When fact becomes stranger than fiction, and miracles are real.

Okay, so I am almost ready to send my new manuscript to my editor. The Scattered Flock is set in the year, 1492, in Spain, which was in my humble opinion, the end of the Middle Ages aTheErrantFlock.27.06.Kindlend the beginning of Spain’s golden age. However, this blog has nothing to do with books or what I’m writing. Instead, I’m bringing you a wonderful, miraculous story from my town, Denia.
I grew up on the mountain overlooking the town. About one hundred metres from my family’s home stands La Hermita de Pare Pere; a church and a hovel, which belonged to a 17th century Franciscan monk.
Okay, so what’s your point, you’re asking. Well here’s the thing – The monk, Fray Pere Esteve, real name, Alfonso Esteve – died in the year 1658. His life was given to prayer and devotion to others. It was he who built the church and who was thought to have cured people of a deadly plague that overcame the town.
Since childhood, I have visited this place, often walking there barefooted with the townspeople on their annual pilgrimage. In the past few years, the process of the beautification of Pare Pere has being going on in secret UNTIL lately, when this photograph was taken. Several religious authorities and members of the brotherhood of the Sang Santíssima opened the monk’s coffin, and found the uncorrupted remains of the body.
estado-actual-del-cuerpo-del-pare-pereAs you can see, he has a slightly bowed head and folded hands. His feet are also poking out of his robe. I know for a fact that this photograph is legitimate. I recognise the priest standing at the end of the coffin. This is REAL.
The religious authorities here have already sent the files and photographs to the Vatican, and they believe that this is the final miracle necessary to spur the process of sainthood on to its culmination. He is poised to be blessed, as he has always been in my town.
Please remember, this is an original photograph. The body has lain like that in the mountain since the year 1658. There was no embalming, no pickling, back then. The monk is as he died, untouched, and miraculously whole.

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