Painting Over Jesus

I have been a mural and decorative artist for many years. One of my favorite parts of the work is the variety—every job is different, sometimes wildly so.

I was hired to repaint two tall, vertical murals in the alcoves on either side of the main altar area of a very traditional Hispanic Catholic church in a small agricultural town in the Sacramento Valley. The alcoves face out toward the pews, just as the altar area does, and all three spaces had been beautifully painted with sky and clouds.

The left alcove also featured a scene of the Sierra foothills leading up into the mountains, while the right alcove depicted Jesus giving a key to St. Peter.

The new pastor wanted to hang a large painting in each alcove, and it was decided that a simple sky, with a horizon of distant mountains at the base, would be a better backdrop for the new artwork.

My job was to match the graduated blues of the sky and the style of clouds. Of course, I couldn’t work during Mass or special services. But, being raised a Christmas-and-Easter Lutheran, I didn’t realize that worshippers would be coming in throughout the day to pray and meditate. Some walked on their knees up the aisle, praying. Many mumbled the rosary. Some wept softly. The sanctuary was never empty.

I felt like a heathen invader and worked as quietly as I could, carefully moving my ladders and materials as needed. I finished the left side, minimizing the mountain landscape to the very bottom of the space, leaving sky and a few clouds above. On to the right side... where I had to paint over Jesus. And St. Peter.

I'm not particularly religious, but I do try to respect others’ understandings of the world. If I hadn’t had an audience, perhaps I wouldn't have felt so unsettled. I painted all around the two holy faces. Then, making sure there was plenty of paint on my brush so I wouldn’t have to go over them twice, I said a little prayer asking for forgiveness—and obliterated them.

Nothing happened. No one gasped. No bolt of lightning. I didn’t even look to see if anyone was watching. But I won’t forget the feeling of transgression and disrespect—nor can I fully understand why it was so strong. Was it the weight of centuries of human worship of this icon? A deep respect for his basic message? Ambivalence about the church as a holy space versus something to decorate?

I don’t know.

~ Sheryl Leamer