Part 1: Beauty in the Shadow of a Volcano
Part 1: Beauty in the Shadow of a Volcano
By: Kristen
By: Kristen
Photos: Connie Rock
Deep in the heart of Central America, hidden in the beautiful green mountains of Guatemala, is a lake so large that it seems to touch the ocean and so beautiful that it reflects heaven itself. Lake Atitlán lies in a volcanic crater, a place of life borne out of a place of fire. Numerous villages cluster nearby, for this lake is a source of many things for the people who live on its shore-food, transportation, livelihood, to name a few. There is no place on earth untouched by the hand of God, but this lake-and its surrounding villages-celebrate beauty. Though difficult to reach by land and largely unknown to the rest of the world, the very presence of the Almighty cannot be missed.
From Guatemala City, it’s a five hour ride through the long, windy mountain roads to the lake and its surrounding villages. The steel and concrete of the city fades into rolling green hills, as trees reach for the sky and sway in the cool breeze. ‘Round bend after bend, up one mountain and over another, Eden’s breath feels just a moment away, as if separated by a thin veil that human eyes sense but cannot see.
San Pedro lies on the other side of the volcanic switchback that descends to Lake Atitlán. Its cobbled streets climb and wrap throughout the pueblo like a staircase in an ancient church, the kind with flickering candles and colored shadows from stained glass windows. Businesses and homes press together, their tin roofs reflecting the sun. Red, yellow, green, and blue-the colors of Guatemala do not apologize for their brilliance. They adorn the buildings, reflect the sky, and clothe the people, enhancing their brown skin and dark eyes. Smooth cotton and rough wool hang in store fronts and lift in the wind like banners hailing a queen. Music fills the streets and the chorus of nature-the wind, the trees, birds, and of course, the water, provide accompaniment. Wood smoke drifts through the market, mixing with tantalizing street food on each corner. Underneath it all is the clear, fresh scent of water and damp earth.
The people of San Pedro are as beautiful as the lake they see every day. They are friendly and gracious, quick to wave and start a conversation. Many who live here seek fulfillment in drugs. Others find it in religion, whether traditional or a branch of Catholicism that is very different from its western cousin. Here the ancient Mayan religion has mixed with the tradition of Christianity and bred something very different, a system where individuals other than Christ are worshipped and pagan practices are considered sacred. There are statues in the churches-figures of saints and even of Christ himself, images of him tending sheep, being crucified, and lying in a coffin. It’s as if the best part of all-the Good News of his resurrection-isn’t remembered. The gospel has been lost in the mix and many who go to church are much like those who don’t-they don’t know Him.
But He has not forgotten them. He knows them by name and loves each one deeply. And just as He created a teeming paradise in a place of death (the inside of a volcano), so He longs for them to turn to Him and let Him heal their hearts. Life-true life-does not end with death. Neither the hottest fire nor the darkest night can destroy that which has been touched by the hand of God. God sees the people of San Pedro. He calls to them every day in the brilliant panorama just outside of their windows. Though the rest of the world might not know they exist, He cannot-and will not-forget those who live in the shadow of this volcano.
