World of Magic and Mystery

Olá tudos! Hi everyone!

Tavira has a lot — I mean a lot — of churches. The actual count varies based on whom you ask and their relative knowledge of Catholicism. The range is between 30 and 36 churches in a city that has never had more than 30,000 people. As I said, a lot of churches.

Some Are Not Technically Churches

Counted in the 36 are places such as convents, that is, monasteries or houses of religious orders. These convents all had a chapel. The chapels, however, were generally reserved for the use of the religious men or women living in that house. So not technically a church. The convents were large residential structures and most have found alternate uses today. The Convento das Bernardas (1) has been converted to a residential condominium. The Convento de Nossa Senhora de Graça (2) is now a hotel. The Igreja de São Francisco (3) was the chapel of an enormous convent under successive religious orders. Now it holds religious services once a year and is a prime wedding site. We will return to São Francisco in a later blog.

Excluding these convents there are still between 27 and 31 churches in this relatively small city. Some are what we might recognize as parish churches. The local religious center of a neighborhood with a resident priest. The common folk would have attended daily and weekly religious services at these mostly small churches. Here, they celebrated the pivotal moments of their hard and often short lives, that is, birth, marriage and death.

The Real Churches

Possibly 10 to 15 of the 27 to 31 remainder churches were once active parish churches. Just six or seven still hold weekly services. Today there is just one priest. On his motorcycle and dressed in a leather jacket and blue jeans he scoots between the churches for services.

Included in this group is Igreja de Santa Maria do Castelo (4), Tavira’s duomo or principal church. It dates from the early 13th century. The church sits adjacent to the ruins of the Moorish castle at the center of medieval Tavira. Santa Maria likely sits on the site of the town’s earlier mosque.

This church is integral to the earliest history of Portugal as a nation; it is the presumed burial place of “Os Sete Cavaleiros”. These Seven Knights, according to legend, held off the Moorish offensive to retake the city in 1242. As a result, they supposedly thwarted a re-Reconquista by the Moors.

Among the other still active parish churches are several notable buildings. Igreja de Santa Luzia (5) started off as a rough fisherman’s shrine in the 16th century. Today’s church, built in the early 1960s, is one of the very few Modernist structures in Tavira. Igreja de São Tiago (6) dates from the 13th century and was the parish church of the village of Santiago. That village has since merged into Tavira proper. Finally, Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Luz (7) is the parish church of the village of Luz de Tavira. Remarkably, the itty-bitty village of Luz has an incredibly imposing church.

The World Before Modern Times

The final 16 to 17 other churches, all in Tavira proper, served another purpose. Interestingly, while these structures are clearly religious they are not ecclesiastical. That is, they were never part of the official Church institution. I know, it is hard to wrap your head around the concept: churches that are not part of the Church. This might be clearer if we could transport ourselves back 500 years.

Medieval and early Renaissance Europeans experienced little distinction between the spiritual and the secular in their lives. The Catholic mythology of saints, angels, demons, magic and mystery imbued every aspect of everything. Day-to-day existence for all, while grueling and full of hardship for most, was nonetheless a dynamic pageant of story and myth, magic and mystery. Belief in the intangible was indistinguishable from the everyday tangible.

Common folk especially, but nobles and the merely rich too, wanted a bridge across what they experienced as a false dichotomy between sacred and secular. They also wanted to be active participates in the vibrant morality play of their everyday lives. In the official church they were mere spectators of the grand and glorious drama directed and performed by clerics and other consecrated persons.

Taking It On Themselves

In the early Middle Ages, associations of pious lay men and women started popping up spontaneously. People came together to share and to act upon the intensity of the beliefs that they found in the wheat fields over six days as much as in church on Sunday. These associations subsumed the pageantry, stories and ritual of the Church into the everyday secular. Here, however, they were the principal actors and the main authority.

These associations were not a substitute for the Church but its natural extension, a bridge across a divide. For their members, they were vehicles to live more completely. The associations allowed their devotion and faith to wash over their secular lives. Over time some of these associations merged into the official Church; they become sanctioned religious orders of priests, friars and nuns. Many remained, however, outside the official Church itself, which caused no small amount of worry to the clerical powers that be.

A Portuguese Twist

Unique to Portugal and starting in 1498 the crown sanctioned and loosely organized many of these lay associations under its jurisdiction. In Portugal they became known as irmandades, or brotherhoods. The first of these recognized irmandades was the Santa Casa da Misericódia in Lisbon. As the name implies, its focus was the biblical works of mercy, that is, charity. Its members would contribute funds and help distribute services to the poor and needy of Lisbon.

In the Medieval mindset charity was symbiotic and mutualistic. The disabled, the sick, the orphans and the widows, the destitute, etc. obviously could not manage on their own. Nor could the wealthy. The teaching of Jesus held a core precept encapsulated in one of his parables. A camel, he said, has an impossible task to thread itself through the tiny eye of needle. A rich man, he continued, has a tougher time sneaking through the gates of Heaven. Heaven locked out the wealthy, but charity provided a key.

The official Church maintained tight control over charity. Charity almost exclusively ran through the Church itself. The Church collected and distributed charity. It owned and ran the main institutions that distributed charity. Lay people where expected to be charitable by contributing to the Church.

Innovation and Growth

The Misericórdia of Lisbon established charity as a public function. This was novel and consequential. It effectively striped the Church of one of its exclusive and core functions. Additionally, the Church had always held the keys to Gates of Heaven and Hell. Now a rich man could walk through the gates of Heaven if he an irmandade. He could contribute (some, not all of) his wealth as well as provide service to and through the charity. His own acts of charity slimed him down to fit through the narrow Gates of

Another novel and consequential innovation of the first Misericórdia was in governance. Its initial statutes came directly from the royal court itself. These, however, could be freely adapted and changed by the brotherhoods’ members themselves. There was no centralized control, nor would there ever be. This was very important. It codified the original impetus behind the pious associations. The individual would be the prime actor within her own mythic story.

These two factors led to a rapid proliferation of the Misericórdia brotherhoods throughout Portugal and its empire. Equally rapidly brotherhoods evolved to assume other functions including devotional, social and occupational roles. Nonetheless, acts of charity were central to every brotherhood.

In addition, each local brotherhood funded, built, maintained and operated an ermida, or “church” building. Devotional services and gatherings of members occurred within these ermidas but without the official oversight of clerics. These were religious events but equally social and cultural gatherings.

The Definitely NOT Churches

The 16 to 17 buildings remaining buildings, “churches”, in Tavira belonged to one of the many brotherhoods. These ermidas embodied the civic faith of the citizens. They were the nexus between sacred and secular realms of their members daily lives. That is, they widened their paths to and into Heaven.

Igreja da Misericórdia

One of the largest and most impressive of these ermidas was built and used by the local Misericórdia. The Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Misericórdia (8-10) dates from the early 16th century and is now a museum. It houses a terrific fine arts collection in addition to its opulently ornamented sanctuary. The façade (8) is one Tavira’s finest examples of Renaissance architecture. It’s interior is a veritable explosion of 17th century Baroque (9) and 18th century Neoclassical (10) decoration.

Like every Misericórdia, Tavira’s drew in the city’s nobles, aristocrats and wealthiest citizens. These needed to manage and orchestrate their passage through the narrow eye of Heaven’s Gates. The magnificent azulejos (10) that cover the side and rear walls of the church are an 18th century embellishment. They are allegorical representations of the 14 Acts of Mercy (or charity) in which the members engaged.

The azulejos tell another story, perhaps unintentionally or perhaps not. Charity, for the wealthy, then as now, was a very public, social act. It could be a grand garden party, opening night of the Symphony or the Costume Institute’s yearly spectacle. Parenthetically, the church museum contains a collection of the ostentatious costumes its female members wore during various events and rituals. Nonetheless, this showier part of charity does not negate the important role the Misericórdia played. They attended to the needs of their poor and disabled fellow citizens.

Ermida de São Sebastião

Another of the brotherhoods, that of São Sebastião, was comprised of the members of City’s camâra, its municipal council. These members were also from the city’s elite. They built, ornamented and gathered at the Ermida de São Sebastião (11 and 12); their brotherhood was primarily devotional, honoring their god through prayer and ritual. The exterior (11) is modest, almost humble, but the interior (12) is the fullest expression of Baroque and Neo-Manueline exuberance.

São Sebastião today serves primarily as a concert venue. It is a function probably not too dissimilar from its former devotional life in the 16th through the 19th centuries. We have enjoyed a number of concerts there. It has extraordinary acoustics and houses an excellent grand piano and a fine organ.

Both Igreja da Misericórdia and São Sebastião demonstrate the key regional role Tavira played in the visual and performing arts. Tavira also maintained a key strategic defensive role. The Moors first built the large protective castle that continued in use through the Middle Ages and early Renaissance. Its ruins remain a major tourist attraction today. Since the 16th century onward, Tavira has housed a very large military garrison and arsenal. Military personnel, both current and retired, comprised the membership of Tavira’s Brotherhood of São Roque.

Ermida de São Roque

The Brotherhood of São Roque is representative of the many occupational irmandades that developed from the 15th century onward. These were key social and business networks for their members within various trades. These associations also filled important gaps in the social structure. They educated the young in the trades as well as cared for pensioners and their families.

The Ermida de São Roque (13 and 14) dates from the mid-16th century. It served the Brotherhood through the 19th century, when it was finally abandoned. By then many of the brotherhoods began to dissolve. For centuries the brotherhoods had served purposes that in modernity no longer existed. Enlightenment ideals of individualism and self-sufficiency were part of the reason. Also contributory to their decline was the assumption of certain of their services, like education and pensions, by the modern state.

São Roque’s subsequent uses were as a kennel and then a warehouse. Over time it deteriorated rather badly. Its decline has recently been halted and its remaining bits stabilized. São Roque represents for me one of the many pleasures of living in Santa Luzia and Tavira.

My Encounter with São Roque

The history here is long and meandering but it is also rich and deep. I constantly stumble across treasures, like São Roque. These ignite questions and then lead me on quests such as this particular blog. Tripping, I came upon São Roque while biking to an appointment.

São Roque is uncomplicated while Baroquely bombastic at its pediment. Here four enormous terra-cotta figures live (13). Two lions perch on either side; they are roaring wildly. Two cherubim cling tightly to the pediment. They lean as far away from the lions as possible. As I stood looking up, a passage from scripture, a letter from Saint Peter, came to mind. “Your adversary the Devil is prowling about like a roaring lion, looking for souls to devour. Resist him steadfast in your faith.”

I saw that the door was cracked open. I got off my bike and strolled over. There was a sign that read, “do not enter, danger, work in progress”. I peered in (14). There was quiet, emptiness, and sunlight and shadow played off each other. Fragments of frescos were all that remained of what likely had been riotous adornment.

Why So Many Churches?

Not long ago there were places, built by and for ordinary folk. Here the dramatic pageant of everyday life unfolded. Real dangers lurked and roared, angels appeared, saints intervened and magic happened. In these spaces light and shadow danced together. It was here where sacred and secular knitted together. Here people came together to solve common problems. They celebrated their mutual survival and made their own salvation, their own futures.

Our frame of reference is different today. Heaven and hell seem more earthbound. Magic and mystery as well as story and myth are compartmentalized into movies, superstition and perhaps religion.

In spite of this, the need for special places, whether physical and/or virtual, still remains. Driven by our DNA we need to gather together. Spaces where we can wonder and create together are still needed. We need the opportunity to look across a room and recognize our difference in face of another as well as to see our commonality with her. These are essentials that we have lost. We have not yet found the right re-place-ment, so to speak.

I am pretty sure these spaces will not be found in the Metaverse and perhaps not in mega-churches. There we might be simple spectators once again. I am not sure exactly how these new places will look but I might recognize some of their contours. They must be places where we can create and where can wonder. Within and together we will find safe spaces to imagine and to re-create the present and build a future based in hope. They will be places where we will come to appreciate and celebrate our kinship as well as individuality. Hopefully we will build these places, driven by our need to join sacred and secular, to dance in light and shadow, as the irmandades did centuries ago.

I hope to see you again next week. Até lá!

Postscript

Hey, before I let you go, you should know that the Santa Casa da Misericórdia is still very active. There are more than 300 Misericórdias across Portugal and thousands more within the other Portuguese speaking countries. They provide the main network of social services within Portugal and — dry roll please — they run the lottery. The lottery’s motto is: “Bets made in Jogos Santa Casa not only benefit the winners but all of society through social supports and investments in sports, education and culture”. Now that is a real bridge between the sacred and the profane!