From the Camino: On my way from O Cadavo Baleira to Lugo, I passed the church of Santa María in Vilabade, which had a fearsome statue of St. James, the Slayer of Moors, high above the altar. It’s one of my least favorite portrayals of St. James, especially when, as in this case, there are smaller statues of Moors being slain by the saint’s sword and the hooves of his horse. It was very impressive, but in all the wrong ways.
As I carried on, there were a couple of wayside crosses. On one of them, under the carved stone figure of the crucified Lord, keeping vigil on his plinth, was the pilgrim, St. James, or Santiago. He was situated there on the column, in his sturdy boots and long pilgrim’s robe, clutching his walking staff in his right hand, while the water gourd dangled from the top. In his hand he held a book, perhaps as a symbol of the Gospel he preached. Scallops decorated his broad pilgrim’s hat and his pelligrina, the short shoulder cape, open in front actually named after pilgrims. This was an image of St. James that I could get behind!
As I continued, I passed a cemetery with those same scallop shells, fashioned in wrought iron on the gates. It intrigued me that people’s final resting place should be marked in this way, by the symbols of those who passed them by.
Jeremiah 18:1-10 – 1 This word came to Jeremiah from the Lord: 2 Arise and go down to the potter’s house; there you will hear my word. 3 I went down to the potter’s house and there he was, working at the wheel. 4 Whenever the vessel of clay he was making turned out badly in his hand, he tried again, making another vessel of whatever sort he pleased. 5 Then the word of the Lord came to me: 6 Can I not do to you, house of Israel, as this potter has done?—oracle of the Lord. Indeed, like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, house of Israel. 7 At one moment I may decree concerning a nation or kingdom that I will uproot and tear down and destroy it; 8 but if that nation against whom I have decreed turns from its evil, then I will have a change of heart regarding the evil which I have decreed. 9 At another moment, I may decree concerning a nation or kingdom that I will build up and plant it; 10 but if that nation does what is evil in my eyes, refusing to obey my voice, then I will have a change of heart regarding the good with which I planned to bless it.”
For reflection: Martyred saints often are depicted with the implement of their death: tongs for torture, grills for those put to the flame, and swords for those who lost their heads. Other saints have attributes of their ministry, such as feather quills for St. Luke the Evangelist. St. James stands apart from these trends.
St. James, in Spain, has two manifestations, as a pilgrim, and as mounted military figure. This latter representation was an answer to the prayers of the Spanish Christians trying to liberate their country, but at the expense of the Muslim inhabitants of Spain, who had lived there from the seven hundreds to 1491. It springs from a tradition that at the battle of Clavijo in 834, or perhaps 844, the saint is said to have appeared to assist King Ramiro I of Asturias defeat the much larger forces of the emir of Córdoba, wherein some 5,000 Moors were put to the sword. He also served as a rallying point in the subjugation of “savage inhabitants” of South and Central America. How do we wrap our heads around this depiction?
The saint is used to justify military interventions. How quick are we to condemn in others what we permit ourselves. Some modern Americans use flag waving in a similar fashion when America (or any other country) intervenes militarily. Are we any better when we do so? We understand, of course, that our behavior is justified…Spaniards during the Reconquista inevitably thought the same. If we are uncomfortable with the saint who slays Moors, for consistency’s sake, what else do we need be uncomfortable about from our own lives?
Far more uplifting is the representation of St. James, not with things from his life, but with the attributes of his devotees: the pilgrim hat, the staff, the gourd, the traveler’s satchel and the scallop shell. In this regard, he becomes our companion, or perhaps we become his? And it’s a lovely starting point for reflection about what is possible. Some saints are inaccessibly pure, or unappealingly strict. St. James and his brother, John, were called “sons of thunder” because they were hotheaded. They sought prestige and power because they had not yet become the servants Jesus was calling them to be. James is accessible. We need to grow in sanctity and loving kindness, and so did he. And so he walks with us, and appears in the nooks and crannies of the churches that flank our pilgrimage, in paintings and stone carvings. He shares the heat of the day with us, and sits with us and our companions in our meals. He conquers nothing, except perhaps himself. Perhaps with his patronage, we can overcome whatever is dark in us.
