpless. I know so many of us feel like that.

    At 3:00 o’clock in the morning I could not sleep and started thinking about the hyperbolic graphs that describe the increasing growth of the epidemic in so many places, and of course, about those two articles. Suddenly I was remembering my father’s death from pulmonary edema, his struggle for breath until the end. He was in hospice care. He had so many other problems that a ventilator or some other drastic intervention would not have helped. I remembered how I held his hand at the bedside, feeling helpless, helpless, helpless.

    This is what I was remembering in the darkness, in my bed. Strangely enough, I decided to pray, slowly and deliberately, a Hail Mary to try to relax and get out of this state. Even stranger, was the image that God put in my mind. Mary was my age, 70ish, perhaps living in ancient Ephesus. She often meets me in prayer under these conditions, a friend, like my own mother in her last years. But this night she appeared afflicted and disturbed. She was remembering her own helplessness at the foot of the Cross as her Son suffocated before her. I know she was the holiest of all of us. She experienced His Resurrection. She was anointed at Pentecost. But she was a human being like all of us! That sorrowful memory must have haunted her at the most unexpected times. That night, it was haunting the both of us. 

    So I prayed,” Be well Mary, you are full of grace. Our Lord is here with you!”, not so much for my sake, but for hers, foolish me, trying to console the Luminous Lady. But there I was. Suddenly we were praying together. She was praying for all of us. The peaceful effect grew gradually. I fell asleep and this morning I woke up remembering this moment.

    I suppose the lesson was that one of the most powerful ways to combat grief is by trying to console someone else, by reaching out, by offering someone a cool glass of water, by practicing the virtue of Charity, which is another name for Love, which is another name for God, All-Powerful, All-Merciful, Eternal…..

    Thank you kind sister, mother, friend. With you and your Son at our side we are never really helpless. Blessed Lady, may your example give us courage and confident generosity in these trying times.

Orlando Hernández