The suffering Christ in South America

My husband and I attend Mass at the cathedral in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, with our daughter Beatrice. The pews are filled with people from all walks of life. As I chase our toddler up the side aisle, thankful for the noise of people coming and going, pausing at altars and lighting candles, I notice the crucifix at a side altar.

It's the most shocking image of Christ I have ever seen. The almost life-size figure has pallid, blueish skin, with blood dripping from knees, hands and side. The face looks upward with mouth open, a face filled with extreme anguish and horror.

Other crucifixes portray a suffering Christ as I can imagine him. A figure of rough wood, the flesh of a tree limb hewn, speaks of Christ offering his life. An image with head hanging down shows Christ heavy with the weight of the world's sins upon his shoulders. But in this crucifix I see my worst fears of horror and torture reflected in Christ's face.

Do I dismiss this image as one marred by oppression and sin, or embrace it as a new way to consider my Lord's life and death, and my communion with his followers who enter this cathedral?

Henri Nouwen, in his writings about his time in South America ("Gracias"), describes images of the suffering Christ in Lima, Peru. One statue showed eyes "as of a man driven mad by torture." For Nouwen, preoccupation with this image is "a perversion of the Good News into a morbid story that intimidates, frightens and even subdues people but does not liberate them."

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His words gird my faith, even as I acknowledge that many fellow believers can identify much more than I can with the suffering of Christ. Christ horrified, Christ in agony, Christ abandoned.

As we tuck our daughter into bed that evening, I cling to the circle of my family. This is my favourite prayer of the day: my husband and I clasp our daughter's hands and thank Jesus for the day, and ask him to be with us during the night and the next day. Quieting the thoughts of Christ's agony, I thank him for coming to this earth, and ask him for courage and rest in his presence.

Another Christ image enfolds me in the night. After visiting the Inca ruins of Machu Pichu, our train descended into the city of Cuzco soon after dark. Overlooking the city is a lit-up Christ statue stretching his arms out over the city. As the statue came into view on each switchback, our daughter pointed and said excitedly in Spanish, "Jesus, Jesus." Yes, there he is. He is here with us.

Whatever disturbing images we encounter, however his message has been distorted, whenever we feel rocked by change, confusion or fear, Christ is with us. He is "Emmanuel," God with us. This Advent refrain sustains us in our journey toward Easter.