Cristo de la Concordia

“Thomas said to Jesus, ‘Master, we do not know where you are going; how can we know the way?’ ” (John 14:5).

Working on four hours of sleep, a mild headache, and an accumulating sleep debt, dear readers. When will it end? God only knows, and God does not speak. This time, when I woke at 3 a.m., I stayed up; I did not and could not go back to sleep for even half an hour. You know, I begin to believe that if just one of the disciples had a case of insomnia like this, Jesus would have been saved from being handed over to the authorities on that night in Gethsemane. I don’t say Jesus would have avoided his and our destiny, but at least that particular Thursday-into-Friday would have dissolved into obscurity, or at least another good pericope, perhaps a nighttime dialogue in the Gospel of John. 

During that black hole of time I wrote a six-page screed that will most likely stay in my secret archives until and after I die, or until I burn it. It made me feel good to write it and let it out, but it’s fit for God’s eyes only, and God does not see. If you are curious, I will say this: now I think I am ready to be an apprentice to the Psalmist, or to the prophet Jeremiah. Move over, Baruch! Make room, Jeremiah. God duped me, too. 

I showered and dressed for morning prayer as if it were a weekday. Once I was seated in chapel, fatigue came over me. Yeah, thanks a lot, body; you’re doing a heck of a job—being wired when I don’t want it, crashing when I don’t want it. Well, my soul mastered my body, and I stayed awake through meditation into morning prayer. Throughout that time sitting there, gazing at the San Damiano Crucifix that transfixed Saint Francis of Assisi 800 years ago, I was wavering about whether to make the hike up San Pedro Hill to the statue of Cristo de la Concordia, the largest image of Christ in the world at the time of its completion in 1994. One minute I felt so weary that I wanted to crawl back to bed; the next moment I realized that to attempt sleep now, after 7 a.m., would be futile and harmful. Back and forth I went, one minute to the next, one second to the next. The indecision! My soul flipped a coin; it landed on heads. Before I lost my nerve, I grabbed my backpack with food and water, left all my valuables, including my phone and money, and departed the convent at about quarter to eight. 

From the city center it is a straight road along Avenida Heroinas east to the foot of San Pedro Hill. I was there in 15 minutes or so, I would gather. Because of robberies and the strenuousness of climbing 1,400 steps or nearly 1,000 feet to the peak, many people take the cable car or teleférico for 6 bolivianos one way, 12 bolivianos round trip. But I did not intend to float my way up to Cristo de la Concordia. I was a pilgrim; I would walk. 

One estimate I read stated it takes 45 minutes to get to the top. Surely I made it up there in half an hour or so. I could feel the legs getting heavy halfway up; each of these steps was about 8 inches high. I stopped frequently for about 10 or 15 seconds, feeling the hard pumping of my heart. Sometimes I stepped gingerly; many of the concrete steps are now cracked and crumbling 25 years after completion. I hope there are many faithful benefactors who are aware of this and will be ready to give so as to make this pilgrimage feasible for another generation. 

Approaching the hill from Avenida Heroinas, Cristo de la Concordia was always in my sight. The statue can be seen from everywhere in Cochabamba. It is in the logo for the city. It is found in public landscaping everywhere. I have seen the statue high on the hill or its silhouette in the omnipresent city logo hundreds of times. This morning it was different. It was new again, new for the first time. And it wasn’t a statue anymore; it was not a logo anymore. It was Jesus Christ, and he was waiting for me. With my fatigue and sleeplessness; with my days of delight and frustration; and with many other joys and tensions rising from deep within, I felt a surge of tears coming on, even while still far away from the hill. No, I told myself. Wait until you get to the top of the hill. Then it will be time for your tears. When you reach the foot of San Pedro, you cannot see the statue anymore because you are practically under it. I found the course and began the walk upward. 

From the avenue to the hill the sun was beaming brightly before me, as I was facing due east. At the bottom of the hill all was in the coolness of shade, and so was the ascent until two-thirds of the way up. Then the sun broke out from behind the hill and bathed everything in light and warmth. From time to time I stopped to look west at the city below, to the north at the cable car line, and to the south to Laguna Alalay, which looked inviting indeed. After a few dozen more steps, Cristo de la Concordia re-emerged, in erect majesty. 

I was never by myself along this stairway to heaven. There were numerous women, men, and children going up for exercise or simply to enjoy the view at the top. In fact, more than several people were already making their way down, having wisely made their hike, jog, or run at dawn. I was grateful for the safety of numbers. But this morning it did not matter if I was alone or in a multitude. I was absorbed in my own thoughts and prayers and driven to get to the top and to adore at the feet of Christ and to let go of my complaints and unburden myself of so much longing and desire. 

I reached the plateau. The hill broadens into a platform with several terraces below to the south and to the west, behind the statue. There are several overlook points that offer gorgeous scenic views of the higher peaks of Bolivia’s Cordillera Central to the north and east. These views I took in after my moments of prayer. Let me describe those moments for you now. 

The stairway opens to a very broad pavilion before the statue, which is ringed by a low iron fence. To the right on a stone wall is a very recent plaque erected by the city which reads (my translation):

Behold, I am here. I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, then I will enter your house and dine with you, and you with me (Revelation 3:20). 

COME, LORD JESUS 

We open for you the doors of Cochabamba 

We hand over to you the keys of our city 

Cochabamba, September 2016 

As soon as I read the first words of Scripture, Estoy aquí, the floodgates of my eyes opened. I rushed to the statue. I ran to Jesus. I knelt at the fence. And I saw something else. At the foot of Cristo de la Concordia is a metal sculpture of a Bible, its two open pages inscribed in relief with two quotations from the Gospel of John: 

Jesus said to him, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). 

“This is my commandment: love one another as I love you” (John 15:12). 

I wept and I sobbed. The tears fell down my face and the perspiration fell down my body. All the pressure, all the tension, all the fatigue, all the anxiety and fear of the last three days and nights disappeared, dissolved in tears that dried up in the cool breeze and bright sun. Jesus raised me above it all. Jesus loved me. And at that moment, if only for that moment, I found peace. I felt free. I felt like myself. I felt awake. I felt alive. 

Today, there has been this thought: I don’t know much about anything these days. When I do not know, then I trust less. Sometimes I do not trust anyone when I feel restless or alarmed or uncertain. Do I trust God? I do not know God! God is strange and mysterious. God gives and takes away. God holds out and pulls back. It is all uncertain. But even though I do not know and even though I cannot trust, I can turn to Jesus. Even if I cannot turn to God, I can turn to Jesus. This is why I cried at the feet of Christ. 

I ate my breakfast of bread and puffed maize kernels, which are like popcorn but larger and sweeter. I took a leisurely walk around the statue, descended its terraces, and stood from its observation points. I made one more visit to the front of the statue, knelt again and said some prayers, naming the concerns I have written about lately. Then I began my reluctant descent, taking a few looks backward at Cristo de la Concordia and the landscape around me before coming back down to earth, down to the city, down to an unknown destiny. 

Postscript: Click here for a gallery of many photos of Cristo de la Concordia. Among these photos is a picture of a plaque with facts and figures about this monument of faith.