The Tale of Juan Santín
On a cold winter morning in the year of our Lord 1300, a terrible snowstorm descended upon the rural hill country in northwest Spain.
A peasant named Juan Santín made his way in the midst of the driving snow to the church of Santa María in the village of O Cebreiro for Mass. The priest, who had long ago lost his faith in the Real Presence, mocked him. “Why are you out in such terrible weather? Why are you risking your life in the cold and the snow for a bit of bread and wine?”
The peasant asked the priest to celebrate the Mass, even though he was the only one who had been able to come. After upbraiding the peasant again, the priest nevertheless finally agreed to celebrate the Mass.
The Eucharistic Relics of O Cebreiro
And then, a miracle occurred. Following the consecration, the host turned into a lump of muscle in the priest’s hands, and blood burbled out of the chalice as if it were a fountain, staining the altar cloths. The nearby statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary turned her head as if to gaze upon the miraculous sight.
Soon afterward, the priest wrote to the bishop, who dispatched inquisitors to study the veracity of the story. Eventually, the miracle was confirmed, and the Queen of Spain herself sent a set of reliquaries to the little church in O Cebreiro. These reliquaries containing the chalice, the paten, and the bloody altar cloths, corporal, and purificators may still be seen in the church to this day.
Two Pilgrims on their Way to Mass
Thereafter, the church was known as Santuario de Santa María la Real – the royal sanctuary of Santa María.
I was reminded of this story today as Francine and I used our trekking poles to slog through ice and snow to Saint Patrick Church in Tacoma. This is the church of my baptism, and it’s about a mile away. It took us 45 minutes. Many of the other churches in Tacoma were inaccessible; the streets of our neighbourhood are unplowed and treacherously icy.
Our own parish church was simply closed, with all weekend Masses cancelled.
Although I don’t have a fraction of the faith exhibited by Juan Santín 719 winters ago, I’d like to think that in that walk we shared a kinship across the centuries. For after all, the Church is eternal, and death is hardly an impediment to membership in the body of Christ.