October 2019. Nazaré, Alcobaca, Batalha, Fatima, Santarem, Lisboa
I
Ave, stella maris
Your grace, Lord, is like
the ocean, untiringly
Coming for our souls
Washing with majestic force
Over our hearts of stone
Grinding them into soft sand, ready to be molded
Sculpted
According to your will
How long can a cliff
Withstand those chasing, pushing
Waves, rising from the
Deep blue sea
How long can your people forget you, Lord,
And not hear
Your voice
Rising from the depth of
their conscience
Your people have forgotten
You and there is no one
Falling to their knees
at the sight of
Your power, majesty, and grace
Even though the waves, day and night,
Proclaim You with an
Untiring voice
in their foaming white light
Ave, stella maris
May repentance come upon
Us like waves
Crashing into the
Hardest rocks
The fool said in his heart: “There is no God.“
They are corrupt; their deeds are vile; there is no one who does good.
ADONAI looked down from heaven on the children of men,
To see if there are any who understand, who seek
After God.
They all turned aside, became corrupt. There is no one who does good – not even one. (Psalm 14: 1-3)
Where are they heading and whom do they serve?
They have wandered off
Like once the children of the covenant of old
They worship every Baal
They find, with body and soul,
Rather than being
Sanctified at the holy altar of
The one true living God
They subvert
Every pure message and every pious allegory
Life ever has painted on the
Canvas of a place as such, once built
In honor of the Queen of Heaven, and the Queen of Portugal
And to the first among
All the fallen spirits, stuck in
Eternal perversion of will set on
Subverting Your sacred order and
Every icon of Your love divine
To him, Your enemy and our enemy,
They erect another monument
Made of stone and steel
And plant it on the
Hill of the Queen
In brazen brutal
Neo-pagan hybris, as ugly as the one it praises
As the lord of our times
You will keep us safe, ADONAI
You will protect us from this generation forever.
The wicked strut all around, while
Vileness is exalted by mankind. (Psalm 12: 8-9)
Where are they heading and whom do they serve?
In the wasteland of Europe
May repentance come
Upon us
Like rain, waterfalls from the sky
Shaming the prophets of Baal
When God restores His captive people,
Let Jacob rejoice, let Israel be glad! (Psalm 56:7)
II
Alcobaca. An abandoned monastery, only old stones now, dead, not alive.
Dead tradition is the kind of tradition represented by Unesco World Heritage Sites. Dead tradition is guarding the ashes instead of passing on the flame. Dead tradition is all the historicism of modern Europe. A heritage you sit on but do not put to use is like sitting on a bag of gold while starving to death.
But one side altar in the church is adorned with fresh flowers: the altar in honor of Our Lady of Fatima – with icons of the children Jacinta and Francisco next to it.
All the old miracles are long forgotten and could not speak to us any more. Of a heroic battle against the Muslim invaders, of the Reconquista, we know nothing – our age despises all Crusades. But Fatima is about a spiritual warfare just like those battles of old were part of a spiritual warfare, the one spiritual battle changing battlegrounds and forms throughout the course of history – but the armies waging war with one another are ever the same.
Heaven is always ahead of our apostasy. Let us remember that Christ prophesied to his disciples that after three days the Son of Man shall be raised from the dead, even before the apostasizing religious elite of those dark days could condemn him and hand him over to death on a tree, so that they may bow to Ceasar, the Roman Emperor, a Gentile idolator claiming to be the Son of God, instead of adhering to their rightful King. And so heaven cannot be surprised by the apostasy of all of Europe. This, too, shall finally be for redemption and for good. If not our own redemption, then the redemption of those who truly thirst and wait for you. And have no Christian heritage to sit upon.
III
Portugal, you remind me of a place I love. Your countryside, at least the part along the Atlantic coast I travelled, is as green and lush and hilly as the territory of the tribes of Asher, and Napthali, and of Issachar, and Zebulun. Here olives grow and grapes for wine, and fish is grilled, and stews are cooked with chicken and potatoes.
Your history is ancient and many rocks of heritage of old pile up upon your land. Your people, it does not come too much as a surprise, remind me of Sephardi and Mizrahi Jews. And in your language I hear Arabic tunes – but also something that sounds like Eastern Europe.
And the style of the houses and buildings, the many villages in a predominantly rural, agrarian landscape, and even the lengthy shape of this country, feel reminiscent of this place I love, too. Some buses run through the countryside, up and down, but only few trains, and almost none run on Sabado.
There was a view this morning at Nazaré, which is Portuguese for Nazareth, that made me remember the magical hillsides of Safed glancing in lightful mist.
And where did you come from, Portugal? In the Reconquista, led by Templar knights from Jerusalem, you emerged under a king as mythical almost as King Artus… and you feel like some kind of Atlantis risen from the depth of the sea… with strange, peculiar people that one does not find in the rest of Europe…
Could I fall in love with you, Portugal? Or will you, reminding me of the place I love, just reinforce this old love? And why do I look for the place I love everywhere?
Is there any other country in all of Europe that has another Nazareth? Is there any other country in all of Europe that has a capital city reminding one of San Francisco in America? And is there any other European coast that makes you feel like on the edge of known territory, searching for Atlantis or the Holy Grail from here?
Beautiful, Portugal, beautiful is your coat of arms, so beautiful compared to the ugly beast of the eagle of Germania, inherited from the Roman Empire, the fourth beast from the book of Daniel, that pagan empire hostile to both Jews and Christians… Seven golden castles for seven decisive battles won against the Moors, five blue shields arranged in the shape of a cross, five cross-shaped silver coins inside the quinas symbolizing the five wounds of Christ. And with a white suit of armor, the battle was won…
Is there any other country in all of Europe that once proclaimed the most blessed of all women, the Jewish mother of the Messiah, as their Queen, entrusting all its people to her most pure heart? Portugal, you do remind me of a place I love – a small country against the rest of the world…