Padre Jesús of Castillo de Locubín

Let’s consider a single village in Andalucía, where there lives a singular image of a single moment. Allow me to introduce you to Padre Jesús (Father Jesus), if you do not already know him.

Castillo de Locubín (Castillo) is an ancient pueblo in the Sierra Sur de Jaėn. Ninety per cent of the 4,381 Castilleros work in olive oil production. Ninety-eight per cent are indigenous Spaniards, largely descended from those settled here after the Christian conquest of 1341.

Every September Castillo’s feria is held in honour of Seňor Nuestro Padre Jesús Nazareno (Padre Jesús). The high point of the week is his procession through the streets. The atmosphere of pasión oscillates between devotion and celebration.

What meets the eye is enough, but there’s more. Who is Padre Jesús? Why does he generate so much emotion? His cult is present throughout the Latin world. He represents Jesus on the way to Calvary at the moment of deepest resignation, despair and acceptance. Obviously the doctrine of the Trinity doesn’t name Jesus as ‘Our Father’, but in Andalucía the practice is widespread. Why? Maybe referring to Jesus as ‘Our Son’ would put you above him, ‘Our Brother’ on the same plane. I’ve wondered if referring to Jesus as ‘Our Father’ implies that we inherit our condition from him. Padre Jesús might be viewed as an expression of our own deepest resignation, despair and, ideally, acceptance. It’s a mystery that Castilleros don’t question.

     Jesús es hijo de Dios, no?

     Si, claro.

     Pero si Jesús es hijo de Dios, por que se llame Padre Jesús?

     Muy bien pensado. Pero no lo sé.

     Jesus is the son of God, isn’t he?

     Sure.

     But if he’s God’s son, why is he called Father Jesus?

     That’s a good one, I don’t know.

My conversation partner has been a devotee of Padre Jesús for eighty-three years. I’ve also met people who refer to Padre Jesús as Abuelo (Grandfather).

Castillo’s Padre Jesús, a masterpiece, is attributed to Juan Martínez Montañés (1568 – 1649). Every Castillero knows how Padre Jesús arrived, but I’ve never heard it told the same way twice. A donkey was carrying him from Sevilla to Alcalá la Real. An overnight stop was made in Castillo. Awake, the donkey was overcome by a profound sadness and would go no further. The Castilleros interpreted this as a sign that God willed Padre Jesús to stay, and La Ermita de Seňor Nuestro Padre Jesús Nazareno (La Ermita, or ‘the shrine’) was built on the spot, to house him for ever. In other versions, the donkey died. In others, Padre Jesús refused to move. La Ermita dates from about 1700. It isn’t the parish church. That’s San Pedro Apostol, built during the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Compared to typical Andalucían church interiors, it’s austere.

My intrigue increased when I saw a photo of the original interior.

I constructed an explanation by reading local history and asking friends. Both ways are difficult. The twentieth century history of Castillo is painful; people who have lived long enough to remember it usually want to forget it. This, Franco’s censorship, the subsequent pacto del olvido (bipartisan decision to forget the Franco era) and high levels of illiteracy (probably about 60% here in 1960) combined to create a paucity of sources.

However, it can be said reliably that at the outbreak of the Civil War in 1936, San Pedro Apostol was set on fire and vandalised by anarchists and communists. The adornments were ripped out. Though this was a national pattern, and anarchism and communism were particularly influential in rural Andalucía, it’s hard not to connect the desecration with the episode known as El Crimen de Castillo (in 1898, the curate of San Pedro Apostol murdered his father). Today, though Catholicism is the only religion represented here, there are people who don’t associate with it, despite its 1960s turn from defence of privilege to social causes. It isn’t always a straight question of Catholic or not. Individuals might say: I’m a Catholic, but I don’t like priests, or go to mass; or, I’m a Catholic, but I don’t really have time to be; or have a cultural connection with Catholic traditions, such as processions. A Facebook group of 175 people exists just to enjoy images of Castillo’s Holy Week.

What does this have to do with Padre Jesús? That’s a related story. Calle Antonio Olmo is an unremarkable street named after a remarkable man. Antonio Olmo Romero was an agricultural worker and the treasurer of Castillo’s Brotherhood of Padre Jesús. On the night of October 3, 1936, aware of the danger to the Padre Jesús image, he spread a rumour that it had been burned, then moved it to a secret hiding place, only replacing it after the war. You could say that Padre Jesús was entombed for three years then resurrected. In the post-war phase of economic stagnation, Castillo’s population halved, and Antonio Olmo Romero was forced to move with his family to a farm about a hundred kilometres north; but every year for the following forty, until his death, he returned to Castillo to lead the Padre Jesús procession. Thus, Castillo’s Padre Jesús embodies rich folk memory (these stories are passed down rather than written down) and a curious double Easter symbolism.

So again, why does Padre Jesús generate so much veneration in Castillo? We’ve seen how answering the question requires investigating the mythology. For the religious, of course, Padre Jesús himself exercises notable charisma. Many Castilleros make regular visits to La Ermita. Recently, I happened to meet my next-door neighbour as she was going in. I asked her if there was a Mass. No, she said, as if it was an ordinary event, I’m just going in to see God. True, not all Castilleros have religious devotion, but evidently there are other ways and reasons to identify with Padre Jesús.

The theology of Padre Jesús is profound. The single moment encapsulated is the climax of the incarnation. But the local contextual, historical and emotional factors are undeniable. Padre Jesús may be worshipped all over the Latin world, but the affective experience for Castilleros is uniquely theirs.

Clearly there are lessons for RE here. It’s not just about ensuring balance between doctrinal, ritual, narrative, experiential, social, ethical and aesthetic dimensions, vital as that is. There’s a folkloric dimension, perhaps this dimension cuts across the others, though in Castillo I think it’s distinctive. It’s the power possessed by stories passed down orally, to generate local identity and meaning. Castillo’s religious folklore is unique, but Castillo is not unique in having one. When planning the curriculum, we should be alert to this. Who knows what might be uncovered in an English village, suburb or inner city area? Actually, I do have stories of that kind to tell, and am sure that readers will have some, too.

The way that insights into religion tend to ease pedagogy is instructive. We shouldn’t rely overly on written texts or ‘key beliefs and practices’. The experience of verbally uncovering meaning is enjoyable and rich. I have a so far unrealised project of a dialogue between school students and residents of an old people’s home, essentially cross-curricular but fruitful for RE. I’ll just offer one more suggestion, photo-ethnography. Set children a challenge to decipher a thought-provoking photo of the local area. Put it on screens around the school, and where the local community can see it. Ask: Who? What? Where? When? Why? What did it mean to those present? The children will add questions of their own. And: How will you investigate? How will you communicate your findings?

Try it out. You’ve been given plenty to go on. Decipher this one yourselves.

Dr Kevin O’Grady teaches part-time at Colegio Primario y Infantil Miguel Hernández, Castillo de Locubín. From 1986 to 2015 he taught and led RE and related subjects in various English secondary schools, from 1995 to 2007 he was a member of the Sheffield Standing Advisory Council for RE and from 2007 to 2015 he was Associate Fellow in the Warwick Religions and Education Research Unit. He is a full member of the International Seminar on Religious Education and Values.