Ávila and The Saint

I´ve lost a couple of days of blogging simply because I spent two days in Ávila and never located an internet connection. But what a beautiful two days. As the bus first winds around the hill, you realize that you are looking at a Medieval city as it must have appeared to any traveller hundreds of years ago. The Wall interposes itself between you and the city that lies beyond. Literally, a 2.5 kilometer-long wall is one of the reasons why Ávila is a UNESCO World Heritage City. It is the only complete wall still entirely encircling a Medieval city in Europe. With an average height of 33 feet and bristling with 88 towers and only 6 original gates (3 additional have been opened for modern traffic), the wall is the work of 12th-century Christians who wanted to use the old Roman and Moorish fortifications and strengthen them as a launching point for further action against the Moors. They really are imposing--great double-towered gates with a crosswalk from which defenders could drop stones or hot oil onto attackers. I walked entirely around the walls, and, looking up, I can see why there was never a successful attack against Ávila after the walls were completed. They´re not only high, but they´re also located on the summit of a rocky cliff; any soldier brave enough to climb even to the base of the wall would have to call "time out" and catch his breath.

And then there´s what´s inside the city. A fine, Gothic cathedral with a pair of Romanesque doors since it was actually begun in 1170. The soaring Gothic umbrella pillars are lovely; unfortunately, an earthquake in Portugal a couple of hundred years ago destroyed most of the stained glass in this particular cathedral. The town also offered a half-dozen Romanesque churches and a nice Basilica in the ¨French style¨--that means that the tops of walls are highly ornamented. The main tympanum (carved illustrations over the doorway) of the Basilica had a detailed representation of Resurrection and Last Judgement--needless to say, I took loads of pictures.

I spent most of Saturday in the footsteps of St. Teresa. As someone keenly interested in the lives of female saints, particularly those who wrote autobiographically, I had highlighted Ávila on my itinerary. Teresa had visions of Christ (hence her modern appellation, Teresa de Jesus) who spoke with her in, as she described in her book, "intellectual dialogue and disputation." She shares several qualities in common with other visionaries whom I´ve studied: 1) entered a spiritual life at an early age; 2) had on-going physical illnesses and at least one near-death experience, 3) frequently prohibited from intellectual musings, reading, or discourse by a male mentor. What´s unique about Teresa is her place in the Catholic Reformation. In the late 1500s there was a movement within the Catholic Church to correct perceived problems. Teresa wrote extensively about the need to renounce ownership; she wanted a convent (and a church?) that owned no property and took a vow of poverty. She founded a reformed group of Carmelite nuns called ¨the Barefoot Carmelites¨ because she required them to wear only cheap, leather sandals instead of shoes. Initially supported by the Pope, she was later forced into ¨retirement¨ (imprisoned) in a convent in Toledo.

I tracked Teresa in and around Ávila. I went to her first convent, to the church where she had her first vision, and to the first convent of the Barefoot Sisters. I went to the convent outside the city where some of her relics are kept. And there´s the rub. I certainly understand veneration of a person who has lived an exemplary life. Without influential, self-sacrificing people such as Jana Greenway, my high school Latin teacher, or Dr. J. Don Vann at the University of North Texas, I wouldn´t be the person I am today. I venerate my parents and my wife whose steadfast love and support have been the very soul of my life. Exemplary lives are rare and deserve recognition. But everywhere I went today, I saw pieces of Teresa. One convent had her ring finger of her right hand; another had her left clavicle (no kidding). A convent just outside Ávila featured a statue of Teresa with a little glass case right in her chest. In this reliquary, this little glass case, was Teresa´s heart. Brown and desiccated, there it was.

I honor Teresa´s experience and her writing, and I still need help understanding the veneration of that part of her that I think she would find least worthy of notice--her physical form. Isn´t this an essential irony--or am I missing some point of faith? Tomorrow, Segovia!