I visited the shop that sits a little off the beaten path the other day with Mama Jan to see if it was still there.

Sure, I had other errands in that store that would take some of my time, but I planned a little spot of time in my journey through there to look at it.

If, indeed, it was still there.

I first saw it, hanging on the wall and for sale, about 13 years ago.

It made a deep impression on me.

I tempted myself with buying it back then, but the price was too high.

It had been a few years now since I had been there, and I wondered if, like I said, it would still be there, and if it was, and if the price was right, I planned to buy it.

As soon as I stepped in the door, my gaze traveled to where it was the last time.

It was still there.

I positioned myself a ways back from it so I could ponder its meaning again without being interrupted by a sales person.

Jerusalem, in the painting, was busy.

It looked to be a warm Mediterranean afternoon; heat waves glimmered up from the crowded, bustling city.

Dust, too, filled the air and settled down on anything exposed.

I fancied men flipping product just arrived by ship into nearby gaping warehouses.

I saw, in the upper floors of those prospering businesses, wine passed around and favors traded while deals were made on the goods for sale.

I saw the gold on their hands as they raised goblets that glistened in the afternoon’s rays.

Scanning over to the edges of the sprawling city, I saw the poor, the discouraged, those who toiled under burdens of poverty, grief, and unfair dealings.

I saw the beggars, one in particular, who had lost both legs and one arm, whose only conveyance was rolling himself in the dust to get to the corner where he propped himself up and held his good hand out for anything.  He was old, gray hair sticking sweaty and thick upon a still handsome, still intelligent face. 

I saw the crowd pass him by, and I wanted to run back in time and go help him somehow.

My gaze swung up to the lefthand corner of the painting, and rested upon a lone figure sitting there, looking down upon the city nestled between seven hills.

I saw the look of sadness and longing upon his kindly face.

I knew he saw more than I did, down below.

I knew he saw those who were, even then, plotting his death under a spiritual guise so their coffers would ultimately include almost all of the land under Roman rule.

I knew he saw those bent on their own lust and terrible abominations.

I knew he saw those condemned to die with him in just a few days.

And, I knew he saw those, who, when they saw him, would receive him and let him carry whatever burden they labored under.

Somehow, I knew it was for those he yearned, more than those who had already turned against him.

I edged in closer, and a salesperson asked what I needed. 

I asked the price, and found it was farther beyond my reach than previous years.

But that’s okay.

I know I’ll never be able to pay the price.

And, it comforts me to know that he is still there.

Sitting upon the hillside, looking down upon my need.