Pilgrimage for answers leads to new questions

I first saw him in a taxi in Piura, Peru, dangling from the windshield of one of these horribly beat-up tiny yellow Daewoos you see by the hundreds. And then I began seeing him everywhere.

He sports a long, embroidered robe like a middleweight champion and wears his hair far past his shoulders in black ringlets. He's gaunt and forlorn, more than 250 years old. Yet he's hip for his age. His sneaker line would shine patent purple with a golden swoosh.

So, not too long ago, our curiosity piqued, a friend and I went to Ayabaca, a town of great religious devotion, in search of him. We knew what we were looking for. He's nearly as prominent in Northern Peru as rice and potatoes. We climbed 9,000 feet over roads so bumpy if you brought a glass to your lips you'd chip a tooth. We were on a mission. I wanted answers, and Jason sought an epiphany.

Ayabaca, often rainy and shrouded in clouds, is his town. It's dedicated to Jesus Christ under the name of Senor Cautivo (Captive Lord). It's not frequented by Westerners, and we were, in fact, met with much suspicion. Dealings with international mining companies and timber representatives have made for a wary populace. But our interest in the Senor seemed to nullify all that.

Each year in mid-October pilgrims numbering in the tens of thousands ascend upon this mountain town in the far north of Peru to catch a glimpse of him and commune with fellow devotees. His image is paraded through the streets on petals of flowers. He's not alive, and never has been, but that's not stopping anybody from believing in his power to affect their lives.

Some begin walking months before the day, making it the biggest and most impressive religious pilgrimage in Peru and one of the most far-reaching in South America. Devotees come from Ecuador and Colombia, even as far as Brazil and Panama. Most will drive, but nearing Ayabaca, some of the walkers will finish their pilgrimage by kowtowing, stopping to kneel, even crawl, every few steps as the ultimate act of their journey.

Why? That's hard to say. Belief is belief, hard to explain and harder to argue with. The story is legend and goes something like this: In 1751, the local parish priest decided to give northern Peru its own patron saint. He ordered the carving of an effigy.

A committee chosen to find qualified artisans met two men dressed in white who claimed to be sculptors and immediately commissioned them for the job. They were enclosed in a room no one was allowed to enter, their food delivered once a day at dawn, and the price agreed upon was delivered only when the work was finished.

However, after several days the food began to accumulate untouched, so the population assembled and, receiving no replies to their calls, opened up the room to find a beautiful finished image and no signs of the sculptors.

It's around this point in the story that each Peruvian I've talked to about Cautivo throws up his or her hands and says, "It is a mystery, a miracle." And that's all we could reckon as well. No real answers, no epiphanies.

Pilgrimages aren't such a familiar sight in North America, and devotion of this sort is uncommon, but in the Latin world, they are both numerous.

Many religions, in fact, view a long sojourn on foot as one of the ultimate manifestations of devotion. There's a chance we'll walk to Ayabaca come October. Maybe the knowing will come through the doing. It just wouldn't seem right to take a taxi next time.

Matt Wittmer is a columnist for the Southeast Missourian and an avid traveler and cyclist. He is teaching English at the University of Piura in Piura, Peru. Reach him at matt.wittmer@gmail.com.