Centuries separated us, but not the God who held us.

Hebrews 13:8
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.”

I love art museums. I love getting lost in the various paintings that are older and worth more than I could ever imagine; I love sitting on the little benches with a journal and jotting down the feelings that come from the contrast of colors in a bowl of fruit; I love people watching and trying to view the art from another person’s perspective; I love how I always have to bring a sweater in no matter the season because it is so cold so the paint doesn’t chip; I love it all. About a month ago, I was feeling heavy and disconnected from the Lord. I was sitting between unanswered prayers and an unopened Bible; I was away from my church community in Florida; I was going through a mini-breakup with someone I wasn’t even dating; I felt a little lost but still grounded in the fact the Lord had it figured out—I just couldn’t find Him. But, despite all of that, something was drawing me into the High Art Museum in Atlanta, Georgia.

In my car, I loosely prayed, asking the Lord to reveal Himself to me through the artwork and to refresh my spirit with a newfound viewpoint of Him. Maybe I would find Him again in this museum. As I walked through the trinkets and vases and ‘introductory pieces’ (as I like to call them) my soul still felt empty, and my eyes were bored. I wandered into a random room to the right of the second floor. It was unsuspecting, and looked like every other floor with the pale white walls and still cool air. 

As I rounded the corner into the side room, I saw my Savior, pinned to the cross with a crown of thorns on His head. It wasn’t beautiful. It was barbaric and emotional and a reminder of Jesus’ ultimate sacrifice on the cross. My prayer wasn’t answered with the depiction of the glory of heaven or the majestic throne of our Father; instead, it was answered with the heart of the gospel—the cornerstone of Christianity, a reminder that Jesus’ sacrifice was always and is always enough.

The Crucifixion. Pedro Orrente (Spanish, ca. 1570–1644)

As I coasted through the rest of the galleries, I began to notice hundreds of faces staring back at me—people who laughed, grieved, raised children, buried loved ones, celebrated victories, and worried about tomorrow just as we do today. Most of them are forgotten now. Their names on the little plaques beside their paintings mean little to the people passing by.

But as I looked at each portrait, I couldn’t help but wonder what their lives had been like. Had they prayed desperate prayers? Had they dealt with an unrequited love? Had they sat awake at night wondering what tomorrow would bring? 

Then it hit me.

The same God who saw them sees me.

The God who heard their desperate prayers hears mine. The God who carried them through seasons of joy and sorrow carries me through mine. The Christ whose crucifixion hung on the museum wall had already made a way for them, just as He has for me. Centuries separated our lives, but not the God who held them.

The faces in those portraits changed.

The centuries changed.

Kingdoms rose and fell.

Languages evolved.

Artists lived and died.

But the Savior hanging on that cross remained exactly the same.

The same Christ who met them still meets us today. Because “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday today and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8).