Our Black Jesus Party

“We’re going to the Festival of the Jesus Negro.”

“ What?”

“La celebración de Jesus Negro,” Carla explained patiently. ¿Quieres ir?

She didn’t even have to tell me there was dancing, food, special vendors, all the works for a party. She got me with The Black Jesus. So we all went, about 10 white students trying to learn Spanish and our teachers into the back of an open pick-up truck with rails. It was dangerously fun, and I made sure to get a handle right near the back of the truck where all the action is (in your case Mom, I’m just elaborating to make the story better). There we were, all of us crammed in the back of a pick-up truck practically bottoming out over speed-bumps while all the Guatemaltecos had a good laugh at the Gringo’s sake. Tables had turned, now it was a bunch of white tourists who must have looked like a batch of inadequate migrant workers shipped off to the fields in droves (was this the power of Black Jesus?). Up the hills, down the hills, there were so many of us that people pushing the little refrigerated ice creams carts were passing us at times. I enjoyed myself thoroughly and was almost sorry we arrived at our destination 20 minutes later. A small town nestled up in the hills outside of Xela, small but certainly not quiet; it was fiesta time, at 10:00 in the morning. It was not a tourist venture, not even mentioned in the guidebooks. So when we showed up hanging out the truck the local announcer broadcasting out of his van shouting through his megaphone quite gleefully: ... “Los turismos están aqui, empezamos!” The tourists are here, let’s start!

By initial impression alone, I never would’ve guessed it was a religious celebration, by looks alone, that Black Jesus must have been one great guy because they townspeople threw him a party that would put Mardi Gras to shame. For three days there would be a carnival, costumes, tents full of arcade games or food, a multitude of vendors selling everything from parrots to ceramic chicken banks and earthenware pots, horse rides, dancing, a band, and so much more, and of course fireworks. *Note: this were not just common everyday fireworks we’ve experienced up to now, these were awe-worthy, special occasion fireworks along the likes of Fourth of July. Thankfully the puebla was situated up on a hill, walking back to nuestra casa later Friday night, we were treated to a perfect view.

It was not until we neared the church that a more somber atmosphere began to set in. The mood was still festive as the church was filled with music, streamers and colors from both decorations and the people so beautifully dressed in their finest hupiles (indigenous blouses) and cortas (indigenous skirts) or trousers, streaming on and out of the church. Inside something was going on, but there was no semblance of order. People were knelling to pray, or resting pensively on the pews while others were lighting candles spread around the church or walked in carrying their own candle already lit.

The legend of Jesus Negro is not site specific to this small town, or even just Guatemala, but it is the result of the mezcla between Mayan worship and Christianity’s dominance and far-flung reaches. Indigenous Mayan worship commonly invokes the use and presence of special herbs and plants burned as incense, carried throughout the street when parading special idols or burned at the altar during worship. As the legend goes, one of the earliest crucifixes to be commissioned in Guatemala and distributed to a small puebla, Esquipulas near the border of Honduras, was placed in a small abode, while incense was lit asking for blessing or showing devotion to the image. The smoke from the incense constantly being burned eventually covered the crucifix with resin, altering the perceived skin tone, thus the creation of Jesus Negro. The notoriety however, of this new idol, grew from its curative ability. Popularity spread and there now exists Black Jesus’ and their respective celebrations and pilgrimages everywhere form Panama to Chimayo, New Mexico...I have to say though, it was the best party I’ve ever crashed on a cultural note. It was the perfect peek at pure Guatemalan fun and a heady does of culture.

¡ Viva Jesus Negro!