Jesus Talk

We’ve had a lot of ‘Jesus Talk’ since our day in San Ramon, Costa Rica.  And for a family of Jews, ‘Jesus Talk’ is pretty exciting.

 

 

Why was he killed? Why is there all that blood coming out of his hands and head? What’s a sin?

In a guide book for Central America, I had read about a small town in Costa Rica named Orocio which had this 1800’s church. As world travelers, I felt it was a natural part of their curriculum to learn about world religions. But, Orocio was way out of our route to Northern Panama, so we dropped it.

 

Our intention was to just drive through San Ramon. Through the hammering rain, I could see the church. It’s a massive, beautiful structure called me. I felt so drawn to that huge building. The doors were open, and God knows why, but I knew, we had to enter. “Kobi, Kobi, a church. It’s open. Let’s go.” His reply was silent and direct; he just parked off the curb. I like him that way.

So, our family runs in the rain into the white-washed building. The church is huge with a white and gold massive alter, hand-carved ornate columns, and little side-cloves with real-size Jesus displays and benches. My kids have never been in a church. This is pretty special. We’re explaining the significance of the decorative crosses on the stain glass windows; we’re teaching them why there are these [quite graphic] life-size models of a man with blood gushing out of his skull and hands and legs. As Jews, we said what we knew, hoping it was true to the Christian faith. The architecture and ambiance of the church demands respect, so we’re talking softly, shooting pictures without disturbing those collecting in the pews.  

More and more come in. They start filling up the benches. The church bells ring. I naively tell my kids, “Yes, they are calling the people to prayer.” And then, because we seem to magnetize all sorts of amazing experiences, guess what… we turn to watch them carry in the casket. Oh My God! We’re here in the middle of someone’s funeral. What are we supposed to do?

 

Well, we did a few things, actually. We stopped shooting pictures. That was first. Next, we moved to the side so as not to disturb the mourners with our endless questions. Then, the kids wanted to know if they also could go up and say their last goodbyes if in fact it ended up being an open-casket funeral. We felt it inappropriate to hang out long enough to find out.

Feeling quite humbled and honored to have had this be our first church experience, we quietly walked out of the church funeral service and back out into the rain.  I can’t wait to see what our next church experience will bring us. 

Posted in: Discovering Cool Places, Discovering World Cultures, Nomadic Parenting, World-Schooling