Cerro San Cristobal

Last week I went with my host and two students into Lima for a day of sightseeing. We took a bus tour up a very high hill to Cerro San Cristobal, on which is a very tall cross. The road, which is usually open for car travel, is closed around Easter so the faithful can walk up the very long, winding road to the cross at the top. As we drove up through the village, we got stuck behind a truck that couldn't budge. So everyone sat and waited. Or sat and waited and beeped their horn. Most of the horns here sound like toys, and people honk the horn out of principle, so it was an altogether cheery 10 minute hiatus. As we sat in our tourbus, which seated approximately 20 people, my host suddenly took my purse, cradled it on his lap and wrapped his arms around it. "Please," he said. "There are robbers who will reach in the bus and take it." I also learned that they are so desperate that some would not think twice about cutting off your finger and harvesting your ring.

The road winds up over the side of the mountain through a village of brightly painted homes built into the side of the hill. The road itself can't be more than 12 feet wide in most places. I shuddered to think what would happen should we meet another bus on our way up. From the top, we can see a huge sports arena, seen here at the right. This is called the Plaza de Anco. It was built around 1530 for bullfighting and has been in operation ever since.

I was grateful that it wasn't bullfighting season beause I can hardly bear to think of how the fights end. This arena is a great source of national pride.

From the top of the mountain, our attention was also directed to what looked like the projects--probably 20 blocks of four to five story buildings that all looked the same. There were no windows in them. It was a cemetery--the village of the dead, so to speak. Apparently, this city of nine million people has run out of space to bury people and so have built crypt-like buildings to house the dead. My host used to be a pastor in an adjacent area of the city. As one would expect, only the very poor and criminal live nearby. He often found the wheels removed from his car when he came out of church.

From Cerro San Cristobal, we headed to the Museum of the Inquisition. As expected, it was a sobering and grisly exhibition. We heard the white-washed version of history, given by a woman whose demeanor was visibly defensive. She tried to normalize the brutality of the inquisition by explaining to us that the U.S. also used the stocks to punish offenders in puritan times. She also claimed that only four people died from the torture and that the majority were Jews and Muslims who would not convert to Christianity. Yet there were plaques that gave different numbers. Approximately 46 "Judiazers" died there, she said. These, my host explained, were people who were most likely Protestants, or those who disagreed with Catholic doctrines. However, the numbers were miniscule in comparison to those who actually died there. Because this event is an embarassment to the church, the actual records have been suppressed. This, in addition to the numerous earthquake damage, has allowed reminders of the Inquisition to be lost or buried. There were many women who were killed by putting a cotton wick in their mouth and throats, then pouring water into their mouths until they drowned. People's extremities were attached to horses, who were whipped to run in four different directions until the individual was dismembered. They were hung upside down. All sorts of horrible things happened in those old walls. Walking through the underground cells, no bigger than a casket, I kept hearing the words of the hymn, Faith of our Fathers. I wonder if I would have been able to endure what these people did.

While pondering this, my host, a Protestant pastor, explained to me why South America has such strong Catholic loyalty. He said that in the late 1500s, one of the European Protestant reformers was interested in evangelizing South America. He sent over 400 missionaries under the direction of a man with the last name of something like Duran. When the group arrived here and started their missionary activities, the Catholic clergy began trying to dissuade Duran from his faith. They succeeded and he killed all the missionaries. One man escaped into the jungle but was never seen again. Amazing, how the choices of one man has influenced history and current events.

We walked in the main town square of Lima, across from the beautiful cathedral there. There are these ornately carved wooden box type things on the outside of the building and I wondered what they were. I was told, "We have a machismo society here. So the women would go up into those and look out into the square and the men would mingle here altogether in the evenings." The man telling me this laughed apologetically. I thought it was hilarious. Times and places change, but behavior often doesn't!
You can see the yellow of the building to the right of the cathedral. All the buildings around the square were that lovely yellow color. It made me realize how plain and boring our buildings are--gray, brown and beige.

Perhaps what stood out for me the most on this trip, was Cerro San Cristobal. All along the winding road up to the cross at the top, stood about 8 large cement crosses. I noticed that there were rocks on top of the horizontal bars of each cross. Apparently, when the pilgrims make their way up the mountain, they carry a rock for each sin they want to have absolved. This makes for a very laborious climb. But up they go, chugging their rocks. When they get to a cross, they leave a rock on the cross and say a prayer before going on. By the time they get to the top they have left their rocks below and have only to pray and light a candle at the large, towering cross. Perhaps they also leave flowers or other ornaments.
It's wonderful imagery--leaving our sins on the cross. But I am so very grateful that God doesn't require us to carry our sins around with us like that. Even though some people choose to do so, it isn't necessary, because He takes them from us and carries them for us.
It is a thought-provoking trip, this.