A farm boy from Mallorca. A brilliant young scholar. At thirty-five he left his island and never returned — and the song, three centuries later, that calls him home. By Jaime Anglada, Cathedral of Palma, MMXIII.
Statues show us what Serra looked like. Missions show us what Serra built. History books tell us what Serra did. ‘Aquí Por Ti’ tells us what Serra felt.
Performed first in the nave of La Seu — accompanied by the Symphonic Orchestra and the Military Band of the Comandància of the Balearic Islands — and again, with a single guitar. Two renditions of the same heart.
A baroque arrangement by Miquel Àngel Aguiló, performed live at the Cathedral of Palma de Mallorca with the Symphonic Orchestra of the Balearic Islands and the Military Band of the Comandància of the Balearic Islands.
The commission arrived in 2013, in time for the tercentenary of Father Serra's birth: would a local voice — an islander — write something to honour the islander who had shaped a continent? How could I refuse?
With the commission came a small, extraordinary gift: a copy of the last letter Father Serra wrote before sailing for the New World. "It was a farewell letter, profoundly beautiful," Anglada later said. "It moved me. He apologised for leaving, citing his unstoppable need to preach the Gospel."
That letter became the song. Anglada wrote Aquí Por Ti from inside it — a son's apology, a son's resolve, the trembling line between leaving and arriving. He sent the sketch to his friend, the composer Miquel Àngel Aguiló, who wrote the baroque arrangement. "His orchestral writing gave it more strength. It moved me."
The work was offered freely. "It was an entirely charitable activity," Anglada says. "There were production costs, of course — but I can boast of having good friends who helped reduce them."
Read the full storyIn 1749, on the eve of his departure from Cádiz, Father Junípero Serra wrote a letter to a friend, asking him to console his parents. He could not bring himself to say goodbye in person. They would never see him again in this life.
Written first in Spanish, and translated for those who would listen across the ocean. Read them together, as the song was always meant to be sung.
Cuando la tierra es fría Pero tu corazón arde Cuando tu alma quiere volar.
No existen despedidas El océano no es la huida Solo el camino a tu verdad.
El desierto no es fácil Y el horizonte inmenso. Y rezo!
Coge mi mano! Coge mi mano! Estoy aquí. Por ti.
No hay vuelta atrás Vine a secar tus lágrimas No hay vuelta atrás.
No hay vuelta atrás Vine a mecer tus miedos Vine a llenar tus manos de bondad.
Cuando el viento quemó mi cara Y atrás el recuerdo de pare i mare Cuando mis pies se clavaron en tu arena Me puse a mercé del Santa Ana.
Fui marinero por ti. Fui misionero por ti. Oh Señor, tú me diste fuerza y palabra. Fui todo por ti.
Estoy aquí. Estuve, aquí por ti. Estoy aquí por ti. Fui todo, oh Señor, por ti.
When the earth grows cold But your heart is burning When your soul wants to fly.
There are no goodbyes The Ocean is not an escape Only the road to your truth.
The desert isn't easy And the horizon never ends. And I pray!
Take my hand! Take my hand! I am here, for you.
There is no going back I came to dry your tears. There is no going back.
There is no going back I came to calm your fears I came to fill your arms with goodness.
When the wind burns across my face My Mother and Father I would see no more When my foot sunk deep into your sands I cast all my hopes on the Santa Ana.
I was a sailor for you. I was a missionary for you. Oh Lord, you gave me strength and voice. I was everything for you.
I am here. I came here for you. I am here for you. I was everything, Lord, for you.
In the spring of 2013, Jaime Anglada was given a small handful of sand from a Californian shore — soil from the world Father Serra had crossed an ocean to build — along with a single, daunting request: write a song about a young man's first moment of faith.
To answer it, Anglada had to go back. Three centuries back. To a farm in Petra, in the centre of Mallorca, where a child was born so frail his parents carried him to be baptized the same day, fearing he would not survive the night. Era un niño de campo, un niño de la tierra.
He was born on November 24, 1713, in the village of Petra, in the centre of Mallorca. His father, Antonio, and his mother, Margarita, worked the family's vineyards and wheat. The child was christened Miquel Josep Serra i Ferrer.
He was so frail at birth that his parents carried him to be baptized the same day, fearing he would not survive the night. He survived. He grew into a brilliant, restless child — the kind a small village could not keep on the farm.
At fifteen, he was sent to Palma to study with the Franciscans at the Convent of San Francisco. He took the habit at sixteen and the religious name Junípero — after a beloved companion of St. Francis of Assisi.
By twenty-four he was a doctor of philosophy. He taught at the Lullian University of Palma, and was renowned as a preacher: when he gave the sermon, the cathedral filled.
Y entonces, a los treinta y cinco años, lo dejó todo.
At thirty-five, at the height of his career, with nothing in his life requiring him to leave, he asked permission to sail for the New World.
He left without saying goodbye to his parents — fearing he could not bear the parting — and from Cádiz, on the eve of departure in August 1749, he wrote them a letter. He entrusted it to a fellow Mallorquín friar, asking him to deliver it in person.
That letter, three centuries later, would become the song.
He sailed on the Villasota and arrived at Veracruz in December 1749. He never returned to Mallorca. He spent the next thirty-five years on the other side of the world.
He founded the first nine missions of Alta California, and walked thousands of miles between them — often barefoot, often on a leg that never healed. He died at Mission San Carlos Borromeo, in Carmel, on August 28, 1784, at the age of seventy.
He was beatified by Pope John Paul II in Saint Peter's Square on September 25, 1988, and canonized by Pope Francis in Washington, D.C., on September 23, 2015 — the first canonization ever performed on American soil.
The song goes back for the moment before any of it —
the moment in Mallorca when a young man chose.
That is the moment it calls him home.
Sources Steven W. Hackel, Junípero Serra: California's Founding Father (Hill & Wang, 2013); the canonical record of Father Serra's farewell letter from Cádiz, August 1749.
Photographs from the night the song was first sung, the score that gave it shape, and the press that carried it across an ocean.
On the eve of the premiere, the singer-songwriter talks about the commission, the letter, and the song he wrote for the tercentenary of Father Serra's birth.
“When I read his farewell letter to his parents, I understood the sacrifice. That is what I wanted the song to carry — not the saint, but the young man stepping onto the ship.”
— Jaime Anglada, in conversation with Última Hora
Coverage of the premiere at the Cathedral of Palma — Anglada accompanied by the Symphony Orchestra and Military Band of the Balearic Islands, in the presence of Serra International.
The Cathedral of Palma filled to honour the tercentenary of Father Serra's birth — a Mallorquín who carried his island across an ocean, and the song that three centuries later calls him home.
— From the concert review, Última Hora
