The Marian apparition that birthed a Catholic giant

The misty mountains of the northern Spanish Principality of Asturias are hardly the place one would expect to find a world-changing Marian apparition — less so the birthplace of a nation. Yet, the Sanctuary of Covadonga — a small chapel cut into a a mountain cave — is where Catholic giant Spain began under the auspices of the Virgin Mary herself. 

Catholicism in the early-8th century Iberian Peninsula appeared to be on its last legs. A Muslim invasion had destroyed the Visigothic Kingdom in 711 and overrun the peninsula. But among the shattered remnants of the kingdom's aristocracy, one man refused to surrender. In 722, Don Pelayo of Asturias scored Christendom's first victory against Islam in Iberia, handing Spanish Catholicism a lifeline and placing his people on the long, hard road to glory.  

The journey to Covadonga begins with a bus ride from the regional capital Oviedo to the old Asturian capital of Cangas de Onis, whose attractions include the old Roman bridge and a handful of chapels — among the first churches built in the Asturian kingdom. A second bus ride from the old capital takes a pilgrim through lush, verdant Asturian countryside, which gives way to forested mountains, whose peaks are still snow-capped even in July. Suddenly, the bell tower of a massive basilica rises out from behind the crags, announcing the bus' arrival to the “cradle of Spain." There, a pilgrim has two choices: the grand 19th century basilica, or a small church built into a mountain cave. While the former is tempting to visit first, the heart of the sanctuary and its inspiring story are found in the latter. 

In the years preceding Covadonga, Don Pelayo was a hunted former Visigothic nobleman-turned-Asturian warlord. The historical record is hazy, but tradition has him as a man of faith who knew his scripture, made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem as a youth, and resented Muslim rule and its accompanying taxes. To add insult to injury, the Muslim governor of the city of Gijon wanted to add Pelayo’s sister Adosinda to his harem. 

Pelayo rebelled at some point in the 710s, gathering a band of warriors dedicated to robbing Ummayad tax collectors and patrols. His chance for political independence came in 721, when Duke Eudes of Aquitaine crushed the army of governor of Muslim Spain, Al-Samh ibn Malik al-Khawlani, at the Battle of Toulouse. The new governor, Anbasa, decided to halt expansion into France to consolidate his position at home. His first order of business was Pelayo, sending a large army under a general named Al-Qama to eliminate him. 

Pelayo refused battle, withdrawing deep into the Asturian mountains. Eventually, he chose a narrow valley near Mt. Auseva — today called Covadonga — for his stand. Although the Asturians were outnumbered, the situation was not as bad as it looked. Covadonga is a rocky, uneven, and narrow valley, notwithstanding modern landscaping. In 722, it was even rougher, without modern paved roads, and little space to maneuver. The geography negated Arab numbers, giving Asturian forces deployed on the forested ridges overlooking the valley their pick of targets. When Al-Qama’s men opened battle, Pelayo’s skirmishers threw them back with a flurry of slingstones, arrows, boulders, and even uprooted trees.

At the end of the cave is a church consisting of a series of pews, a sacristy, and an altar. Behind that is the statue of a lady decked in red, white and gold — Our Lady of Covadonga, who gives the sanctuary its name. She holds a rose in one hand and baby Jesus in the other, looking over the faithful with a regal and loving countenance — like a queen watching eternally over her people. Legend has it that Pelayo encountered a hermit in 722 in that very spot. He had built a small shrine to the Virgin Mary in the cave and lived there in prayer.

Pelayo had intended to kill a thief who had sought sanctuary with the Virgin Mary in the cave. The hermit told him to relect. In return, the Virgin Mary, impressed with Pelayo’s faith and courage, pRo used him victory if he would also march under the Cross. The hermit gave Pelayo a wooden cross as his standard, which Pelayo faithfully carried into battle. In the thick of the fighting, the Virgin Mary kept her promise, striking the battlefield with a massive thunderstorm.

The rainstorm made it impossible for the Muslim archers, who formed a large part of the attacking force, to use their bows. Unable to shoot, could only join the melee in the narrow valley leading to the cave, which Pelayo’s heaviest troops were defending. With the Islamic force in chaos, and sensing the Virgin’s favor, Asturian forces counterattacked, killing Al-Qama. His army disintegrated, hunted down by Asturian tribesmen or swept away by swollen mountain rivers.

Pelayo’s victory confirmed the independence of the Kingdom of Asturias, which through expansion and name-changes, evolved into modern Spain. Although the center of gravity is now Madrid, Asturians have not forgotten the seemingly insignificant battle that started it all. Today, Our Lady of Covadonga is their patron saint and protectress, watching over Spain from the nation's cradle, which his her throne on Mt. Auseva.

After Mass, pilgrims venerating Our Lady of Covadonga also have the opportunity to pay their respects to Don Pelayo himself, whose final resting place is a very modest tomb carved into the side of cave. There, he rests alongside his beloved wife and queen, Gaudiosa. During my visit in 2013, I did as many pilgrims do and left flowers at the king's grave. Thinking back, I am reminded of the last two verses of the hymn to "La Santana," as Asturians affectionately call Our Lady.

With your name on their lips, for you they fought
With your love in their souls, for you they triumphed

Conthe plating Pelayo's grave and the words of the Marian hymn, we come face-to-face with the truth of a cliche we often hear in homilies: no matter how bad things might seem within the church and the Catholic world, where Mary and Jesus are, there is always hope. We just don't realize their truth until we encounter it ourselves. But Covadonga is an excellent example: out of a small, non-descript cave in the Asturian mountains, which virtually no one outside of Spain has heard of, came the grandeur of Spanish and Latin American Catholicism. Can Catholic faithful worldwide, under siege by forces such as communism, relativism, and Islamic radicalism, and — worst of all — apathy,  learn from Don Pelayo’s unwavering faith?