I’m a Pharisee. I finally admitted this to myself, but I’m not happy about it. In case you haven’t noticed, the Pharisees are the ones in the Gospels who never get it. Take today’s Gospel, for example. Jesus heals a man blind from birth, but by the end of the story it’s clear that it’s the Pharisees who can’t see. The blind man recognizes Jesus as the Christ almost at once. The Pharisees never see it. When they look at Jesus they see only defects, only flaws. They see how Jesus angers them. They see how he disappoints them. They see nothing else.
I wish I could say that I don’t understand this. Unfortunately, I understand it all too well.
A few weeks from now, as part of the Great Vigil that begins after sunset on Holy Saturday, we’ll renew our Baptismal Covenant together. We do this every Easter. Included there is this question: “Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?” For me, it’s the first part of this that’s always the hardest, the part about seeking Christ in all persons. Like the Pharisees, all too often when I look at people, I see only their defects, only the ways they irritate me. This can make it very hard to see the Christ in them. Occasionally, in fact, it becomes all but impossible.
A few days ago, for example, as I was driving north on 101, I noticed someone coming up fast behind me. He had to be going at least 95 and was jumping wildly from lane to lane. Suddenly he was right behind me. He brought his car to within inches of my rear bumper. I had cars blocking me on both sides so for several minutes we remained like that, bumper to bumper. Finally a space opened to his left. He leapt to fill it then roared ahead and swerved directly in front of me. Slowly he rolled down his window. He then made what I think is euphemistically called a “rude gesture.” With that, he sped off.
“Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons…in all persons?” Riiight.
Now, maybe the guy thought I was going too slowly. Or maybe he just didn’t like my rainbow bumper sticker — he certainly had plenty of time to read it. — the one that says, “All love is divine.”… I don’t know.… All I know is that once I finally managed to calm down, I found myself muttering, “OK God, you’re going to have to show me the Christ in that person because I sure don’t see it.”
It’s hard. It’s very hard. But you know, something happened to me a few years ago that let me know what’s at stake here. It took place in Boston a few days before Christmas in a small branch office of the US Postal Department, and it still haunts me. The day certainly didn’t start out memorable. I was in a terrible mood, for one thing. I’d just carried a load of packages through a blinding snowstorm only to find a line at the Post Office that stretched out the door. Most infuriating of all, though, was that there was only one employee behind the counter. I wasn’t alone in my frustration either. In fact, as far as I could tell, everyone in line that day was in a pretty foul temper: there was more anger in that room than oxygen. We stared at the lone man behind the counter in cold, silent fury as snow slowly melted from our boots and the puddles grew larger … and larger.
So intense was the mood of suppressed rage, in fact, that it took me a while to see that those who were leaving were acting very differently. When I did notice this, I assumed that they were just relieved to be done. Only slowly did I realize that it was more than this. Not only were these people smiling, they actually seemed … jubilant. Clearly, something else was going on. Finally, I took a really good look at the man behind the counter.
The first thing I saw was how welcoming he seemed. So warm and accepting did he appear, in fact, that as they approached him, I actually saw people hesitate — as if the cutting remark they had been about to make suddenly seemed out of place to them.
“I’m very sorry you had to wait so long,” the man said. “May I help you now?”
On one level what followed then was simply a man doing his job. On another level though, something extraordinary was taking place. The man seemed somehow to be reaching out with his heart to each and every person who came before him. It was very subtle. Never once did he do or say anything outside his duties, and yet he seemed to be regarding each person with such kindliness, such gentleness, and compassion, that every one of them began to respond in kind. Whether or not they were fully conscious of it, he had clearly touched something in them. Each immediately began to smile. Many straightened slightly, as if experiencing a new sense of worth. A few peered about them as if noticing for the first time where they were. All looked completely different. I couldn’t figure it out.
At last it was my turn to stand before him, and I too began to experience a feeling of quiet welcome. Also present, I noticed, was a profound sense of … acceptance: I realized that I wasn’t being judged in any way, and for the first time in my life it occurred to me just how rare this is — how rare it is for one human being to regard another without judging them at all. I found myself wondering: “Is this how Jesus looked at people, with this sense of openness — this attitude of total acceptance?”
“Wait a minute,” I thought: “I’m standing in line at the Post Office, for heaven’s sake! Is all this just my imagination?”
Just then I caught sight of a small, yellowed paper, taped to one side of the counter, just outside of public view. It was the prayer of St. Francis: “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace” — that one. “So it’s not my imagination, I thought.” I glanced at the man behind the counter, who saw where I was looking. He smiled faintly. He gave a little shrug, as if to say: ‘so now you know.’
And suddenly I did know. “So this is what it means to truly seek Christ in all people,” I thought. It means viewing them without judgment. It means accepting them completely. It means embracing them fully, flaws and all, irritations included.
It’s a lot to do. And being a Pharisee, I seldom manage it. And yet I’ve seen how this changes people. Because, the thing is, seeing Christ in others helps them to see Christ in themselves. I know. It happened to me.
So, as we approach Easter, I have my answer ready: “Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?” I will with God’s help. Amen.