'You Are Loved': How Sacred Art and Our Lady of Guadalupe Revealed My Worth
- Elizabeth Zelasko
- Aug 22
- 4 min read
In a world filled with fleeting images, one picture of Our Lady became the channel of grace that brought me home to the Church.
For as long as humans have walked the earth, we have been making marks — in caves with ground pigments, with clay, stone and wood, with paint on paper and canvases. The oldest cave paintings date back 45,000 years! If you think about it, there were no gallery openings, artist statements or social media — just the universal human impulse to say, “I was here and I created something beautiful.”
To me, these early examples of art are proof that we were made by the Creator. This means that creativity is in our DNA. Art has always told our stories, showing the generations that follow what we found important and helping us remember what matters most. This is something that the Church has understood for two millennia. We have always adorned our basilicas, chapels and cathedrals with images that teach the faith and draw the heart toward Heaven.
Whether we know it or not, the images we see every day profoundly affect us. Some studies have shown that our brains can remember pictures better than words! With all of this in mind, it seems only natural that God himself would speak to us using images. Sacred art is more than decoration; it is a universal language that transcends speech and allows God to touch our hearts through beauty.
And for me, no image speaks more powerfully than the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe.
Her story begins in 1531, when Mary appeared to St. Juan Diego, a humble Aztec man living in newly Christianized Mexico. Speaking in his native language, she called herself the Mother of the True God and asked for a church to be built in her honor. As proof for the skeptical bishop, she caused roses to bloom on a barren hill in December, then left her own image imprinted on Juan Diego’s cloak — his tilma.
The image remains miraculous to this day! The cactus-fiber cloth should have decayed after 20 years, yet it has lasted nearly 500. Scientists still can’t explain the preservation of the colors. Plus, microscopic imaging has revealed in Our Lady’s eyes the reflections of 13 people — the exact number of those in the room when the tilma was unfurled.
But beyond the science, the image spoke directly to the people of Mexico: her blue-green mantle signified royalty to the Aztecs, and the black sash around her waist showed she was with child. She stands in front of the sun and on top of the moon, showing she is greater than the Aztec gods — yet her head is bowed in humility, showing that she is not God, but she points us to him.
In just a few years after her apparition, millions had converted to the faith. She brought healing to a divided land. And she still works miracles of the heart today. I know, because she worked one in mine.
When I was a teenager, I was restless and unhappy, chasing everything the world promised would fill me. My mother saw my struggles and prayed for Our Lady’s intercession. Then she did something small but life-changing. She hung a framed image of Our Lady of Guadalupe in the hallway outside my bedroom door. It was quiet — no lecture, no speech — just a picture on a wall. But it was the first thing I saw every time I stepped out of my room.
I noticed how my mother treated that image: she would kiss it as she walked past. One day, without thinking, I did the same. At first, it was just imitation. But over time, her gaze — Mary’s gaze — began to speak to me. She didn’t use words, but somehow, she told me: “You are loved. You are worth loving. You are made for more. You are beautiful.”
That hallway image was more than paper and ink. It was a channel of grace. My mother’s quiet act planted a seed that eventually grew into a blossoming faith and my healing journey back to the Church. Because of my experience, I deeply believe in surrounding ourselves with sacred art. It doesn’t just hang there — it lives with you. It looks back at you. It is a witness to the truth when you can’t see it for yourself.
We live in a world drowning in images. They are mostly shallow and distracting, but some are destructive. But we get to choose what fills our homes, our children’s eyes and our own hearts. The home is the domestic church, and the sacred art we hang there works just like it does in a cathedral: it turns walls into prayer and rooms into sanctuaries.
You don’t need to start with a whole gallery. Start with one image. Place it where you’ll see it every day. Let it be a silent companion to your prayer life, and don’t underestimate the smallest act — a nail, a frame, a picture. You never know whose heart it will reach.
For me, Our Lady of Guadalupe was that image. Through her, Christ reached into my life, touched my heart and called me home. Through her sweet gaze, she still reminds me daily of my inherent dignity, that I am not forgotten and that I am so very loved. As an artist, I am proud to be part of a church with such a rich history of material beauty and diverse culture. I am grateful to the early Church for fighting for the right to create images. Our Lady is one of the many reasons I am Catholic today. If someone were to ask you, “Why are you Catholic?”, could you give a reason?
