Roundup: Modern santero, flamenco-style Lord’s Prayer, the horror genre, and more

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST: October 2026 (Art & Theology)

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VIDEO: “Relatable Retablos, Vince Campos”: In this segment from ¡COLORES!, a production of New Mexico PBS, Faith Perez interviews santero Vince Campos (@santero_riteno), who paints retablos, a centuries-old Hispano-Catholic sacred art form, but in a contemporary idiom. Campos likes to relate the stories of the saints to those of people he encounters in his everyday life. Here he discusses his retablos of San Lorenzo (St. Lawrence), San Francisco (St. Francis), San Rafael (St. Raphael), and more.

Campos, Vince_Saint Francis of Assisi
Retablo by Vince Campos, showing St. Francis (the patron saint of Santa Fe, animals, and the impoverished) with the legendary wolf of Gubbio

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SONGS:

>> “Padre Nuestro” (Our Father) by Diana Navarro: Diana Narvarro is a singer-songwriter from Málaga, Spain. In this flamenco-style setting of the Lord’s Prayer, originally featured on her 2011 album Flamenco, she is accompanied by guitarist Juan Antonio Suárez “Cano.” [HT: Tamara Hill Murphy]

>> “Shaddai’s Shadow” by Joseph Henry Cortese: Joseph Henry Cortese is a pastor, musician, songwriter, and record producer from the Bronx. Last year he released his original song “Shaddai’s Shadow” as a single; it’s performed here at his church, Crossroads, with Amber Ojeda and Ashley Carbaugh on vocals, and he’s on drums. (See the YouTube video description for the full list of credits.) It’s inspired by Psalm 91, which opens, “You who live in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty, will say to the Lord, ‘My refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust.’”

(Related post: “Psalm 91: Fifteen musical versions”)

I’m very grateful to Crossroads for financially supporting Art & Theology with an ongoing monthly contribution. Their validation of my ministry of curating, writing, and resourcing the church to engage the arts has been an immense encouragement. If you are a church and would like to set up a recurring donation to help me continue this work, please let me know by email! (Of course, individual contributions are welcome as well; see my Donation page.)

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NEW BOOK: Be Afraid: What Horror Reveals About Facing the Darkness by Kutter Callaway: Publishers sometimes send me books to consider for review, and this is one of the recent standouts. Part of IVP Academic’s Discovering God in Pop Culture series, Be Afraid by theologian and psychological scientist Kutter Callaway “explores how our Christian faith is made better when we engage with the horror genre.” One of the book’s key assertions is, as filmmaker Wes Craven (A Nightmare on Elm Street; Scream) puts it, “Horror films don’t create fear. They release it.” “The power of horror,” Callaway expounds, “isn’t just in generating fear—it’s in giving us a space to express, externalize, and process the fears we already carry. It’s a kind of emotional purge” (25).

Be Afraid book cover

An intriguing argument, and one I enjoyed following throughout as the author wove together wisdom culled from his two fields with quotes from interviews he conducted with Hollywood filmmakers and others. He writes about The Babadook, The Exorcist, Monsters, Inc. (part of a whole chapter on horror tropes in Pixar films!), A Christmas Carol, and more.

Along the way, Callaway addresses the common Christian objection “Why dwell on so much darkness when the world is already overflowing with evil?”

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NEW EP: Turnaround by John Millea: On September 14, singer-songwriter John Millea from Oklahoma released four new songs “for the ones who feel like giving up, the ones who want to hang on, and the ones who are praying for a turnaround.” Here’s the first, “Good Earth,” inspired by the parable of the sower in Matthew 13:10–17:

Holy Week: Silent Before His Accusers

He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,
    yet he did not open his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter
    and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,
    so he did not open his mouth.

—Isaiah 53:7

As soon as it was morning, the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes and the whole council. They bound Jesus, led him away, and handed him over to Pilate. Pilate asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” He answered him, “You say so.” Then the chief priests accused him of many things. Pilate asked him again, “Have you no answer? See how many charges they bring against you.” But Jesus made no further reply, so that Pilate was amazed.

—Mark 15:1–5

LOOK: Christ before the Judge by Cecil Collins

Collins, Cecil_Christ before the Judge
Cecil Collins (British, 1908–1989), Christ before the Judge, 1954–56. Oil on board, 47 1/2 × 35 1/2 in. (120 × 90 cm). Gardiner Chantry, Winchester Cathedral, England. Photo: Anne Baring.

I learned of this painting from the book The Image of Christ in Modern Art by Richard Harries. In the painting, Harries writes, Pilate is fierce, angular, aggressive, baring his teeth. “He represents the mechanism of law against Christ, now striated by the flagellation, and wearing a large crown of thorns. But Christ’s eyes are wide open, revealing a strong, serene and eternal order that remains untouched by the harshness.”

LISTEN: “Silencio,” movement 28 from La pasión según San Marcos (St. Mark’s Passion) by Osvaldo Golijov, 2000

The video below is the world premiere performance by the Orquesta La Pasión and the Schola Cantorum de Venezuela, conducted by María Guinand, on September 5, 2000, at the Beethovenhalle in Stuttgart, Germany. The “Silencio” movement is cued up for playback, but I recommend listening to the entire work!

Osvaldo Golijov (born 1960) is an Argentine composer born in La Plata to Ukrainian and Romanian Jewish parents. He left his native Argentina in 1983 to study for three years at the Rubin Academy of Music in Jerusalem, and then he settled in the United States. He lives in Massachusetts.

Golijov was one of four composers commissioned by the International Bach Academy of Stuttgart in 1996 to write a Passion oratorio to commemorate the 250th anniversary of J. S. Bach’s death in 2000. (I featured another, Tan Dun, in a recent roundup.) Golijov chose Mark’s Gospel as his basis, compiling the libretto from a Spanish translation of the Gospel and other Spanish-language sources, and for the music, drawing on a variety of Latin American styles and rhythms.

The “Silencio” movement of Golijov’s La pasión según San Marcos captures the moment at which Christ stands before Pontius Pilate, the governor of the Roman province of Judaea. He had already appeared before Caiaphas, the Jewish high priest; now he’s been handed over to another authority to stand trial yet again.

Much to everyone’s surprise, he does not defend himself against the charges of sedition, treason, and blasphemy—not because he was guilty, but because he knew it would do no good. He had already told the people who he was and what he was there to do—had demonstrated it with miracles—but most of those in power continued to disbelieve and resist him. And so he returns their accusations with a dignified silence. He has purposed to take his gospel all the way to the cross to further reveal the heart of God.

(Related post: “The ‘Nothing’ that won our salvation”)

“Silencio” (Silence), which comes between “Amanecer: Ante Pilato” (Dawn: Before Pilate) and “Sentencia” (Sentence), consists of clapping and stomping in the mode of flamenco, the texture thickening to convey ratcheting tension. “Spanish flamenco suggests the influence of the colonizing power, akin to ancient Rome in the Holy Land,” Thomas May writes, “and is thus suitable for Jesus’ betrayal and sentencing by the authorities – but also for the fatalistic aura of his impending death.”

There are no vocals in this movement, and the only instruments are the cajón and body percussion. The chorus creates rhythms with their hands and feet, representing the chief priests and scribes and the gathered crowds who wait anxiously for a word from the accused, but who are more anxious still for a verdict.

Flamenco-style devotional singing in southern Spain

Noted for its dramatic intensity and tragic beauty, the saeta is a type of devotional song performed during Holy Week processions in the Andalusia region of Spain, inspired by images of the suffering Christ and Virgin. It is sung during pauses in the procession, usually without accompaniment: a loud, melismatic wail of praise and lament. Sometimes such performances are planned, with a professional singer standing on a balcony; other times they are improvised by someone in the crowd, as he or she feels moved. Either way, the performances are typically quite emotional.

Here’s a spontaneous male duet performance that took place in the village of San Fernando in the Andalusian province of Cádiz in 2011:

The word saeta means “arrow” in Spanish, referring to the way in which the song soars through the air, piercing the hearts of its listeners.

Music historians locate the origins of the saeta in late medieval monastic canticles. According to Doreen Carvajal in The Forgetting River: A Modern Tale of Survival, Identity, and the Inquisition,

Most experts agree that the early primitive form of saeta was composed of Gregorian psalms sung by friars and monks during missions. Later the musical structure broke free and was adapted for singing in the street, reshaped by converso Jews [Jewish converts to Catholicism] in the sixteenth century.

While some of these Jewish Catholic songs may have expressed genuine devotion to a newly embraced Christ, most of them—one theory notes—were coded expressions of the singer’s own sorrow at having been forced to renounce his or her former faith by threat of exile or death. This was the time of the Spanish Inquisition, after all.

The saeta was also developed early on by the Andalusian gypsies (gitanos), who have adopted the Catholicism of their host country and who remain the saeta’s most popular interpreters today. They brought to it the elements of flamenco, such that the saeta is now regarded as a subset of that art form and is a part of every flamenco singer’s cante jondo (“deep song”) repertoire.

Saeta for the blind and imprisoned
Julio Romero de Torres (Spanish, 1874–1930), La Saeta, 1918. Oil on canvas. Painted in response to the following saeta lyrics: “¡Oh Santo Cristo de Gracia! / Volved la cara atrás. / Dadle a los ciegos vista / y a los presos libertad.” (Oh Holy Christ of Grace! / Turn your face upon us. / Give sight to the blind / and liberty to the prisoners.)

Even though the saeta has made its way into concert halls, it is still best known as a song of the people, an integral part of Andalusian folk culture, especially among gypsy communities. Sometimes gypsy saeteros (saeta singers) incorporate into the lyrics expressions of ethnic pride—for example, identifying Jesus and his mother, Mary, as one of their own:   Continue reading “Flamenco-style devotional singing in southern Spain” →