St. Paul said he saw in a mirror dimly (1 Cor. 13:12), which we take to mean that the looking glasses of his time weren't up to much. Not so now.
Recently, I stayed in a hotel that was literally lined with mirrors from the foyer up, and they were anything but dim. The first time I entered the elevator I met this woman who looked vaguely familiar coming off. It wasn't until we almost collided head-on that it dawned on me that it was her getting off who was me getting on. Scary.
Up in my room, the closet doors were floor-to-ceiling looking-glass as well. Imagine my shock when the first morning, in a half-awake state, I glimpsed someone moving around in my bed. My heart stopped — had someone sneaked in in the night?
Having all those mirrors around was disconcerting because there was no place to hide. They followed you everywhere, whether you were dressed to the nines or undressed to the buff. There you were with every bump, bulge, roll and wrinkle, all in clear, brilliant colour.
My first reaction was to run out and buy Dr. Atkins's diet book, but the food was so good at that hotel, and after all, I was on holiday. Still, the image of those extra pounds stays with me and now I'm home I know I really must do something about all that unattractive weight.
The remembrance of those mirrors makes me think of things more serious, too. Frederick Buechner in his book The Faces of Christ says while we may search for the face of Christ all our lives, what it all comes down to is that His face is really our own face — that others should be able to see His face in the face of His followers. This is both exhilarating and terrifying.
About 30 years ago, a Pentecostal acquaintance said, “Gwyn, when I look into your face I see Jesus.” I was so flabbergasted and embarrassed that it was impossible to stutter a coherent reply, but my first thought was, “This woman is a nut case.” A bit wiser now, if anyone said that to me today, I still might be shocked but I'd also feel humble exhilaration mixed with a good deal of shame. I'd be thrilled that somehow something of Jesus showed in my face at that particular moment, but also ashamed because in all honesty I would know that most of the time my face would show nothing of Jesus at all.
From what we read of Jesus in the gospels we know his face showed deep compassion, tolerance and acceptance. He taught us to love everyone, not just the people we liked but also those who didn't share our beliefs or even our standards or morals. Feed the hungry (even the beggar who doesn't want to work?), help the sick person with AIDS (even though it may be their own fault?), visit the prisoner (even though they defrauded the weak or even committed murder?). “Yes,” Jesus says, “even those. Let your face be My face.” That's hard.
Well, Jesus never said being His follower would be easy. Just the opposite. And I'm sure He does expect us to get out of our comfortable pews and into the hurly burly to mirror His face and presence where bad things happen. He did promise, after all, to be right there with us. So, what's to worry?
