When We Can’t Miss Jesus In The Painting #6 (UNITE Link-Up)

He grabbed my hand, lead me down a cobblestone path. We had just left the airport, where we checked into an old hotel room. He was rustic, quaint…had a balcony overlooking ancient streets.

It seemed nostalgic, throwing wide large, glass doors. Darting eyes, seeing a world so much different from my own.

I had never really wanted to go to Machu Picchu. Growing up, I wasn’t particularly fascinated with history…

My parents drove my brother and I to seemingly every historical sight in America; Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore…

Not counting seemingly a thousand museums. Dusty models and memories, monuments, and buildings…anything “old” was not my forte.

“They just seem like ‘big rocks'”, I huffed when my newly-married husband suggested we go to the ancient ruins in Peru, twenty-three years ago.

But I have learned a lot over time…

In a world of small eyes and tiny hearts, we can have short vision causes us to fail to see what lessons, wisdom, and history our ancestors taught…

It’s so easy to get lost in the here and now, missing the great things that lie beyond, outside the comfort zone of our safety net or present understanding.

Our ancestors teach us history, like those cobblestones placed carefully on the streets below. One stone, one lesson, each intentially laid together, making the path we eventually step on.

“Stay out of the sun.”, “Take it easy”, “Don’t walk too much”, “Just rest”….we had been warned. High altitude shocks the system and many can struggle to breath.

But me, I was believing in “mind over matter”, caving to “positive thinking”, believing it might surpass all those previous dreams I had had about dying…

We open the doors of our balcony hotel room.

The side-street twists up a hill. I see kids, and although darker and shorter…seem no different than children in America.

And I wonder why we slice and divide…cultures, people. When here cultures mix in this place where people mingle, and come to experience one of the “Seven Wonders of the World”….

And why is it, the world can seem small until we actually step INTO it? It can seem narrow until we refuse to look at it from the outside, treating it with bravery instead of fear or contempt?

The lobby of our hotel is open, with tables, windows to other spaces. Flowers in vaces sit just like Europe…

Maybe France or Italy.

I sit at one table. A bright, red unknown flower greets me. I scan the bulletin board, and image the churches we’d soon be seeing.

Even here, Christ cries out within me. He wants to pull me closer to reach me…in my tiny little tunnel of “trying to survive”.

Looking back, I see now, He was longing to connect with me and speak wildly about my future.

First, He needed me to lay humbly at His feet, and help…

Yes, I need to come to realize…I needed someone else besides me, to take control and orchestrate the future of my existence.

It is here, in this stopping, we venture out, twist our way up the cobblestone street. Girls in school uniforms giggle. Some stray behind. I am reminded of lost sheep.

We see our tour guide, standing near the church.

He greets us strong and seemingly dignified. Clearly dyed black hair, standing about to my shoulders. He has to look up into the eyes of most of the people he is leading.

It is clear, he speaks good English. He immediately boasts about touring America, selling books, and educating people about the Incans.

His skin is dark. I am confused because he looks and acts quite “Americanized”. Still I can see how he does resemble the Incas.

As we step into the church, I respect his education and rich understanding about the Incans and their ways.

The ceiling of the cathedral is so high, it reaches for me with empty space. I am undone by it’s magnificence and holiness.

Paintings rise from the walls. I stop, look up, and am taken back as I see Jesus on a cross. Eyes lock with rich depth and understanding at the power of His sacrifice.

And I wonder…how can anyone really look in the face of Jesus and not be changed? After gazing on his dripping blood, grasping the sacrifice He offered us by hanging on the cross….

How can we not be undone, by His demostration of selflessness and radical love?

I kept walking. More paintings of Jesus bowing in the Garden of Gethsemane. Another of His whippings, scourgings. More painting of the soldiers gambling for Jesus’ clothing.

But then, I stop and look around. Our Incan guide is gone. I look up and find the crowd of people far past Jesus, standing, staring up at a large painting at the very end of the room.

What a high and glorious room. Stain-glass windows speaking of His love. Light peers in colors as I was humbled by what Christ has done.

Why did our tour guide race past every single painting, window, message, statue, and story of Jesus?

Stopping far ahead.

I hear him dictate. Sharp, sarcastic words from a large painitng. His soft eyes now slanted. His engaging spirit, now rigid. The flow of his voice once flattering…now seemingly questioning and commanding us for answers.

I didn’t understand it.

Then, I looked at the painting. There, an ancient Incan cowered, trembled, shrinking back in fear, as a man in a robe, (clearly a Christian) held a cross over a quivering crowd.

The preacher’s gown in the painting signified authority. His horse represented the church. And an army of white people were pouring onward….

While scantly clothed Indians shrunk in fear from them.

My mind reeled with questions. Was He judging us? Condemning? Was He punishing us with white skin for what Spaniard did to the Incans?

Why did He pass my Jesus? These painting, stain-glassed windows dripping with His touch?

Why did he miss the great sacrifice of love? Run straight the war? Speak of hate and division? 

Is it really about separating races? Speaking and only seething in bitterness over injustice from two people groups so, so long ago?

I bet the tour-guide didn’t know…the man with the cross who forced submission…that was not MY Jesus.

And I would learn…This was only the beginning of this tour-guides hate for Christianity and my Jesus…

In fact, soon, my husband and I would be very specific targets and his hatred and I would be gasping for breath, just a few hours later.

** Thanks for reading. This post is part of a serious about a trip that changed everything. You can find previous posts HERE.

Now, let’s UNITE!

UNITE is an All-Inclusive, family-friendly, no-rules blog hop. This is how it works…Add a post, link back, then, comment on a post before yours. That’s it! Enjoy!