Le bon déroulement de la Semaine sainte de Séville est essentiellement l’œuvre des confréries de pénitence : il s’agit d’associations de fidèles, dont la principale raison d’exister est de célébrer publiquement le culte de leurs Images sacrées. Mais quelle est l’origine historique de ces confréries ?

Comme José SANCHEZ HERRERO l’a expliqué [1], de nombreuses confréries, avec parfois des motivations très différentes, coexistaient à Séville dès le milieu du XIIIème siècle, c’est-à-dire depuis la Reconquête de la ville par Fernando III. Cependant, les confréries de pénitence n’apparaissent qu’au XVIème siècle et, bien que certaines d’entre elles aient hérité du nom d’une confrérie qui existait précédemment, elles appartiennent à un nouveau type de confréries. L’émergence de ces confréries, avec leurs Images que l’on porte en procession pendant la Semaine sainte et leurs longues files de flagellants, correspond en effet à une évolution du sentiment religieux longue de plusieurs siècles et inhérente aux mutations politiques, économiques, sociales, psychologiques et culturelles.

1. L’essor du culte à la Passion du Christ.

Les catastrophes et souffrances qui s’abattent sur l’Europe aux XIVème et XVème siècles ont d’énormes conséquences sur la psychologie collective : elles engendrent un sentiment d’angoisse qui va se manifester tout naturellement à travers la religion. Ainsi, à Séville, la population est régulièrement frappée par:
-des épidémies de peste (1349-1350, 1364, 1374, 1383);
-des épidémies de variole, de grippe ou de fièvre typhoïde (1400, 1413, 1422, 1440-1442, 1447, 1458, 1467, 1481, 1485, 1488);
-de nombreuses famines, parfois très dures (1302, 1311, 1343, 1355-1356, 1375, 1400, 1413, 1423, 1435, 1444, 1448, 1459, 1467-1469, 1473, 1482, 1485);
-ainsi que des intempéries (mauvais temps, crue du Guadalquivir et tremblement de terre de 1373, tremblement de terre de 1394 et énorme crue de 1435).
Cette répétition de catastrophes, commune à toute l’Europe, et qui ne manque pas d’être interprétée comme une série de fléaux envoyés par Dieu, suscite une nouvelle idée de la mort, en insistant notamment sur les souffrances morales et physiques qu’elle occasionne. Dès lors, cette nouvelle conception de la mort va trouver son exutoire dans la dévotion à la Passion du Christ : les représentations du Christ en croix vont se multiplier, toujours plus dramatiques, ainsi que les Ecce homo, c’est-à-dire les figures de Jésus-Christ portant la couronne d’épine. En souffrant, le Christ semble plus proche de l’homme, comme s’il en partageait le sort. Le culte de la Passion, ainsi vivifié par le changement de mentalité à l’égard de la mort, prend un tel essor qu’il pénètre rapidement tous les services liturgiques et devient l’un des thèmes les plus populaires du christianisme, allant jusqu’à occulter la Résurrection. Par ailleurs, c’est au XVème siècle que le théâtre des Mystères, ayant pour thème la Passion du Christ, connaît son apogée, avec en Espagne des œuvres telles que Fechas para la Semana Santa, de Gomez MANRIQUE, ou encore l’Auto de la Pasión d’Alonso del CAMPO.

2. Les premières processions de pénitence.

Parallèlement, les calamités qui marquèrent le XIVème siècle, en particulier la Peste Noire (1348-1350), ont favorisé l’apparition de groupes de flagellants, qui se fouettent en vue d’expier leurs péchés, espérant ainsi calmer la soif de vengeance qu’ils attribuent au Christ. En fait quelques groupes similaires existaient déjà auparavant, qui imitaient saint Dominique de Guzmán (1170-1221, fondateur de l’ordre des Dominicains) et saint François d’Assise (1182-1226, fondateur de l’ordre mendiant des Franciscains), mais ils se font beaucoup plus nombreux à partir de la Peste Noire.

Ainsi, à partir de 1399, le dominicain Vincent Ferrer (1350-1419) va parcourir les routes d’Espagne et du sud de la France afin d’encourager la pratique de la flagellation, créant partout où il passe des compagnies de disciplinants, et il prononce notamment un discours à Séville en 1410, du haut de la chaire du Patio des Orangers. La nuit tombée, ceux qui le suivent organisent des processions et, le visage couvert pour ne pas être reconnus, ils se flagellent -se disciplinent- et font entendre des chants lugubres. Enfin, la session XIV du Concile de Trente (25 novembre 1551), en encourageant les actes de mortification, confirme la doctrine de Vincent Ferrer selon laquelle la pénitence corporelle est un moyen de sanctification.

En 1482, la confrérie de l’hôpital de Notre Dame des Anges a fait ériger un calvaire que l’on appelle la Croix du Champ (Cruz del Campo) et qui, comme son nom l’indique, se trouve hors de la ville, sur la route qui mène à Carmona. Dès lors, ce calvaire attire des processions organisées par des confréries telles que Notre Dame des Anges ou le Saint Crucifix. Dans le même temps, le centre-ville connaît lui aussi une activité processionnelle avec les flagellants que la confrérie de la Vraie-Croix emmène en cortège, la nuit du jeudi saint, pour qu’ils visitent un certain nombre d’églises et d’hôpitaux [2]. Encore à cette époque, les flagellants sont moins des confrères que des fidèles, acquis à la doctrine de Vincent Ferrer, qui se réunissent pour réaliser des actes de piété. Cependant, on les appelle déjà des confrères de sang quand ils se disciplinent et des confrères de lumière quand ils se contentent de porter des cierges.

Il faut attendre le début du seizième siècle pour que se développe la pratique du Vía-Crucis, à l’initiative du premier marquis de Tarifa, don Fadrique Enriquez de Ribera: en 1520, de retour de son voyage en Terre Sainte, le marquis décide en effet d’instaurer un chemin de croix entre son palais, que l’on commence à appeler la maison de Pilate, et le calvaire de la Croix du Champ. On peut voir là l’une des origines des processions de Semaine Sainte à Séville.

3. L’essor des confréries de pénitence au XVIème siècle.

L’émergence des confréries de pénitence est le résultat d’une lente évolution du sentiment religieux : avec les catastrophes et les souffrances que l’Europe a connues, une conception de la mort, beaucoup plus tragique, s’exprime et prend tout son sens avec la dévotion à la Passion du Christ. Aussi les premières confréries de pénitence, que l’on appelle aussi des confréries de discipline, ont-elles des noms très simples et explicites: Saint Crucifix, Vraie Croix ou encore Passion. Par ailleurs, le Concile de Trente renforce le culte des Images, ce qui va favoriser la multiplication des confréries placées sous l’invocation d’un Christ ou d’une Vierge.

Si l’on en juge par les dates d’approbation de règles que nous avons trouvées aux Archives du Palais Archiépiscopal de Séville, la plupart des confréries de pénitence sont apparues dans la seconde moitié du XVIème siècle. C’est seulement en 1586 que le Synode de Séville, présidé par l’archevêque don Rodrigo de Castro, décide que l’existence de toute confrérie sera obligatoirement soumise à l’autorisation du Prélat. Cependant, les confréries avaient déjà l’habitude, bien avant cette date, de faire approuver leurs statuts par l’Archevêché. En 1579, certaines d’entre elles existent depuis peu de temps (Présentation, Expiration, Saint Enterrement ou Nom de Jésus), tandis que d’autres sont d’anciennes confréries de gloire, aussi appelées de lumière, fraîchement reconverties (c’est le cas du O, qui trouve son origine dans la confrérie de sainte Brigitte et des saintes Justine et Rufine, martyres et protectrices de Séville; et de l’Incarnation, qui fut dans un premier temps une confrérie à la gloire de Notre Dame de l’Incarnation).

Les règles de la Véronique, approuvées une première fois le 27 mars 1558, sont significatives du caractère alors récent des confréries de pénitence: le nom de l’ancienne confrérie de gloire est conservé (Santísima Encarnación del Hijo de Dios y de su Bendita Faz) et l’énumération des fêtes dans le chapitre premier (fête de la Très Sainte Incarnation du Fils de Dieu, le 25 mars; Fête du Saint Sacrement, selon ce qu’ordonneront les moines du couvent du Val, où réside la confrérie; Fête de la Sainte Croix de Mai; Fête de Notre Dame du Val, en septembre; Fête de Saint François et enfin Fête de la Toussaint) révèle que la procession du Jeudi saint n’est pas encore considérée comme un rituel essentiel. Il faut en effet attendre le cinquante sixième chapitre (sur un total de cinquante neuf) pour en trouver mention:

“De plus, nous ordonnons et considérons comme une bonne chose que tout confrère, de lumière ou de discipline, qui ne viendra pas à notre procession dans la nuit du Jeudi Saint, soit pénalisé d’un ducat pour payer la cire qu’on utilise pour ladite nuit. Il sera pénalisé à condition qu’il ne soit pas malade, retenu ou absent de cette ville et à condition également qu’il ne soit pas un vieillard: ces dernières personnes seront excusées et seront tenues, le dimanche qui précède, de demander une permission aux autorités de la confrérie…“

La confrérie de la Passion fut sans doute à Séville la première vraie confrérie de Semaine sainte, fondée à cet effet, c’est-à-dire dans le but spécifique de rendre un culte à la Passion du Christ, notamment à travers une procession de discipline organisée pendant la Semaine sainte. Le premier chapitre de règles rédigées en 1806 précise que cette confrérie fut instaurée en octobre 1531 par quelques braves hommes originaires de Valladolid. Par sa simplicité, le nom de Passion [Pasión] apparaît comme le plus approprié, puisqu’il suffit à exprimer l’objet de la confrérie: il semble naturel qu’il fût adopté par la première confrérie de ce type. D’autres confréries, plus anciennes, ont en fait suivi l’exemple de Passion et ont rédigé de nouveaux statuts par lesquels elles devenaient officiellement des confréries de Semaine sainte.

La fondation de Passion par des immigrants originaires de Valladolid nous rappelle que les confréries sont apparues alors que Séville voyait sa population tripler (+283,65% entre 1533 et 1588). En effet, en 1579, les confréries se trouvent principalement dans des paroisses comme San Vicente, Santa Ana ou Santa Lucía, qui ont enregistré une très forte poussée démographique sur les cinquante dernières années. Dans le même temps, la ville, en pleine ébullition, se transforme. En particulier, des monastères et des hôpitaux apparaissent: nombre de ces nouveaux établissements vont abriter des confréries de pénitence puisqu’on trouve en 1579 Passion et Expiration dans le Monastère de la Merced (fondé au milieu du siècle), Couronnement et Oraison du Jardin dans le collège de Montesión (fondé en 1559), Solitude et Angoisses dans le couvent du Carmel (fondé en 1513), Conception dans le monastère de Regina Angelorum (fondé en 1553), Espérance dans le couvent Espiritu Santo (fondé en 1544), Nom de Jésus et Sainte Croix de Jérusalem dans la Maison de Jérusalem (fondée en 1543). Beaucoup de confréries, animées par le souci de venir en aide aux nécessiteux, sont également rattachées au moment de leur fondation à un hôpital. Il faut savoir en effet qu’en 1480, 70% de la population sévillane vit dans la pauvreté ou dispose de faibles revenus: la plupart du temps, ces personnes n’ont d’autre espoir que de trouver un asile auprès d’un hôpital. De plus, le cycle des calamités, qui va se poursuivre jusqu’au XVIème siècle, encourage le Clergé et les pouvoirs publics, ainsi que certains corps de métiers, à créer des institutions où l’on pourra assister les pauvres et les malades. Les hôpitaux vont alors se multiplier à Séville : ce sont des établissements qui vivent d’aumônes et de rentes, et qui acquièrent peu à peu des terres et des maisons, et quand le Roi, à la demande de l’archevêque Rodrigo de Castro, fait réduire leur nombre en 1587, on en recense 76 dans Séville. Plusieurs d’entre eux ont participé à la création de confréries de pénitence telles que : Notre Dame de l’Incarnation (1554), Notre Dame du O (1560), Notre Dame de la Présentation (1572), Humilité et Patience (1580), Sainte Entrée dans Jérusalem (1581), Notre Dame de Villaviciosa (1582), et Trois Nécessités (1586).

fmaillaut

[1] SANCHEZ HERRERO José. «Las cofradías sevillanas: los comienzos», in Las cofradías de Sevilla: historia, antropología, arte, Séville, Universidad de Sevilla, 1985, 201 pages.

[2] CARRERO RODRIGUEZ Juan. Anales de las cofradías de Sevilla, Séville, Editorial Castillejo, 1991, 684 pages.

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Ce texte est mis à disposition selon les termes de la licence Creative Commons Paternité-Pas d’Utilisation Commerciale-Pas de Modification 2.0 France.

Pour citer cet article:

Frédéric MAILLAUT, « L’origine des confréries de pénitence à Séville », in Histoire sociale d’une confrérie de Semaine sainte de Séville: la confrérie du Gran Poder, EHESS, septembre 1992, 68 pages. [Mis en ligne sur ethnoLyceum le 8 mai 2008]. URL : http://ethnolyceum.wordpress.com/2008/05/08/lorigine-des-confreries-de-penitence-a-seville/

A particularly interesting passage from a biography on today’s saint regarding the validity of sedevacantism as a lawful option for Catholics.

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 Henri Gheon, St. Vincent Ferrer, trans. by F.J. Sheed, Sheed & Ward, London, 1939, pp. 138-147

He … was getting ready to cross the Pyrenees when the Pope and the King combined to stop him at Morella. The Schism, of course: always the Schism. He laid down his satchel and consented for a time to a change of occupation. The situation had grown terribly worse. The Roman Pope, Boniface, was dead; the Roman cardinals had elected to the throne of Peter, Innocent VIII, who did not make old bones. They elected Gregory XII in his place. He met the rival Pontiff Benedict at Savona and their negotiations might — who knows? — have issued in a settlement: but unhappily the capture of Rome by Ladislas, King of Naples, had as one result the birth of a third party who had the bright notion of calling a new Council and electing a third pope — as if two were not enough. This third man, Alexander V, elected and crowned at Pisa, died within ten months and his place was taken by John XXIII. Between Gregory and John there was war to the knife, ending in the Sack of Rome, after which things grew a little calmer — thanks to the intervention of the Emperor. On November 5, 1414, a Council held at Constance announced the abdication of the two pontiffs — Gregory and Alexander — on condition that the third, Vincent Ferrer’s man Benedict XIII, should also abdicate. This was the hardest nut. So the Emperor Sigismund decided to try to crack it himself. On the invitation of King Ferdinand of Aragon, on the urging of Master Vincent Ferrer, he consented to come to the Council of Perpignan. As a proof of good-will, Benedict XIII presided and it was for this that the Angel of the Judgment had to interrupt his voyage. The Emperor Sigismund brought with him seventeen bishops and a numerous court. All countries were represented by the flower of their princes and the most resplendent embassies; there was even a Moorish king — in chains. In the midst of this amazing assemblage of prelates and princes, picture to yourself Pedro de Luna now eighty but still solid and tenacious, cunning as a fox, obstinate as an Aragon mule, a man who had grown harder as he grew older: and over against him the poor friar, emaciated, limping, worn to a shadow, but all radiant with learning and genius and charity — the heart and soul of the Council, officiating, preaching, praying, making everybody pray, associating his flagellants with the universal prayer and penance. In truth the world was hanging on his lips; the unity of the Church depended on him. In this last effort, he was at the high point of his extraordinary renown. He addressed the Pope as legate of Christ, as a friend, as a theologian, as a man. From the pulpit and in private, for a whole month, he implored Benedict to resign. “He recognised him as true Pope, but it was precisely that quality which imposed on him the gesture that the whole of suffering Christendom expected of him—the sacrifice of his just cause, his just elevation, his see and his authority.” All in vain. Benedict held his ground obstinately. He was backed by a party still powerful, which represented half the Christian world and would lose all its privileges with him. Against the decisions of Constance, he meant to have himself confirmed by Perpignan. “If the three Popes are doubtful,” was the substance of his argument, “then all the cardinals they have created are doubtful too — I am the only certain cardinal for I received the hat before the Schism and therefore only I can elect another Pope. I should have a perfect right to re-elect myself, even if I resigned.” Every evening they left the palace of Majorca, some way from the town, more divided than when they went in. Vincent exhausted himself in fruitless negotiations. The Emperor lost his temper. He gave an ultimatum. Benedict rejected it. Sigismund left Perpignan with his court and his bishops, threatening to impose by force what he had been unable to obtain by reason. Then the preacher collapsed under the crash of all his hopes. Several days he was ill with his anguish in the cell of the convent of his Order where the toil of his days had laid its burden on the silent prayer of his nights. It was even thought that he was dying. “It is not from earth,” he told the doctor who was looking after him, “that my remedy must come; I shall be back in the pulpit on Thursday.” But what argument was left for him to state, develop, urge which he had not already hammered away at these weeks past? He was running his head against a wall. But the rumour spread that he was preaching again; the crowds thronged into the square, not in thousands but in tens of thousands. Exactly on time, filled with a new vigour due to the certitude, the inevitableness of the last dolorous duty that he must perform, he announced the terrible text: Ossa arida, audite verbum Domini! The very words used by Ezechiel in the field of the dead, in the seventh prophecy sung in the office of Holy Saturday. “Dry bones, hear ye the word of the Lord. I will send spirit into you and you shall live.” It was suddenly seen that it was necessary to revive the Pontiff who was enthroned facing the preacher. The peacemaker had become the accuser. He did not plead now, he thundered. There could be no half-measures now. He turned upon his friend and master in the name of a Friend and Master more powerful than any creature, even the creature He had invested with His powers. … Benedict’s duty was to render up the keys and the tiara; he had tricked and trifled too long with the plain will of God. From a worthy Pontiff he had become an unworthy one, responsible henceforth for all the evils of the Church if he did not yield instantly. How much it cost Vincent, we can guess. But nothing short of an act of heroism — an agony to his heart, his fidelity, his filial submission — was needed, with God’s aid, to break an obstinacy for which his own too long patience and perhaps his cowardice seemed in part responsible. Upon Vincent himself would be the guilt of the Schism if he did not use all the means in his power to bring it to an end — even if it meant treason and rebellion against his sovereign and benefactor. Furthermore, his reason, which never failed him, saw clearly that if Benedict resisted, he would be deposing himself. The crowd were thunderstruck: in the midst of them Benedict on his throne was torn between rage and something very near to panic. If he did not do as his legate demanded then that legate would withdraw from his obedience: who would hesitate to follow him? Would it not be better to yield? But for a Pedro de Luna it is all or nothing. No! No! There was a murmur in the crowd swelling to a roar. Master Vincent had the whole world with him. King Ferdinand of Aragon made it clear to Benedict that his life was in danger, unless he left without delay. Benedict fled for refuge to Peniscola, a fortified rock which was his own property, surrounded on all sides by the sea. Alone between sea and sky, exiled from the world of living men, rejected by all Christians, he would remain Pope. “I made you king,” he said to Ferdinand, “and you have sent me into the desert.” On January 6, 1416, Master Vincent in front of the Castle of Majorca officially proclaimed the withdrawal of obedience of the last princes who still accepted Benedict XIII — the King of Navarre, the Comte de Foix, and the King of Aragon. This last gave assurance of the adhesion of the other Spanish sovereigns. The Schism was stricken to death and it was Master Vincent who had dealt the death stroke. He took part in the labours of the Council at Constance only from a distance, though all wanted him there. But the main task was accomplished. He had better things to do before he died. The Cardinals spent several years straightening out all the complications of the position, taking account of all the interests involved. John XXIII fled: Gregory XII confirmed his resignation; Benedict XIII was deposed: the place was free for a single master. In 1419, Cardinal Colonna was elected under the name of Martin V. He excommunicated Benedict XIII, who, thundering to the empty air, lived seven years more on his rock with two Cardinals who remained faithful to his memory. On his death these two elected one Clement VIII who resigned five years later. And so ended Pedro de Luna. In spite of all he was a great man: but he was swept away by the delirium of his grandeur. Brother Vincent had not paid too high a price for the hope which slowly and surely had come to be realised: the seamless robe repaired by his hands was to be seen once again in its integrity in the one chair of Peter! But his friendship suffered as much as his faith rejoiced. As a saint must, he offered his suffering to God, to dispose of at His will; his preaching was all the more powerful for it. Never did he feel himself more filled with God than when he felt and measured in himself the natural weakness of man. He was laden with offers of honours by princes, kings, bishops, the celebrated Gerson. He refused them all, but politely. Honours he did not want: the poor souls of France were calling him. Nothing could hold him back — not even his friendship for the King of Aragon, who though still a young man was on the point of death. He must march on, keep marching: that was his mission. One field reaped, he must take his sickle to the next. When he reached Narbonne, it was in the midst of a drought from which plants and animals and even men were dying. He won from heaven two glorious days of rain. At Béziers, on the other hand, he had to stop a flood. He went on to Montpellier, Castelnaudary, Pamiers, and once more, to Toulouse. There he was so popular that to save him from being literally crushed to death, he and his ass were placed between two rows of stout stakes carried by strong men. It was Palm Sunday; they did everything but strew flowers and green branches in his path! For six hours without a break he spoke on the Passion before thirty thousand people. The Place St. Etienne was packed, men were piled on the roofs. “Arise, ye dead! Come to Judgment!” The whole crowd fell on its face, crying for mercy. I have already told of the terrible flagellations followed by extraordinary conversions which marked this last time in Toulouse. Then Muret, Castres, Albi: a man of that place who saw him describes him as “very old, pale, broken; but when he had said Mass and when he was preaching, he appeared young, in his prime, alert and full of vitality” — you would have given him thirty. Villefranche, Rodez, Millau, Saint-Flour, Le Puy, Clermont, Montferrand —— the whole of Auvergne — where it was so cold that they had to light the braseros. Then Moulins, Lyons, Macon, Bezançon where in her convent of St. Clare he met Colette de Corbie (July, 1417). We do not know if he had already met her but certainly he had long hoped to. She had appeared to him, we are told, while he was at prayer in Saragossa, at the feet of Jesus Christ, pressing him to end the Schism: and the Saviour had given Vincent the order to discuss the matter with her as soon as possible. The day had come. They drew up a joint letter to the Council of Constance. They must also have talked of France and its woes — we know that both were inclined to the English side: we shall come back to this. There is a respectable tradition that the son of St. Benedict gave the daughter of St. Francis his great mission crucifix with the Crucified carved in wood: and that he venerated the little gold cross, encrusted with precious stones, which she had received from Jesus Himself by the hands of St. John. These two witnesses of their immense love of the Cross are still preserved at the Convent of Poor Clares. St. Colette, it seems, foretold St. Vincent’s coming death, barely two years away. “In Spain?” he asked. “No, in France.” When the moment of separation came their emotion was so great that they could not utter a word.

In 1348-1350, the Black Death swept Europe with devastation: physical, social and spiritual. Victims of the plague suffered a high fever, gangrenous inflammation of the throat and lungs, frequent stabs of sharp pain, vomiting, spitting of blood and hemorrhages just below the skin that resulted in black blotches (hence the name “Black Death”). Death usually followed in a matter of hours or days. A man who went to bed feeling fine could be dead by morning. An estimated 25 million people, roughly a third of the population of Europe, succumbed.

The aftermath is hard to even imagine. Seemingly overnight, the world fell apart. Priests and doctors, so badly needed, were especially hard-hit because they ministered to the sick and caught the plague themselves, dying soon after. Panic-stricken, people isolated themselves in an attempt to avoid the plague, leaving their sick to die alone. The dead were dumped unceremoniously in mass graves by the few unsavory characters who could be paid enough to collect their bodies. Charitable efforts were largely suspended as “every man for himself” became the rule of the land. Crops were left to rot in the fields because there was no one to harvest them. Social structure broke down because there weren’t enough officials left to carry on the ordinary functions of government. People either became fanatically religious in hopes that their zeal would persuade God to spare them or became utterly disillusioned with religion and plunged into debauchery, drinking and carousing. Because the shortage of priests was so acute, many unworthy men were admitted to holy orders, creating scandal and a further lowering of morality. Society would never be the same.

The year the Black Death subsided, 1350, was the year today’s saint was born. St. Vincent Ferrer, born in a noble, pious family in Spain, quickly absorbed the faith of his parents and made it his own. Even as a child, he fasted weekly, developing a deep devotion to Mary and to the Passion of Christ. Because he saw the poor as members of Christ, he made personal sacrifices in order to add to the alms he helped his parents distribute. A brilliant student who combined study with prayer, he pursued his studies as a Dominican friar, earning a doctorate, memorizing the entire Bible, and immersing himself in the writings of the Fathers of the Church. He endured vicious temptations from the devil, who filled his imagination with filthy ideas and induced a woman to try seduce him on the pretense that she was ill and wanted him to hear her confession. When he fled, she publicly accused him. When nobody believed her, she repented, at which St. Vincent not only forgave her, but healed her as well.

As a young friar, St. Vincent taught philosophy, then theology, preaching on the side, and came to the attention of Cardinal Peter de Luna, papal legate of the antipope Clement VII.

This was indicative of yet another source of social breakdown. The papacy, forced by anarchy in Italy to flee to France for safety in 1309, had become heavily influenced by French politics. Pope Gregory XI finally returned the papacy to Rome in 1376, but died suddenly soon after. The Italian elected to succeed him, Urban VI, not only refused to play French politics, but also lacked the necessary tact and diplomacy to bring about the reforms he knew were so desperately needed. In reaction to his overbearing attempts to correct the worldliness he saw in the clergy, the French cardinals (falsely) declared his election invalid and selected Clement VII to take his place. Thus began the Great Schism of the West, with each claimant to the papacy excommunicating his opponent and all his followers. No one knew for sure which claimant to the papacy was the real pope, or who was really in communion with the Church, for a great many years.

St. Vincent was swept into this conflict, on the wrong side. In the service of Cardinal de Luna, he defended Clement VII as the true pope, and when de Luna succeeded Clement VII as Benedict XIII, St. Vincent defended his claim to the papacy too…for a time. Behind the scenes, he was urging Benedict XIII to step down in order to bring about a healing of this scandalous division in the Church. Benedict XIII kept promising to do so, but, to St. Vincent’s grief, never followed through. Finally, realizing that Benedict XIII wasn’t budging, St. Vincent began to preach against him, advising King Ferdinand of Spain (who seems to have been leaning in this direction anyway) to withdraw the obedience of Spain from Benedict XIII, thus breaking the antipope’s political power and paving the way for his deposing in 1417. Antipope John XIII had already been deposed in 1415, and pope Gregory XII had abdicated that same year, so the way was finally clear for the Church to start fresh with Pope Martin V. Jean Gerson, the famous French theologian, stated: “Without Vincent, the reunion of the Church could not have been achieved.”

In the meantime, and in the midst of this scandalous confusion of leadership, St. Vincent found himself called to an extensive ministry of preaching on the open road. In 1398 he fell dangerously ill and was at the point of death when he experienced a vision of Jesus and Sts. Francis and Dominic, who urged him to preach repentance. In this vision, Jesus touched him and healed him. It took a year for St. Vincent to receive permission to begin this work in earnest, but once he did, he spent the last 20 years of his life traversing Europe on foot, carrying a large cross, and bringing tens of thousands of people to repentance, including thousands of Jews and Moslems. He is thought to have had the gift of tongues, because he was understood everywhere he went (including Germany, Greece, Italy, England, France, Scotland & Ireland), even though he only preached in Limousin, the language of his native Valencia.

He practised what he preached, continuing the life of sacrifice he had begun as a child. Having slept on the floor or on sticks (when he slept at all), he rose at 2am to pray the Divine Office, go to confession and then devoutly celebrate Mass. He was known for being a very careful liturgist, knowing that Christ alone can offer fitting worship to the Father and that Christ speaks through the Mass. He didn’t want any mistakes (never mind innovations) of his own to get in the way of that pure worship. He spent the day in preaching and hearing confessions, then had a large bell rung in the evening to call the sick and infirm. This came to be known as the “miracle bell” because so many were healed, and even raised from the dead, through his ministry. At night he prepared his sermons at the foot of a large crucifix.

St. Vincent’s preaching was as effective as it was needed. He visited towns that hadn’t seen a priest in 30 years, and the moral climate showed it. His favorite topic was the Last Judgment, not because he was morbid, but because he wanted people to reform their lives so that they could face this judgment with joy. A gifted speaker, he knew how to appeal to emotion–he often had to stop and wait until the crowd had stopped sobbing–without neglecting the intellect. He presented the truth to people who hadn’t heard it for decades. His strictness was born of his compassion for sinners, and they knew it. He could see what sin was doing to their souls and pleaded with them to reform for their own sakes. They responded in droves. A crowd of penitents ranging from 300 to 10,000, many of whom had been hardened sinners, prostitutes, and blasphemers, followed him wherever he went. One might expect such a motley crew to cause trouble sooner or later, but they never did. The example of their new, holy way of life was an powerful witness to the truth of St. Vincent’s preaching wherever he went.

He was still on the road, in the midst of his preaching in western France, when he fell ill again. His companions tried to convince him to return to his native Spain, but he was too sick. He turned aside to the city of Vannes, where he was received with great joy that turned to sorrow when they realized he had come to die. He urged the people to preserve after his death the peace that he had so often preached during his life. On the tenth day of his illness, he had the Passion read to him, then recited the penitential psalms, often stopping, totally absorbed in God. On this day in 1419, at the age of 62, he passed into eternity.

“St. Vincent reduces the rules of perfection to avoiding three things: first, the exterior distraction of superfluous activities; secondly, all interior secret elation of heart; and thirdly, all immoderate attachment to created things. Also to the practicing of three things: first, the sincere desire of contempt and abjection; secondly, the most affective devotion to Christ crucified; and thirdly, patience in bearing all things for the love of Christ.” -Butlers /lives of the Saints

St. Vincent, lover of souls, pray for us in the midst of our own social disorder, that we may learn the lessons you preached so well. May we reform our lives now so that the Last Judgment will hold no terrors for us.