The Virgin of the Immaculate Conception... and me!

The Virgin of the Immaculate Conception

atop Cerro San Cristobal in Santiago, Chile.

The view from the vantage point of the statue and the shrine.
Note the chapel, the chancel/"stage" and the garden/amphlatheater.

The view to the south (taken from beside the "stage").

The view to the west.

The view to the east.

The view to the southeast.

Jesus? Joseph? Somebody else?

Mark or Marcodos riding in the Funicular.

The Funicular

Looking up the tracks from the bottom of Cerro San Cristobol.

A friendly cat in Bellavista, my barrio, at the base of the Cerro.

Yesterday I ascended to the top of Cerro San Cristobal with my friend and housemate, Mark, from Canada. We call him Marcodos in Spanish because he´s the second student named Marco to live in our house. At any rate, it was Shrove Tuesday and, lacking anything else to do between classes and la cena (supper), which is served anywhere between 8 and 10 p.m., he and I went up to visit the Virgin of the Immaculate Conception.

The Virgin of the Immaculate Conception is a beautiful statue of Mary as a young woman. For those of us who don´t know much about Catholic theology (and I count myself in that group), the Doctrine of the Immaculate Conception became necessary when genetics demonstrated that it takes DNA from both the father and the mother to create a human being. This required the church to discern how it is possible that Jesus could be fully human yet fully divine, that is, pure, without sin, while containing genetic material from both God and Mary at the same time. After much effort the Church was able to discern that not only was Jesus conceived without the tarnish of Original Sin, but so was Mary. Hence, her conception (that is, when she was conceived in her mother´s womb) was an Immaculate Conception. It´s a tricky theological construct, and completely extra biblical (that is, not contained anywhere in the Bible). Yet it is necessary if you´re going to entertain the Doctrine of Original Sin, the Virgin Birth, the Divinity of Christ AND and adhere to modern scientific knowledge about genetics, all at the same time.

ANYWAY... back to my story. Marcodos and I decided to ride the funicular to the top of Cerro San Cristobol. The ride was great, and the vistas, breathtaking. I believe the city is at around 250 meters above sea level and the Cerro is around 800 meters. that doesn´t seem possible, but the numbers were something like that. I remember being surprised when I read them at how high we had ascended in the funicular.

Atop the cerro we walked around to the different observation areas, finally ascending to the statue of the Virgin. First you pass a series of shops selling keep-sakes (recuerdos), plus candy, chips, sodas and the like. Then you take a long series of stairs that lead you to an open air chapel -- rather a cross among an amphlatheatre, a sculpture park and a botanical garden. The seats are established so as to provide clear views of the stage/chancel area and the city beyond. Beyond and above this open-air chapel is the statue itself, high on a pedistal.

Music was being played over a high quality sound system -- Christian hymns and anthems, all in Spanish, of course. The second song played was a Taizé song we have sung at several times at COGS (The Church of the Good Shepherd UCC, the congregation where I serve as Pastor and Teacher in Ann Arbor, Michigan). Pausing to take-in the view of the city below, I instinctively started singing along with the recording -- first in English, but then in Spanish as I was able to hear the words. I wandered toward the seats, the gardens and the sculptures. Towering above everything was the Blessed Virgin of the Immaculate Conception, keeping watch over this vast city of six million inhabitants -- more than 40% of the nation´s population. The song changed and I found myself humming along to an unfamilar hymn, listening to the words as I pursued an course upward. The higher I climbed, the stronger my sense of God´s blessing, of the presence of the Divine among us -- with me -- and of the hope we have in the inevitable, inescapable love and care of God, whom we know in Jesus Christ. Tears came to my eyes.

"Wow," I said to Marcodos. "I never expected this."

"What?" He asked, tenderly. No doubt my emotions showed in my voice.

"Man," I said. "I´m really moved by all this. The music. This worship space. The Virgin. And I´m a protestant!"

"Yea," he said. "It´s pretty cool."

Pretty cool, indeed.

We climbed all the way to the top. Built into the base of the statue is a dome-shaped, small-ish chapel with a over-sized crucifix and an altar, all behind protective steel bars. People had thrown offerings of candybars, bags of chips, flowers and stuffed animals on the floor between the altar and the bars, and bouquets of flowers were piled on either side of the doors. We stood for a moment of reverence before the piled-up offering, the Bible, the Christ. Then Mark and I turned around, moved to the side and sat together in silence on the steps, joining The Blessed Virgin in her vigil over the city. We watched as the sun creeped toward the sea, on the far side of the coastal mountain range, painting the Ándes to the east in ever-changing hues and casting a pal of blinding light across this smog-covered city. Then we descented. To the funicular. To the streets of Bellavista. To our house, and hot servings of homemade postel de choclo with piles of red, juicy tomates y cebolla and vassos of Mc Limon soda -- a heart-warming, comfort-food meal to cut the chill of the night air.

Pretty cool.

Indeed.

An aside. We just had a tremmer. Earthquakes are a part of life here and happen not infrequently. In fact, they have two words in Spanish here for the tremmers, but I don´t remember either one of them at this moment -- one for the little ones and one for the big ones. This was the first that was a bit more than "little". At first it was a not-unusual noise, I thought Daniel was coming up the spiral staircase. But then the whole house started to shake and rattle. Within a few seconds it was all over, and as far as I can tell, nothing really moved. It was only a small(ish) tremmer. But it gives one pause. Especially one from the parts of the world where the earth is less... active.

Take care, dear ones. Thank you for reading. And for your prayers.

Today is Ash Wednesday. I wish you blessings on your Lenten journey.

-- Bill