At the Scuola di San Roco in Venice, Italy, there is this impressive “Crucifixion” painting by the artist Jacopo Tintoretto. The most powerful aspect of this huge picture is the Christ on the cross. He seems so muscular and full of light that the cross appears insignificant behind Him. He seems so able to flex those muscles, break that cross into splinters, and stand there, glaring at the scribes and priests who had dared Him to do this. He certainly would show them who’s the “tough guy” ! Yet, He does not. He keeps His head down and chooses to die for us. Why?   

 When I was an 11-year-old kid in Cuba I would ask myself this question. I lived in a rural town where there was so much pressure for a boy to be a “tough guy”. When I would go out  to play with my friends in other parts of town there was always a possibility that I could end up in a fight with one of the local “poor” kids, ready to insult you, or even with some of my own friends who derived pleasure from confrontation. I hated this. You either had to absorb the insult or fight. I did both. This is the way it was.

The message of violence was all around too. One time an adult separated me from another boy during a fight and said, “Stop this. The only tough guy around here is Fidel (Castro)!”  We had just come out of a bloody revolution. On the TV news we could see footage of the day’s firing squad executions of condemned members of the fallen Batista regime. Some times I would go to bed with the mental image of a person’s brains splattering on the wall behind him as the bullets hit him. Some kids found this funny. I thought it was terrifying.      

We were not total savages. The people of our town were polite and serviceable. There was safety and law and order. I could play of days with my many friends without a fight, cooperating, sharing, respecting each other. There was good in my world. That’s the way I liked it.   

 Maybe that’s why I was attracted to this series of Mexican comic books titled “Exemplary Lives.” They were beautifully illustrated. Each month, the life of a different Catholic saint was portrayed: St. Francis of Assissi, St. Theresa of Avila, St. Anthony of Padua, St. Christopher, St. Vicente de Porres (beloved by all Latin Americans!). I was touched by the stories of martyrs like St. Felicity (she had my mother’s name!) or St. Sebastian, a soldier who had given up violence. They were all so nice to other people, so gentle. What they also had in common was their love for this Jesus, for whom they were ready to die.    

 As a kid in Venezuela and Cuba, I saw images of Jesus all over the place. Everybody knew the Our Father. I was baptized in a Presbyterian Church, but my family was not religious. We never prayed (maybe my mother, a little), and never went to any religious services. God was not important to us. But those religious comic books kind of got my attention. One day, at the candy-stand, a newly arrived, thicker, more expensive one was put on the stand: “Jesús de Nazaret”. You could say that I first met my Lord Jesus Christ in a comic book!    

 As a child, I believed in the supernatural. I was terrified of ghosts, vampires, and curses by the local voodoo priests. They say I got the “evil eye” at least twice, when I was a baby. So when I read in fascination about these miracles of Jesus, I thought, “Yeah, this could be true, but that was back then, not now in our modern world!”   

  What also caught my attention was this message of Jesus, about loving your enemies, not hurting other people, even taking their abuse, their hate, and still loving them.  As a kid, I already knew that adults said a lot and often did not live up to it, so what most impressed me about Jesus was that he was true to his teaching. His Passion showed this. They insulted him and whipped him. They hung him up on a cross to die, and he took it. He did not fight back. He even asked God to forgive them! He was supposed to be powerful enough to control storms, multiply food, and bring back the dead, and yet, he did not come down from that cross to show his enemies his great power and just beat the heck out of them. He was truly gentle and kind, and yet tough enough to handle all that pain like a man! He became my hero.   

 I don’t remember considering the ideas of his resurrection and his salvation of all of us from eternal death. I was a little too afraid of death at the time, I guess, to think about these things. The lesson that I got from this story was that you could hate violence and confrontation and still be a “man”. It was not a weakness to love others and even forgive the ones who hated you. Maybe peace on earth was possible.    

 These thoughts lingered in my mind for a while. I even borrowed a New Testament from my sweet, Methodist aunt, but it was too confusing and hard to read. Slowly, the powerful feelings that I had about Jesus became lessened, but not my admiration for him. I thought he was a pretty cool guy. And he was always reaching out to people, so maybe some day he would reach out to me. He was supposed to still be alive and all powerful. Unfortunately, it took me almost 50 years to finally meet Him in Spirit and in Truth. I suppose another lesson from this is to not give up on anyone. Jesus can come and “get you” anytime.   

 Thank you Beloved Lord, for not giving up on me!
Orlando Hernández