The other day I picked up a pair of glasses from my nightstand. They looked like my pair. The frames were black on the outside and blue on the inside, and shaped just like mine. But when I put them on I saw with amazing clarity, more so than I’ve ever seen before. Were they really my glasses? If so, I was reminded just how near-sighted I really was.
I remember my first pair of glasses. I was in seminary and distinctly recalled seeing the fuzzy highway signs. My wife and I competed on who could read them first. She did. Every. Single. Time. So I went to the eye doctor and he ordered me my first pair of glasses. When I got them, I looked out at the trees and noticed the individual leaves blowing in the wind. Amazing clarity, which I had forgotten existed.
So as I was saying, the other day I picked up a pair of glasses which I thought were mine. I put them on and not only did I realize how blind I was, but I saw clearer than I had for a long time. The first thing I noticed was my wife. Much of her inner qualities that often get covered up by the daily grind, made their way to the surface. I saw the beauty of her compassion, and how her hurt for the people around her leads to action. I was captivated by the loveliness of her generosity. She was working on her famous “Jesus Bread,” gently kneading the dough as she was putting them into pans. She had a list. “I plan on giving a loaf to Bill, Joyce, and the staff at the doctor’s office. Does your office need a loaf today?” I was looking at her like it was the first time I ever saw her.
I turned around and saw my daughter who was visiting for the weekend. Her husband is currently deployed. Suddenly, the dedication she has for raising her daughter as a “semi-single parent” weighed heavy on me. While I had not noticed it before, now I couldn’t help but notice her. The time she takes to engage her daughter as they chase each other around the house and filling each room with laughter rushed over me. In her husband’s absence she’s making decisions all by herself and the burden is heavy. I saw her enduring patience in getting her daughter potty-trained. It’s been a difficult road, but she keeps moving forward.
I noticed my granddaughter, her pure and innocent joy, full of life and love. Actually, nothing changed about seeing my granddaughter with my new glasses. She’s still perfect.
With my new pair of glasses I ventured out into the world. Still amazed by the clarity of vision, someone cut me off. I saw them. I noticed that they weren’t rude or mean, just distracted driving. I took the moment in stride noting how often I had been distracted while driving, and no doubt endangered people around me without realizing it.
As I reached my first visit, the patient lived in deplorable conditions. Trash was everywhere and the stench was nauseating. The house should be condemned. The patient is bedridden. Normally, the bugs and cockroaches churn my stomach, and my sense of justice kicks in as this patient is a Vietnam vet. But this time I saw something else. I saw a kind and gentle heart. I saw a broken man who once answered the call of duty, only to be betrayed and a victim of Agent Orange. I saw a man worried about his family wondering who will take care of them when he’s gone. Normally I see the bugs crawling on him. This time I didn’t see bugs, not because they weren’t there, but because I saw him, and maybe for the first time.
As I drove through town, I saw a man sitting on a park bench. He looked disheveled, unkempt, like it had been a long time since he had a bath. The man looked familiar but I couldn’t quite place the face. Normally, I never give homeless people the time of day. They made their bed and now they can lie in it. Besides they’re just milking the system, at least that how I usually rationale my judgmental attitude. But today something was nagging me. Something kept telling me that his face looked familiar. My conscience told me to act, to get this man some lunch. So I turned into the nearest drive-through and ordered a meal, and the whole time I kept thinking that something about his face was familiar, like I had seen him before. I pulled around to where the man was and parked my car. I got out and walked up to the man. His eyes lit up, and as I handed him the lunch. He said, “You got this for me?” Then I it dawned on me who he looked like. Because “when you do for the least of these,” the least of these looks like . . . with my new glasses on . . . he looked just like Jesus.
That evening when I got home I couldn’t help but tell Cile all about what I had seen. I have to admit how much of a game-changer those glasses were.
Later that evening Cile asked me to go to the store for potatoes and an onion. As I was headed out the door, she asked me, “Don’t you want to wear your new glasses?” I thought for a moment, but only for a moment, and dismissed her suggestion. “Na,” I said as I walked out the door, “I’ll only be gone for a minute!” I should have listened to her.
When I entered the store I went to the produce section to grab the needed items. The onion was an easy grab, the potatoes needed better quality control. I searched through a half a dozen bags looking for ones not on the struggle bus. Every bag looked like one or two were already going bad, which I knew would ruin the whole bunch. I sighed, thinking that I have to tell Cile to inspect everyone first before storing them and I was frustrated that I was paying for less than a better product. I was throwing my money away. But then I got in line, and in my luck, the guy was paying for his groceries. I’ll be back on the road no time. Nope. I stood there while he and the cashier small talked. I stood there. I kept standing there. I wanted to go home, not stand in line waiting for a conversation to end. When I finally got to check out, I said nothing but I wanted to say something. Boy, did I want to say something! I got my items and left.
As I walked into the house, my wife greeted me warmly. Reading my body language and facial expression she asked me what was wrong. I was moody and edgy as I related to her what had happened. She looked at me without saying anything. She didn’t need to say anything. I wished I had worn my new glasses.
Paul says that “. . . from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once did regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer” (2 Cor. 5:16). Since we have a new perspective, we no longer view people in the same way as the rest of the world views people. We avoid transactional relationships. We stop dehumanizing people. We drop the labels. We quit villainizing people because of their religion, politics, nationality, and favorite sports team. We avoid turning folks into theological or political issues. We no longer burn bridges, but work to rebuild them. We press the brakes on deceptive tactics like manipulation and favoritism as we see people through the eyes of Jesus. The hurt, pain, and beauty of the Imago Dei – someone made in the image of God – comes into sharper focus. Paul admits that we used to view Jesus that way, coming from someone who persecuted the church, but does so no longer. Since we don’t, we look for another framework by which to see and understand the people around us.
Steven Covey talks about a time when he probably wished he had a new pair of glasses. He was on a subway minding his own business in a sea of people disengaged from each other. Some were reading newspapers, others were lost in thought, while others were resting their eyes. Immediately, a man entered the subway with his children, choosing of all places to sit, he sat next to Covey. The man closed his eyes while his children were loud and disruptive. The mood on the subway instantly changed. The man closed his eyes while his children ran around, yelling, throwing things, and grabbing people’s newspapers. All the while, the man refused to engage his children or to control them.
Covey says he was irritated. The problem with parenting today is the lack of discipline. Kids get free reign of the home and in this case the public square. Body language and eye rolls among the other people on the subway confirmed what Covey believed; someone needs to step in and to take control of this situation. So Covey, after what he felt like was plenty of time for the man to intervene, spoke up. “Sir, your children are really disturbing a lot of people. I wonder if you couldn’t control them a bit more?”
Covey described what happened next.
The man lifted his gaze as if to come to a consciousness of the situation for the first
time and said softly, “Oh, you’re right. I guess I should do something about it. We just
came from the hospital where their mother died about an hour ago. I don’t know what
to think, and I guess they don’t know how to handle it either.”*
As if Covey had been handed a new pair of glasses which he put on, he saw with crystal clear clarity. Instead of rudeness, he saw pain; instead of apathy, he saw suffering; instead of disengagement, he saw the void; instead of seeing a person lacking parenting skills, he saw a parent lacking his partner.
Ashamedly, Covey turned to the man and asked, “Can I help you get home?”
The other day I got a new pair of glasses. When I put them on I saw with amazing clarity. I saw other people differently through the lenses of grace and mercy. I saw myself differently too. While all of my negative traits were plain for all to see, so was the grace and mercy. So if you’re looking for a new pair of glasses, see me and I’ll forward you the contact information on the doctor who prescribed them.
Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e. only God is glorified!)
* from Steven Covey, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.